“Samantha?” I asked, my brow furrowing in feigned confusion. I knew who she meant, but I couldn’t let on I knew, or she would take that as gregarious acceptance of my interest.
“Samantha, Samantha,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “Blonde hair, big into running, you know?”
“Oh, I think I know the one.” My nonchalance was believable even to my own ears. Mum was so far in her own world, the thought I might not be interested wouldn’t have crossed her mind. She probably hadn’t even spoken to Samantha enough to realise she wasn’t at all my type. The woman was nice, but she was as interesting as a dry sponge and on the few occasions we’d been forced into a conversation, it lasted about forty-two seconds seeing as there was only so long you could talk about the weather.
I needed someone who would make me laugh. Someone who would challenge me and push me to my limits. Maybe even someone who wanted to be in the same room as me for longer than twenty seconds without criticising me. Not that I was at all interested or even looking, but for fuck’s sake, I wasn’t going to agree to an arranged date with someone my parents chose. Especially when I knew their choice would somehow be advantageous to them more than me. They were already elbow deep inmeddling in my business without involving them in who I chose to fucking date.
“Son.” My dad’s penetrating voice bounced around the kitchen like an echo in an empty room as he entered, squeezing my shoulder firmly. I shook his hand, knowing he was not only judging how firm my handshake was but assessing me for any weakness he could fixate on. “What happened to your hand?” Still firmly in his grip, he flipped my wrist assessing my knuckles as Mum walked over to conduct her own examination.
And here we go. The bell had rung – let the berating begin.
“It’s from the bag. I wasn’t wearing gloves.” The lie rolled off my tongue easily, just as they had since I learnt it was better to keep things to myself. They were on a need-to-know basis for the betterment of everyone - most importantly me and my fucking sanity.
“How’s work?” I asked, knowing it was a topic he both loved to discuss and one which would see Mum disappear, meaning one less opponent.
“Business is good.” He opened the butler’s pantry where I knew he would select any liquor other than one that came from Golden Spades. He would be in his grave before he ever supported something I did which wasn’t first an idea he concocted. “Are you done with that futile whiskey venture and ready to take over? I’m not getting any younger,” he jeered, a smug grin lining his face. Another classic quip I was subjected to every time I saw him.
He’d built Dane’s Real Estate from the ground up and as the most successful realtor in the state, he held some pretty solid bragging rights, taking advantage as often as he could. There was nothing Preston Dane loved more than a captive audience who asked after his company and Mum was only interested in the business because it funded her lifestyle.
“Glad to hear business is doing well,” I answered bluntly, tactically ignoring the question I’d already answered multiple times. A solid refusal that I wouldnevertake over his company.
Dad adjusted his collar, his shirt pristine in contrast to hisgrowing facial hair which would be freshly shaved as soon as Delilah arrived. He wasn’t always as spoiled as he was now. I have a few foggy memories of him mowing the lawn, me on his lap as he made silly patterns in the grass. I remember thinking I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Big, strong and funny. But that didn’t last long and by the time I was five, his business trips were longer and his time at home shorter. I’d go months without seeing him or Mum, spending my time with staff or at Seb’s house as I got older. Anything I learnt was from whoever was assigned to care for me, most only here for a few months before they headed someplace new, and other than Bert, many of the faces were some I couldn’t remember even if I tried.
“Better than well. Sold a couple of places out on the bay last week. One went for 21 million!” He huffed, praising himself for a sale which was likely orchestrated by his employees. But the company was his, which meant the credit also somehow always belonged to him, only further exacerbating his vanity.
“Impressive.” Leaning against the bench, I looked out over the pool, already bored.
I spent many long summer days out there. Often with no supervision, meaning my friends and I could indulge in the things every teenager wanted but didn’t have the means to even try. Plenty of underage drinking with those looking to escape the confines of parentage and have some fun. Only after they left, I felt the hollow coldness of my loneliness, while they went home to the kind of warmth only real love creates.
“What’s impressive?” Mum asked, returning with a plate of something baked, certainly made by someone other than her. I remember asking if we could make my birthday cake one year. Anything to spend some time together, and she didn’t even try to save my feelings. Telling me it was ridiculous to make one ourselves when we had people who could do it for us. I didn’t tell her that every year Judy would make me a treat. I didn’t tell her that even now, on each birthday, I still received a delivery - a freshly baked delight with a handwritten note from the woman Ioften wished was my mum. It wasn’t my intention to hurt my mother - not that she deserved compassion - but I could tell children weren’t a life she wanted. An afterthought that was likely thrust upon her as Preston Dane wanted an heir. In name if nothing else.
“I was just telling Cooper about those properties I sold across the water.”
“Oh, yes. Quite the sale.” She raised her brows, swirling her wine before taking a sip. She was no doubt recalling the hefty profit which accompanied them more than praising him.
The love I had for my parents was almost out of duty. There was no denying that financially, I never wanted for anything growing up. Whatever I put on my birthday or Christmas list, I was guaranteed to receive - and then some. But that kind of excitement only lasted so long. What I really craved was quality time.
If you asked them, they’d probably say they did a good job, and honestly, that belief was often the only thing stopping me from completely losing it. But the older I got, the more I realised, they were parents in name only.
“Did your mother tell you Samantha wanted to see you?”
“She mentioned something, yeah.” I sighed, pushing my hair off my forehead only for it to immediately fall back into place. Maybe I did need a cut.
“And?” He asked expectantly. Mum stood by his side, always athem,never an us. And I was well versed in this vicious cycle, knowing it would only cease if I gave them the answer they wanted. Only I was tired of the games. Tired of the cycle which left me frustrated and with feelings of inadequacy when I didn’t comply.
“I’m actually dating someone,” I said before I had time to really think about the follow-up questions which were about to be shot like water from a jet.
Mum put her glass down, her eyes sparkling with delight.
“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. When can we meet her?”
“Ummm,” I pretended to consider the question as if therewas a viable answer. I hadn’t considered anything other than getting them off my back but of course they were going to want to meet her. My invisible, entirely fictitious, could not be more fake if I tried – girlfriend.
I didn’t have any female friends other than the boys’ partners – although maybe Marls would be willing to play pretend - if Seb didn’t kill me for even asking.
Dad was looking at me through narrowed eyes and his disbelief was as obvious as the blue in the sky.
“It’s Evangeline.” I announced, internally castigating myself for the hole I was digging on so many levels.
