Page 12 of Eleanor & Grey
“When are you going to come down to EastHouse and learn something, huh? I can’t run that place forever, and it’s about time you figured out the basics. The sooner you learn, the sooner you’ll be ready to take over one day.”
Here we go again.
My father was determined to have me work at EastHouse Whiskey headquarters, because he was certain I’d be taking over the company one day. My grandfather had started EastHouse, and he’d run it with all his heart and soul for years until his retirement. My father had followed in his footsteps.
It was a family business, and I intended to take over someday to honor Grandpa.
I just didn’t want to do it any time soon.
“Are you deaf, boy? Am I not speaking English?” he hollered.
I stood up and stuffed my hands into my pockets. “I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”
“Not ready? You’re sixteen years old, and you don’t have any time to waste. If you think this basketball thing is going to be your one-way ticket out, you’re fooling yourself. You don’t have what it takes to make it on basketball alone.”
There were three things to note about his comment:
1. I was seventeen, not sixteen.
2. I didn’t want to be a basketball star.
3. Piss off, Dad.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and walked past him and straight into the house. He hollered that we weren’t done talking about the internship, and we’d pick it up at a different time, but I wasn’t too worried about it. He never stayed home long enough to really hammer into me.
As I walked inside, I saw Mom picking up the shattered pieces of glass from the bottle.
“Mom, here, let me get that before you cut yourself,” I said, watching her sway drunkenly back and forth.
“Back off,” she said, pushing my arm away. She looked up at me, with mascara cruising down her cheeks, and frowned. She placed her wine-soaked hand against my cheek and parted her lips to speak. “You look just like your father. You know how angry that makes me? It makes me hate you almost as much as I hate him.”
“You’re drunk,” I told her. She was the kind of drunk where she didn’t even look like herself. She looked wild in the eyes, and her hair was tangled. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“No!” She pulled her hand back and slapped me across the face, muttering, “Fuck you, Greg.”
My eyes shut as my cheeks stung. Her eyes watered, and she placed both of her hands over her mouth. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Greyson. I’m so sorry.” She began to sob into her hands, shaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t do this.”
I wrapped an arm around her and squeezed lightly, because I was pretty sure if I didn’t hug her, she wasn’t getting any hugs at all. “Yeah, it’s fine, Mom. You’re just tired. Just go to bed. All right? Everything’s OK.”
I gathered the large pieces of glass and tossed them into the trash can as she wandered off to bed. She’d probably be gone before I woke the next morning, off to catch a flight to her next adventure. But we’d cross paths again when she needed her monthly fight with Dad and a bottle of wine to toss.
I headed to the bathroom to wash the wine from my hands and face, and when I glanced in the mirror, I hated what I saw.
Because I did look like my father, and I kind of hated myself for it too.
When I went to bed, I tried to shake my parents from my mind, but when I did shake them, Grandpa entered my head, and that just made me sadder.
So I thought about Eleanor Gable.
The girl who read books at parties and really liked dragonflies.
Those thoughts weren’t as heavy as all my others.
So I let them stay.
3Eleanor
It had been two days since the party, and I hadn’t even finished readingWesley Peters and the Marked Beast. My focus was shot, and I couldn’t shake Greyson from my mind.
