I jump right over the girlfriend part, not as scared by it as I’d expect, but make a promise to come back to that discussion point later. “I’ve worked too hard and overcome too much to be married off and paraded around like arm candy.”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. It’s cake not a marriage proposal.” Grant’s face falls into one of concentration. “What have you overcome?”
Crap. I definitely overshared. “Things.”
“Will you ever trust me enough to tell me more about yourself?”
Now I’m the one to answer with a shrug giving him the possibility of hope even though I know the answer is never. It would be a quick end for us after he learns those stories.
**
The last half of my perfectly round-cut filet mignon and the three little shrimp sitting on top all laugh at me as I stare down at it forlornly. It’s definitely time for me to tap out.
I ate the salad.
I ate the chicken tortilla soup.
I ate most of the steak.
But I can’t go on. I’ve never had to worry about it before, but I’m pretty sure filet mignon doesn’t taste as good coming back up.
From his side of the table Grant’s eyes are downcast, but his lip twitches like he’s suppressing a smile. At least he’s smart enough he hasn’t made a comment. Yet.
I toss my napkin beside my plate, figuratively throwing in the towel. Grant’s head pops up, but he looks past me. He stands quickly and reaches a hand out before I turn to see who has him excited.
My stomach flops and the blood runs from my face. The dinner I forced down threatens to come back up. Neither of the two men next to me notice.
Grant shakes hands with an older gentleman. His pressed black slacks with a matching suit jacket and baby blue tie scream business. It’s Saturday evening, but he looks like he walked straight out of the boardroom. There are wrinkles around his eyes making him distinguished, but he still doesn’t look older than thirty-five.
But he is.
Much older in fact. He and Grant appear so close in age the man Grant idly chats with could easily be his father.
I know because he’s mine.
Drugs wreaked havoc on my mother’s body, prematurely aging her, but William Cunningham the third escaped a similar fate with the help of his family. Too bad their charity didn’t extend to his out of wedlock baby or her once perfectly happy mother.
It’s nice to see dear old dad doing so well for himself. A small part of me realized this day would come, but it’s not a family reunion you are ever ready to attend. With determination from an unknown source inside of me, I stare up and meet my father’s eyes for the first time in twenty-four years.
He blinks. And reaches out a long arm to shake my hand. There is not an ounce of recognition in his eyes. Granted he only saw me a few times as an infant, but isn’t a parent supposed to know? What about those stories of parents being separated from their children and spotting them years later across a crowded room?
“This is William Cunningham the third,” Grant introduces me like I’m meeting the pope.
He smiles a huge toothy grin and winks at me. My stomach falls. Grant might not fully understand the name connection, but it’s obvious he plans to make a big deal of it now. “And William, this is Clare –”
I stand from the table, jostling the water glasses. “It’s so nice to meet you,” I rush the reply before Grant discloses my last name.
Grant shoots me a questioning expression but continues with the conversation flawlessly. “Clare works at the San Francisco youth center. She’s the director. In charge of all the operations.” His eyes light up as he talks about me. For the first time I see myself through his eyes. He sounds proud.
William — he’s never earned the name dad — nods his head. He shoots a thin smile in my direction and then immediately dismisses me turning his attention back to Grant.
Even as a companion to Grant I’m not good enough for him.
“Ahh. It makes sense now, Grant.” He claps him on the shoulder like they’re best buddies. “How much has she squeezed you for in donations?” He laughs like it’s the funniest joke anyone has ever heard.
It stings. Obviously he thinks the only reason Grant would be seen with someone like me would be over work with the center. There’s not a chance we’d be a couple or anything. It’s like watching every single fear or insecurity I’ve had about Grant and me played out before my very eyes.
Grant leans forward like he’s about to stick up for me or do something worse like introduce me as his girlfriend. I’m not particularly fond of either option.
