I struggle to keep the cold marble table from touching my wrists. It’s not the first time I’ve been to dinner with my detached family, and I know it won’t be my last, but I still haven’t adjusted to the butlers squaring away designer coats and handbags.
My gray half-zip sweater and khaki cargo pants are a visual representation of the distance between myself and the McCarthys. I feel like the outlier, act like one, and look the part, too.
It’s been a few years since Keller shoved his way back into my life and suddenly took an interest in playing Dad, but these people still feel like strangers to me.
Around the table, there are five of us. A millionaire businessman, his socialite wife, the two kids he’s shown off to the world since the days they were born. And his oldest son, who only recently became worth his time.
A waiter mumbles to enjoy the oysters he’s placed in front of me just as Keller lifts his champagne in the air.
“To my son, congratulations on making it into graduate school! You have achieved everything I knew you would.” From the other end of the table, there’s a clear view of my father’s wide smile. “I’m so, so proud of you.”
I pinch the stem of my own glass and raise it in the air, knowing the awkward feeling in my chest won’t go away.
Billie’s high-pitched voice calls out, “To Locke!”
“To Locke!”
Everyone at the table repeats her, except me.
I knock my glass against Locke’s in the center, his head bowing down while my half-sister cheers for him. They’re eerily similar in looks. Buttery blonde hair, high cheekbones, and a nose to match. The distinct color of our eyes is the single piece of physical proof that I’m related to them, too.
We haven’t had many interactions, and even less conversations, but sometimes growing up I would scour the internet for signs of life from my father. He wouldn’t call for holidays, but younger me spent Christmases looking at paparazzi photos of him with Locke and Billie. Occasionalinterviews showed the difference in their personalities. Locke stoic and straight-faced, Billie energetic and bubbly.
I knew what to expect of them before we were introduced.
When we met a few years ago, they appeared exactly as the media painted them. Classy and chic, wearing luxury brands and expensive jewelry; though there wasn’t any paparazzi to report what they wore to my mother’s funeral.
And although they were kind enough to offer their condolences, the conversation was no more than, “We’re so sorry for your loss,” and, “Let us know if you need anything.” Nothing close to what a real sibling bond should be.
“Grant.” Keller has started on his own beef dinner—because having a live-in chef means you can request multiple, high-class meals in one night, I guess. “Aren’t you excited your brother will be going to the same school as you?”
I cover my grimace with a sip of champagne before gritting out, “Yeah, sure. So excited.”
I wasn’t excited to come to this dinner, let alone see Locke outside of the McCarthy get-togethers I feel forced into. He rarely speaks—to anyone, and definitely not me—but there’s not much you need to know about a guy like Locke.
He’s the son of a millionaire, goes to an ivy league college, is planning to take over the family business one day. There’s no doubt in my mind his early entry into a graduate program is courtesy of our last name.
When he does enroll at Brookstone next semester, I’ll do the same thing to him there that I do here. I’ll avoid him.
“I’m sure Locke can't wait to spend more time with you.” My stepmother, Mina, reaches over to pat his head lovingly. Locke’s demeanor shrinks. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, he says, “Sure.”
I manage a nod.
“Would you guys even see each other on campus?” Billie wipes the corners of her mouth with a gold embroidered napkin and asks, “Grant, aren't you an art student?”
The forkful of lobster pauses halfway to my mouth. I’m not sure how or why she remembers this about me. It feels unnaturally close, despite being a one-off fact.
“Yeah. Focus in illustration.”
“Right.” She snaps her fingers and points at me, then to Locke. “And he wanted to be a STEM girlboss. Would you guys run into each other if you’re not learning the same stuff?”
Locke’s eye twitches. It’s the most movement from his face I’ve seen all night.
“Stopcalling me a girlboss.”
“What’s wrong with being called a girlboss? Fuck the patriarchy, dude.”
