How to break a heart

Young ladies....

He puts the pie in the middle of the table and cuts it open. Steam curls out like a ribbon. Welcome to the awkward dinner featuring the Schuyler family. Dinners are always like this. Everything is always like this. Some kind of meeting concerning our lives. He treats us like colleagues, no affection.

"So... Angelica." Dad hands me a full plate. "How did the test go."

"The math test? Full marks."

I usually get that result. it's not really a big deal.

Eliza grins. "Angelica! That's great!"

Dad gives her a look. "Eliza! Young ladies don't shout across the dinner table!"

Eliza looks shocked and looks down at her nails. "Sorry, dad."

We sit in silence for a minute or two. I HATE dinner with dad. When mum was here, he was brighter... happier. I start to study the potato on my fork, waiting for the next annoying comment on our etiquette.

Peggy reaches out for another piece of pie. Dad stops her. "Margarita! Young ladies wait to be served. Besides, you've surely had enough. You wouldn't want to get fat would you..."

I hate that word.

Dad looks ashamed of us, and I clench my teeth. Grrrrr...

"Angelica! Don't make that face! You look like a dog!"

I'm really glad we only have dinner with dad once a week. Eliza and Peggy obviously feel the same way, because no one is making any effort to speak.

I bet you're wondering why dad let us go to that party, and the truth is he had a LOT to drink that night. He would never usually let us. We always have to be home by sundown and we're not even allowed downtown.

Dad notices me thinking. "Angelica! Don't let your meal go cold. A young lady doesn't simply stare at her food. Besides, I took time out of my schedule to provide this for you."

No you didn't, dad. It came from a fricking packet....

"Peggy. Your hair is a bush. Brush it! Under my roof, young ladies stay presentable!"

I can't take it anymore. I screech my chair away from the table. "Going to the toilet..."

"Young ladies ask for permission to leave the table!" My dad exclaims.

I pretend not to hear him. There you go. My dad. Of COURSE, young ladies would call him father. But would they want to?

Hell no.