Page 25 of The Spare
“Yeah, that's usually why you don’t go to lawyers with these problems,” I countered as some levity rejoined the conversation. “Give him some time. Whether you’re angry or not, he’s still your brother, and he is trying.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely,” I corrected. “If he weren’t, you’d have a black eye too.”
* * *
Saturday morning after Thanksgiving was when everyone prepared to return to their lives. The day was spent lazily getting things in order and packing. Everyone usually headed out later than planned because of a game, conversation, or argument.
“Sloan.” My mother peeked her head out from the kitchen when I walked through the hallway; my weekender bag was packed and in hand. She didn’t say anything else. She walked back into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
I followed the unspoken command and took a seat next to her. The table sat in front of a large window overlooking the back of the property. Sunlight streamed through and filled the room in the morning.
“This London trip,” she began. Her hands clutched her coffee mug tightly. “Are you sure it’s necessary? You have such a wonderful position at the firm as it is.”
Don’t snap at her.
I had grown accustomed to the bewilderment my career aspirations caused among my family and some of our family-friends. But my mom’s concerns didn’t have anything to do with my career and everything to do with her estranged family.
The parents that disowned her and the family that disinherited her lived in London. My mother always seemed to worry that Henry or I would reach out to them at some point, only to be met with the same rejection she faced.
“I have no plans to see any ofthem,” I assured her.
The part that burned the worst was that I tried so hard to be someone they could love. I insisted on going to finishing school, on being presented to society in an archaic debutante ball, all to maybe find a place in their world. That silly little girl learned long ago that she could act like them as much as she wanted, but they’d never really see her.
I’d only wished I’d come to that revelation sooner in life and loved myself then the way I did now. It would have saved me a lot of heartache.
She sighed. Her concern softened. “They don’t deserve to know you.”
She didn’t say anything else. I stood up and hugged her. My parents had always maintained some distance from me and Henry growing up; it didn’t really change until we were much older. I spent a lot of time being angry about that too, but the annoyance over their expectations thinned over time. Nowadays, it was easier to let go of it in deference to keeping the peace.
* * *
Marcus drove me back home. I intended to wait for Xander to leave and avoid another awkward drive, but when I left the kitchen, he already had my bag in his hand. He gestured to the car, gave methatsmile, and I was convinced.
I loved the drive. The city blended into the mountains; before you knew it, you were in an entirely new place.
“You’re so lucky to have grown up around here,” I said aloud. The lush fall colors blended as we zipped past them. The words came out of my mouth before I remembered who I was sitting next to. I winced. Xander and I loved to reminisce about the trips our families would take together during fall breaks in college.
Since Henry and Marcus were best friends, our families often got together for school-related events like parents’ weekend or homecoming. By the time Xander and I made it to Penn, it was a tradition. The summers always included a week at my parents’ house in East Hampton, and the autumns always had hiking and pumpkin picking around the Sutton family home.
Marcus didn’t say anything. He never brought them up.
“Sorry,” I said after a drawn-out silence.
More silence passed before he finally put me out of my awkward misery. “No, it's okay, I don't talk about them enough.”
Xander had an expected reaction to his parents' passing. He went off the rails. Marcus went from shocked to numb and stayed that way for a while. Over the years, it started to peel back.
“You were great, you know.” Again, the words came out of my mouth without regard to how he’d feel about it.
Marcus and Henry were just starting out at Amari Global when it happened. Afterward, Marcus would drive back and forth between Manhattan and Philadelphia to keep an eye on Xander for months. Every weekend. Like clockwork.
He still owned the Philadelphia penthouse to this day, like a reminder to look after his little brother. “All that time, going back and forth. You were infallible to him. Still are,” I added.
He didn’t say anything as a heavy look scrawled across his face. He didn’t believe me.
“I loved your house,” I continued. A part of me screamed to shut up. But maybe he needed a push to talk about it.
