“Grant and his friends raised over one hundred thousand dollars for the center earlier this year. He’s quite the philanthropist,” I say patting him on the arm.
“That he is. I’ve never seen Grant make a bad investment.”
The deep mahogany covered walls move a few inches closer and the air grows stuffy. The two men turn back to small talk and I sit down, my stomach tight. A few deep breaths stop the table from shaking. Or maybe it’s because I removed my unsteady hands from the edge.
I need to get out of here.
From the corner of my eye, a tall slender woman in a blue sequined dress approaches our table. Her hand wraps around William’s arm as she smiles up at him. Her evening attire put the single pair of black dress pants I own with the light green blouse I borrowed from Aspen to shame. My stepmother is gorgeous, but she has nothing on my mom in her twenties. Well except the right last name and breeding qualities. I’m sure William didn’t meet his wife at an Aerosmith concert and have an illicit eleven-month affair resulting in a baby.
“William dear, our table is ready,” she says in a sickly sweet voice and tugs on his arm. The pair make their goodbyes and head in the other direction.
I muster a small wave to remain polite, but neither of them spare me a second glance. That’s the way it’s always been. I’ve never had any desire to meet my father. Now I remember why.
Every few years I run a Google search on him and give my mother an update on where his life went, but I’ve never wanted more. Even as we lived in rat-infested apartments and struggled to eat, she concerned herself with whether William prospered.
Love does absolutely disgusting mutations to the human mind.
It ruins lives.
Starts wars.
Tragedy.
“Are you okay?” Grant asks taking a seat at the table again. “Your face is completely white. Are you feeling ill?”
Oh, I’m sick all right. Tears well up and threaten to spill. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
I slide my chair back from the table to make a hasty exit.
My feet take a small step up to the next level of the raised restaurant when Grant calls out, “Clare, wait!”
But I don’t stop.
An elevator waits, its doors open, ready for the next person and I walk in without a moment’s hesitation. The first tear drips down my face as I hit the L button for lobby. The doors close, sealing me in the small room right as Grant’s face clears the restaurant doorway.
It’s better he not see me cry. That would lead to a lot of questions. My tears grow stronger with every floor the elevator sails past until it dings, announcing my arrival on the ground floor. The taxi stand is straight to the front door and I walk as quickly as possible without running. My breath comes in short gasps and I struggle to get control long enough to tell a cab where to take me.
So many times I’ve envisioned what I’d do when I met my father. None of my fantasies happened like this. I was supposed to be strong and independent. Flippant. Someone unconcerned with a missing father in my childhood. I never expected not to be recognized.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and approach the valet with a straight back. For what it’s worth he pretends I’m not crying like an idiot and quickly hails a cab. It isn’t until he’s holding the door open I remember I’m not carrying any cash. I keep going, sure Drew will loan me a few dollars when I make it home.
“Clare! Stop!”
I turn back at Grant’s voice.
Grant continues running right up to the cab door, his hand holding on the frame to stop it from closing. He shoots the valet a murderous look and the young kid steps away. The bravado only last a few seconds before he doubles over, a hand to his side as he gasps for air.
“Grant, how did you get down here?”
“Threw… credit card… on table,” he gasped between each word.
“Did you take the stairs?”
“Only the last… ten flights. Mine stopped… To let people on… couldn’t wait.”
I sniffle and wipe away the new tears created from his dedication. Damn him for being sweet.
“Come on.” He stands but tilts to the side obviously not fully recovered. “Let’s go.”
