I should've known something was wrong when my father summoned my mother and I to brunch at the golf club.

He generally avoided the place like it could infect him with a disease. It was packed to the brim with the new-rich, or the old-rich who weren't as rich as they pretended. There were politicians, whom used their smooth silver tongues to extract money from anyone willing to part with it in exchange for a compliment. And the worst people of all according to father were the ones who weren't moneyed but curried themselves invitations to the club through connections.

Ugh, the proletariat, he'd say.

Meanwhile mother loved it. She hailed from a long line of wealthy people who chipped away at the family fortune with each new generation. By the time she was of an age to gallivant around the world in yachts, there was barely anything left. But she was beautiful, so she became a model and that way also achieved the life of glitz and glamor she coveted. Even if it was only in pictorials. It didn't matter if she had to return the silks after the cameras were off, if she'd worn them she could pretend the fantasy wasn't so.

That was how Alphonse Holt II fell in love with the trophy turned woman he saw in Grace Winterbourne. She fell in love with his bank account. It all happened at a party where the rich and famous mingled. They cheated on each other for decades, even when they had me. Maybe that was why my father couldn't stand the socialite scene any longer.

Somehow I was the product of all of that. A DNA test proved I really was the daughter of both of them, even if at times both denied it. I did have my Alphonse's height and Grace's reddish hair, though.

These traits caught a few pairs of eyes as I made my way through the busy club restaurant. The dress theme was an impractical white that was impossible to remove grass or mud stains from, a fact no one here cared about given that they'd only wear these garments once. I stood out like a sore thumb dressed in a persimmon dress that flowed around me like smoke. It was one of my best and most beloved creations and it was definitely a centerpiece in my portfolio. I felt comfortable and powerful when I wore it, which were assets I'd need for whatever this family meeting would bring.

I found both of them sitting at a round table, facing each other like Han Solo and Greedo.

Uh-oh.

I cleared my throat when I approached, then got sidetracked by the waiter who appeared out of thin air to pull up my chair. I didn't particularly love this part but I sat still as he unfolded my napkin and gingerly placed it on my lap, before presenting the menu. I thanked him before he left, but I wasn't sure he heard me over the sound of clinking china and deceivingly pleasant chatter.

"Adele, so great of you to join us," mother said. "It's been so long since you last showed your pretty face, child."

Her characteristic smile of deceit was in full bloom. I didn't need to get a lie detector to see that she was as pleased to see me as she was pleased by my face. In case my sarcasm didn't come across correctly: that was Addy code for she was pleased to be here for shit. And that was without considering the way she fidgeted with her own napkin.

Meanwhile my father sipped from a cup of jasmine tea, looking at his wife over the rim like she'd probably just poisoned him. I pretended to read the menu as I waited them out. That was one of the many strategies I learned while growing up with parents who could hardly stand the sight of each other. That was why I was not at all shocked by his announcement.

"Adele, your mother and I are getting a divorce."

Oh, there was something new in the menu. Mother would hate it if I ordered the brie stuffed french toast with raspberry compote. It sounded absolutely delicious.

The silence prolonged by quite a lot more than I expected, so I looked up and found their attention trained on me.

"Okay," I said with the calm of a child who'd heard her parents say the same thing for roughly ten years. The first time had been devastating, I'd locked myself up in my room and refused sunshine and food until they told me it wasn't true. That had been a mistake from my side because though they'd obliged, the threat loomed over me ever since. Every time they brought the possibility up, I'd raise a stink until eventually they just locked me away at boarding school and went on with their lives.

I just hadn't realized yet that a divorce paper wasn't the only path to a broken home.

Cue for the server to return and politely ask for our orders. Father got the poached eggs. Mother got her vegan salad, dressing on the side. She'd never pour it on top, and I always wondered just how soulless someone had to be to eat raw vegetables with no zing. I enjoyed the laser beams that came out of her eyes once I placed my order, plus a large cappuccino.

"You were saying?" I prompted them once the three of us were alone at our table again.

Father lifted his nose in the air and I braced myself. "Your mother's latest indiscretion has cost me a fortune, which is why I've decided to put an end to this."

A delicate little snort came from her side.

"Darling, are you growing poor?"

"With you on the payroll, absolutely," he retorted, sneer and all. "I have called upon Schmitt to make the arrangements."

Oh, this was serious. Maybe this, the 100th time, was the charm. It wasn't often that father involved his attorney.

Mother's blue eyes twinkled as though she'd just heard the single most amusing thing on this planet. "Isn't that fitting? You make this situation sound like a funeral and I suppose it is true. After all, your libido died two decades ago."

I groaned. "Gross, mother."

They ignored me, as they were used to doing.

He placed his elbows on the table, a major no-no, and leaned forward. "Prepare yourself, Grace. Because after we're done you will never get one more penny out of me in your miserable existence."

"Bring it on, darling. You'll be hearing from my attorney as well."

I cringed and looked around. When was the food going to arrive?

"You mean your latest lover?" father asked, picking up his cup of tea and sampling it once more like they were discussing the weather. "I suppose he will take the case pro bono. How else can you afford his services without spreading your legs for him?"

I gasped.

That kind of low insult was new.

She threw her napkin on the table and leapt to her feet so fast that her chair toppled over. Now we had a captive audience. I regretted wearing my favorite color because that just guaranteed people's attention to our table.

"Mother, calm down," I said, realizing a second too late that it just made things worse.

"Calm down?" She trembled from top to bottom as she pointed a finger at my dad's serene expression. "I will not stand by this kettle calling the pot black! As if he doesn't insert himself in between the legs of women younger than his daughter."

My jaw dropped.

What?

Also, wasn't his libido supposedly dead? I felt a headache coming at just trying to keep up with this conversation. Color rose up father's face at the same rate as it probably drained from mine.

"I have nothing further to say to you," he dragged out through gritted teeth. "Have a good day."

I sat there stunned as mother turned around and fled. I wished I had the energy to do that myself, but my legs just wouldn't move. This little spat hadn't been like the many other ones. It was the first time they'd actually displayed some semblance of feelings for each other in years, and it was pure hatred. My parents weren't the kind of people to air dirty laundry in public, ever, and the fact that they'd fallen into high school type of insults meant that this was it. The divorce years in the making was finally going to happen.

My mind was still reeling from that understanding when he turned to me and said, "There are going to be some changes in this family."

Yeah, no fucking kidding.

He continued, "I will never be bled out by a woman ever again, do you hear me?"

I flapped my mouth open and closed.

Father's honey brown eyes, so much like mine, blazed like fire as he set them on me. "Not even from you."

It took a few minutes for my brain to catch up. "Sorry, what?"

"All women know how to do is marry wealthy men and drain their fortune in frivolous things without contributing a dime." His nostrils flared and he waved a hand in disdain. "Even you, daughter. Did you think I summed you here to just watch that little altercation? No, I have business with you as well."

I frowned, scrambling to understand what I'd possibly done wrong in this scenario. But father din't allow me a moment to get a grip before he delivered the killing blow.

"Do you think a career in fashion is going to compensate at all for your expensive education in such a useless topic? You're just your mother's daughter, a black hole that sucks without giving me anything in return."

For the first time in years, his sharp words tore through the walls of sarcasm and bitterness I built up around myself. They pierced the core of me, that soft part that still had hopes and dreams of being embraced and protected. My eyes welled up and as much as I tried to blink, the tears refused to stay hidden.

"This isn't fair, none of this is my fault," I choked out.

With a scrape of his chair he stood up and adjusted the lapels of his white jacket. Looking down his nose at me he said, "That is of no consequence to me. As of this second, consider yourself cut off from my financial support until you learn to not be an entitled, self absorbed drain like half of you undoubtedly is. And for the last time, stop crying for every little thing. Tears aren't going to get you everything you want in life."

There was no point in begging. Begging was what my mother did every time she knew she'd gone too far and was in actual danger of losing her income. Begging would be the fastest way for him to cut me off from his life completely. And as bile rose up my throat I wondered if maybe that wasn't so bad after all. No trust fund was worth this. I didn't deserve this.

They didn't deserve me.

But I remained immobile, salty tears streaking down my face and drip dropping on the skirts of my favorite dress as I watched my father's back grow farther and farther away from me. Both of my parents had deserted me way before this moment, I realized, when their issues with each other consumed any love they might have harbored for their only daughter in the recesses of their hearts.

At that moment the servers came with our food. They didn't bat an eye at the fact that two thirds of the table had vanished and placed out the feast. The club worked on a tab system, so even though my father had just cut me off, he'd be the one to pay for this meal. My last family meal.

I tucked in with gusto and asked for boxes to bring the leftovers to my dorm room. If what he wanted me to do was to drop out of school and join him in one of the many businesses he owned, he was in for a surprise. For I wasn't my father's daughter or my mother's daughter, I was Addy and I had plans of my own. Plans that I couldn't afford at the moment, but plans I would die trying to see through.

First I needed to get a job.

and so begin Addy's misfortunes. y'all ready? hit me with your wild theories