Page 132 of Business Casual
“I thought I saw you slip out.”
I turn toward the door and my father’s voice, tearing my attention away from a stack of crimson volumes that match the color of the flower on Nova’s chest. He strolls toward me in his tux, a matching glass of whiskey in his hand.
I wince but do my best to hide it. I feel like I’m always playing a part when I’m here, but with my dad it’s the ultimate performance. I rub my thumb against the flower on the inside of my wrist and tip my chin up. “Here I am.”
Of course he’s here. He has a gift for appearing when my mood is at its worst, ready to sour it further with his commentary or critique. Dark hair combed back, a streak of gray at his temples, the blue eyeswe share crinkled in amusement. I am a carbon copy of him down to the shiny shoes.
I’ve never hated it as much as I do right now.
His steps falter as he walks over to me, a burp tucked into his fist. I frown as I take him in.
Eyes glassy with too much drink. Sweat beading on his upper lip. He has a smudge of pale pink lipstick on the collar of his shirt and a cloud of perfume sticks to him like a film. He claps me on the shoulder and loses his balance, his shoulder nudging into mine.
Maybe we’re not as alike as I thought.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” he slurs. “Busy as you were with the farm life.” He snickers like he’s made a hilarious joke and waits for me to join him. I don’t. “No one could believe it when I told them.”
I pull myself out of his grip and put some space between us. I set my half-empty glass of liquor on the Returns desk. My craving for the numb relief of alcohol has disappeared.
“Told them what?”
“Where you were. What you were doing. You left New York for a tree farm,” he says, laughing again. “All of this—” He gestures around him. At the ornate art, the music, the bottomless alcohol, and the sheer amount of wealth, accumulated just down the hall. “For a town that probably doesn’t even have a dine-in restaurant—”
“They have several,” I mutter.
“—to play out some farm fantasy for a sister that isn’t even yours.” He drains the rest of his glass with both eyebrows raised. “You sure do find new and interesting ways to color the family name, Charles.”
“Well.” I rock back on my heels, both of my hands shoved deep in my tux pockets. There’s a fire in my chest that has nothing to do with alcohol that burns hotter the longer I look at him. This is who I’ve been craving approval from? “I’ve got you to keep up with, don’t I?
His eyebrows collapse in a heavy line, his face twisting in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”
I’ve always been the agreeable son, doing my best to meet themarkers he’s set out for me. It’s like I said to Nova. I’m not sure he’s ever wanted me to truly meet them. He’d rather lord his power over me in a cloud of disappointment and watch me struggle to catch up. I guess it’s easier to feel better about your own shitshow life when you’re constantly putting other people down.
And I’m fucking tired.
“Which part would you like me to repeat?” I ask.
His eyes flash, his knuckles dragging across his mouth. “Watch yourself, Charles. Everything you have is because of me.”
“Everything I have is in spite of you,” I spit back, losing the grip I have on my temper. I can’t remember the last time I let myself get this angry. A match struck against all my rough edges. “The only things you’ve given me are an irrational desire to please people and a constant fucking headache. You don’t give a shit about our family. If you did, you wouldn’t have fucked your way through Lower Manhattan. You wouldn’t have embarrassed your wife so thoroughly she felt the need to leave the country. You wouldn’t have abandoned your daughter.”
“She’s not my daughter,” he scoffs.
“DNA results say different.”
I take another step closer to him, the flame in my chest catching and flaring bright. “You call me an embarrassment but you’re the one who’s been drinking yourself to incoherence at public functions. You’re the one who was removed from his position because of his behavior. You’ve made selfish choice after selfish choice, while I’ve been the one who’s been holding everything together.”
He sputters, cheeks red with rage. “You think you can talk to me like that?”
“I can talk to you however I want.” I cut him off. “I owe you nothing. The only thing you’ve given me worth a damn is my sister, and if you had it your way, I never would have known about her. But I’m grateful you were a deadbeat. I’m grateful you wanted nothing to do with her. She got to escape you, and she shines so bright because of it.”
He blinks at me, eyes blown wide. I stare at him and wait forregret to tug at me, but it never shows. There’s just the residual exhaustion from my anger. The taste of whiskey on the back of my tongue.
I stare at him and see nothing I need.
Not his approval and not his acceptance.
I study him from the top of his slicked-back hair to the tips of his scuffed shoes. All of it’s for show, without a lick of substance beneath. A sad, lonely man who doesn’t give a shit about anyone else.
