“Astrid, we heard you had been in France?”
“Astrid, are you home to stay?”
I put a practiced polite smile on my face. Slowly building a barrier between the real me and the version people got to question and exploit. I sighed. Janice tapped my shoulder.
“Here.” She handed me a pair of sunglasses. “I feel like these help.”
I looked over at her. “Thank you, Janice.”
She grinned and then stepped behind me, returning to an almost invisible presence.
“Astrid, is it true you were pregnant?
Wait what?
I held my head high as I walked down the stairs. I kept my smile tight as I went toward the limo that was parked on the tarmac. Wesley, our driver for as long as I could remember, opened the door, and my mother stepped out with full lips, blond hair, and a body that statistically was probably younger than mine.
I stutter stepped.
I hadn’t expected to face her until we were at our New York house—the one designed by Andrew Stern. I’d always called it Stern House, though Mother never approved. With it being March, I knew they would stay there from now until summer.
She held her arms out in a forced gesture.
Did she want me to hug her?
“Astrid, my darling. We are so glad you have finally returned home.” She added loudly enough for the reporters to hear. Dad stepped out next in his stiff suit and blue tie.
I stopped in my tracks. Wait. Dad?
I rarely even saw him at the house growing up. He was like a glimmer that flickered in and out of view, but never stayed long. Always rushing to the next appointment or next golf something.
But he came here now? To the airport? Was it to see me? My brain couldn’t keep up with all the new input it was receiving.
He walked around the car and stood near Mom’s side. He seemed older than before, and his shoulders drooped in a way they hadn’t before. Had he lost weight? His gray hair was parted and gelled to the left.
“Look at us,” my mother added for the benefit of thereporters. “The Luxe family is back together at last.” She smiled larger for the cameras than she ever had for me.
“How about a family picture?” Someone called from behind me.
“What a wonderful idea!” Mom held her hand to her heart, as if surprised. Like this publicity stunt hadn’t always been the plan.
I stood in front of my mother, who pulled me in for a stiff, awkward side hug, keeping her “good side” to the cameras. Physical connection was never a strong suit for her.
I glanced at Dad. He opened his arms wide and pulled me into a hug, and he held me tighter than he ever had before. Strange.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Astrid.” He rested his chin on top of my head, and I leaned back and looked at him, my eyebrows furrowed. His blue eyes drank me in, and his grin seemed just for me, like the cameras weren’t even there. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”
I smiled back. He hadn’t called me that since I was little. He pulled me in for another hug.
“Alexander, you’re going to ruin her makeup with your theatrics.” My mother grumbled as she turned me around for the cameras.
I thought her word choice was rather ironic.
“Family picture.” My mother called out in a cheerful voice for other people’s benefit. “Lose the glasses.” She growled at me.
“Of course, Mom.” I said. Her hand tightened on my shoulder. “Or do you still prefer Meredith?” I raised a brow as I met her eyes and squeezed my hand into a fist to keep it from trembling. “Or is this another one of those not in front of the cameras type topics?” Everything was always not in front of the cameras, and then ignored and deflected once home.
