The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(19)

“That smells great,” I tell her.

The simmering red sauce is filling the kitchen with the most heavenly scent. My stomach gurgles and reminds me I haven’t had anything to eat since the bagel I grabbed for breakfast before work.

“Girl, you look like you’re about to fall over. Go and sit down. Dinner will be ready in a sec.”

I don’t need to be told twice, but when I see the empty table, I make a detour to grab plates and silverware. Through the doorway, I spot the top of Ray’s head as he stares at the television. He’s probably fondling himself. I shudder as I pull the plates out of the cabinet.

“You want milk or water?” I ask as I begin to set the table.

“Water, babe. I’m feeling bloated. Did you know that Anne Hathaway is lactose intolerant? She doesn’t eat any dairy. Maybe you should think about cutting dairy out of your diet.”

“Nana, that means no cheese or ice cream. Unless a doctor tells me that dairy is going to kill me, I’m all in on the cow.”

“All I’m saying is, dairy could be why you’re tired all the time.” She shakes her spoon at me.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m working two jobs and taking a full course load,” I answer dryly.

“If she stops eating dairy, will she be less of a baby bitch?” Ray asks as he strolls into the kitchen. He’s wearing the same sweatpants that he always does. The fabric is so worn around his crotch, I swear I can see a faint hint of pink skin.

I nearly gag, turning away before he ruins my appetite.

“Ray, don’t you start,” Nana complains. “Babe, will you get the strainer for me?”

My stepfather nudges me as I walk by. “She’s talking to you.”

“No shit. Because she knows talking to you is like talking to her couch. She gets the same results.”

I set the glass of water next to Nana’s plate and then hurry over to the sink to get the strainer out. Nana dumps the sauce into a bowl while I take care of the noodles.

Ray, meanwhile, leans against the refrigerator like a lazy toad, watching us bustle around the kitchen.

I hate this man with all my heart. From the first moment my mom brought him home to meet me when I was eight, I knew he was trouble. I told Mom as much, but listening to her daughter was never something she was very good at. Neither is sticking around, apparently. Mom ran off with some other slimebag when I was sixteen, and we haven’t seen her since. She calls a few times a year to “check in,” but as far as I can tell, she has no plans to ever come back to Boston.

I don’t even know where she’s living these days. What I do know is that there’s no reason for Ray to be living here. He’s not my father—that title is reserved for the piece of shit who abandoned Mom after knocking her up—and he’s definitely not part of the family. I think the only reason Nana keeps him around is because his work comp checks pay a third of our rent. I assume she fucks him for about the same reason. Because he’s convenient.

But, God, he’s so worthless I think even worms would turn up their noses at him. If worms had noses, that is.

Only when the table is completely set and the steaming pasta is ready for serving does Ray take a seat.

“Where’s the bread?” he demands.

Nana flies up from her chair. “Oh damn. It’s in the oven.”

“I’ve got it,” I tell her. “You sit still.” As much as Nana’s offhand comments might hurt, the woman still raised me, clothed me, and fed me while Ray sat on his fat ass, smoked weed and masturbated to sporting events.

I cast a glare at his back and notice, for the first time, a white envelope stuck down his pants. It’s probably a bill. The last time he hid a bill from us (because he’d watched a dozen pay-per-view pornos) we had a three-month late fee to pay. Our budget works only if we don’t have unexpected surprises like that.

I grab the rolls from the oven, dump them into a basket and carry it over the table. As I bend over, I pluck the envelope out from the back of Ray’s sweatpants. “What’s this?” I demand, waving it in the air. “Some bill?”

“It’s not those dirty shows again, is it, Ray?” The sides of Nana’s thin lips pull down.

He flushes. “Course not. Told you I don’t watch that shit anymore.” He shifts in his chair to give me a smarmy smile. “It’s for you.” He snatches the envelope out of my grip and drags it under his nose. “Smells like uptight bitch to me.”

A flash of crimson at the edge makes my heart beat faster. I lunge toward the envelope, but Ray holds his arm out high and away from me, making me press against him. God, I hate him.

“Give her the letter,” Nana chastises. “The food is getting cold.”

“I was just funnin’,” he says, dropping the envelope by my plate.

My eyes lock on the crimson shield in the upper left corner.

“Open it,” Nana urges.

There’s a hint of eagerness in her tone. She may taunt me about my worthless education and ridiculous dreams, but I think that deep down she’s damn excited. At least she’ll have this to lord over the other ladies at the hair salon whose granddaughters are having babies instead of getting into Harvard.

Except…the envelope is wafer thin. All of my college acceptance letters were in giant envelopes stuffed full of pretty brochures and catalogs.