On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [2]
“I know there wasn’t anything listed in the program,” Devon said, swallowing down the nerves that wanted to make his voice shake and fade. “But I actually do have some plans for next year.”
“What? You get a football scholarship when I wasn’t looking? Oh, wait. That’s right. You wouldn’t even try out for the team.”
Unwilling to be sidetracked into the old, old argument, Devon persevered.
“I did get a scholarship, but not for football.” He set his jaw and lifted his chin until he gave the illusion of staring down his nose at his father, even though Phil Sparks was a good three inches taller.
It was an effective expression. Devon knew because he practiced it in the mirror. Phil’s glower deepened.
Deep breath in. “Dad. Mom. I got accepted to the Academy of Culinary Arts with a full scholarship.”
And then he braced himself for impact.
“Oh, honey,” Angela said, darting a glance at Phil. Whose face suddenly appeared to be carved from stone.
“My son,” he said thickly, pushing the words past his clenched teeth. “Going to school to learn how to cook.”
“Now, Phil,” Angela said, hands fluttering. But Devon didn’t want her getting in the middle. For once, for once and fucking all, he wanted to have it out with his father.
He got right into Phil’s face, tension shooting down his back and vibrating his bones. “Yeah, Dad. I want to be a chef. What about it?”
“It would be a fine career if you were my daughter. But come on, Devon, what am I supposed to tell people? That my son is going to school to learn how to bake pies with a bunch of fairies? Why don’t you just get a job styling ladies’ hair at the beauty parlor, then you can really make your old man a laughingstock.”
“Right. Because that’s what matters, Dad—what the neighbors think, or the guys down at the union hall. I’m sure you’d like it better if I stuck around the neighborhood and started working for you, snaking toilets and grouting showers. Real appealing.”
Phil’s face went red. “It was good enough to put food on the table and clothes on your ungrateful back.”
Direct hit. Score one for Devon.
Part of him wanted to take it back, knew he was crossing the line, but he couldn’t. If he faltered for even a second, he was done for.
Brazening it out the only way he knew how, Devon said, “I want more than that, Dad. I want to be somebody.”
“Sure,” Phil scoffed. “And you’re gonna get famous slinging hash in some diner? Or better yet, gonna make somebody a nice little wife someday. Shit. You got no clue how to be a man.”
A hideous combination of rage and tears surged into Devon’s throat and threatened to choke him. He wanted to scream at his dad, tell him how hard he’d fought to be admitted to the Academy, the most prestigious culinary school in the country. Tell him what an honor it was and how many graduates of the Academy went on to open their own restaurants to critical acclaim and enormous success.
But it wouldn’t make any difference. Cooking wasn’t ever going to impress Phil Sparks. The fact that his son loved it, and was actually gifted at it, was nothing more than an embarrassment.
With a superhuman effort, Devon stomped down on the emotion and locked it away, deep inside. All he allowed onto his face was a twisted half-smile.
Rocking back on his heels, he said, “What I know is that ten years from now, I’m going to look back on this conversation from the Jacuzzi in my Park Avenue apartment and laugh my ass off. I’ll be rich and famous and successful, and I will have done it all on my own.”
Phil ground his teeth, the sound audible even over the chatter and squeaking shoes of four hundred recent graduates and their families.
“Damn straight you’ll do it all on your own. I’m not supporting this foolishness. You want to throw your life away in some kitchen, throw away all the hard work your mother and I have done to give you better options than that, go right ahead. But don’t expect any help from me.”
Devon laughed, shocking himself with the bitterness of it. “I gave up expecting anything from you a long time ago, Dad.”
And then he kissed his mom on the cheek,