The morning of New Year’s Eve, Dad asks me to check the invoices from the party vendors and note if we need to update anything with last-minute costs. Our New Year’s party isn’t asgrand as what we do for Christmas. It’s more casual and involves substantially more hard liquor, which I won’t complain about.
I try for the third time to type in the password to access the system, and again the tiny red script tells me it’s incorrect. I growl with frustration. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and if I can’t get this one simple thing right, how the hell am I supposed to run this damn place.
I slam my hand on the keyboard, the keys clacking and crunching.
“Wow, it seems like you’re having fun in here,” June muses as she pokes her head inside. She’s been constantly checking in on me since I started and her mood hasn’t improved the way I thought it would after Christmas. I’ve been meaning to set aside some time to talk, but I’ve been too busy.
“Thanks for the commentary,” I grumble.
“What’s the issue?” She walks over to me and looks at the sticky note I wrote the login info on. “Oh, I see. Scoot over.”
I roll my chair to the side, allowing her access to the computer. She types in the user ID and password, presses enter, and steps away as I’m finally given access.
“How?”
“We change the passwords every month. There was a security breach a year back and ever since we’ve taken extra measures. It’s less about stuff like this and more that we have a billionaire or three that love bringing their mistresses here,” she explains.
“You should be doing this, not me.”
“I know. But you had the chance to let me and insisted on carrying on some damn tradition.” Which is not what I expected her to say.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Don’t act stupid. Dad said he’d talk to you about my offer and I didn’t hear anything about it until Christmas dinner whenhe made his announcement. You could have at least given me a heads-up,” she says, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.
“Offer. I never got an offer, June. I’m completely in the dark here.”
“I told Dad that if you wanted to stay in New York I would take your spot. I know how everything works; I’ve been around the staff for ages and can tell you everyone’s names. I’m comfortable with the software you can’t even log into. I put in the time and you don’t even want this.” She seethes, her cool exterior melting into heated anger. “This is all I have, all I’m good at.” She gestures wildly at me. “You can write and do all this other shit. Why couldn’t you be happy with that.”
“I am. I was,” I correct through my cloud of confusion. “Dad never talked to me. Why the hell didn’t you bring this up before?” Is this why she’s been so grumpy for the last week?
“I don’t know? Because I didn’t want to seem like some whiny brat who ruined Christmas because she didn’t get what she wanted.”
“June, you were still being an ass,” Pen says, walking into the room to join us. Well, actually, she walks past us to the small balcony to lift up a small potted plant and grab a bag of what’s unmistakably weed. “Fuck, yeah, I was hoping I hadn’t used this already.”
“Can’t you just go into town and grab that?” June asks.
“Dispensary is closed for the day. This isn’t too old—should be fine. Give me a second and I can roll a joint. Seems like you both need to partake now that you’re coming to terms with the fact that Dad is a manipulative ass,” she explains, holding the small bag to the light to inspect her finding. “Why do you think I worked so hard to get a sponsorship and leave this place?”
“He cares,” I say, feebly defending the man. I’ve done it over and over, trying to understand him, justifying his actions. I don’t want to anymore. Not with him playing with our lives like this.
“He does, but that doesn’t mean he’s good at showing it the right way. So, are you going to let June take over as heir apparent and stop torturing us with your moping or what?” Pen asks.
“You knew?” I ask.
“Yeah, but it’s not like either of you would listen when you both act like I’m a kid.”
“Whatever, we learned our lesson. Now will you roll the damn joint, Pen,” June grumbles.
Pen does and we sit out back as the herbal smoke wafts up into the mid-morning air, reminiscing on all the things Dad would do. Siblings can be a fucking headache, but who else can you share your collective trauma with while laughing like total idiots.
“Liam, is that weed?” Dad’s voice booms as he charges through the office.
“Yeah, you want some?” Pen offers.
“It’s the middle of the work day and you’re all high. I expected you to take responsibility, not to lounge around. This isn’t some free ride,” he demands, the vein in his forehead pulsing.
“Seems like June expected you and I to have a chat you conveniently forgot about,” I tell him through my blissful haze.
