Shit. Get it together. It’s Tanner for Christ’s sake.
“Yeah, for sure.”
I walk toward the DJ, trying to shake off whatever the hell that was because I know better, and if my judgment is failing, it’s definitely time for me to go home.
CHAPTER 7: THE ACTUAL EMBODIMENT OF ALL MY DEEPEST AND DARKEST INSECURITIES
TANNER
“You’re what?” my dad’s voice reverberates off the walls of my parents’ dining room. He stands abruptly, causing the whole table to shift. The wine I just poured threatens to slosh over the edge of my glass, and my brother’s fork clangs against the fine china plate my mother insisted we use because the whole family was together.
I look quickly between the five people in front of me. Bella, my younger sister, stares down at her phone, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Mitch and his wife, Farah, are staring dumbfounded at my father. My mother wipes the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin and then slowly rises to meet my dad. She moves her hand down his back, offering him a small smile. There is no mirror in the dining room, but I’m sure my face is somewhere between surprised and confused as shit because I, for one, am flabbergasted that I was not the cause of the look spread across my dad’s face.
When I arrived at my parents’ house tonight, I had no doubt that I would be seeing the look—this look—before theevening was over. It’s the same look that tucked me into bed most nights after a long lecture about needing to listen. The look that stared back at me while I struggled with my homework from the time I was six until I was fourteen. The look that met me when I stepped off the lacrosse field after every game. The look that paints his face on the days I make it into the office.
And I was fully expecting the“I’m fucking disappointed in who you are. Do better. Grow up. When are you ever going to make me proud?”look when I told him that I wanted to pursue purchasing The Local and leave the family company. For three weeks, I’ve been waiting patiently for him to get back in town, for him to have time to meet with me, and now it’s all going to shit.
Tonight was supposed to be like every other family meal we’ve ever had—dinner, drinks, dessert, and the actual embodiment of all my deepest, darkest insecurities.
It was supposed to start with my parents doting on my little sister over drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Then, during the main course, the conversation was supposed to switch to the part of the evening where Mitt and Mitch bore us all with talk about how fantastic the family business is doing, most of which is news to me because, despite me working with them, I’m rarely kept in the loop. And then for dessert, I would remind my dad that I once again didn’t live up to his expectations. But I’m still eating my steak, and the look has already made an appearance, and I’m quickly realizing my announcement isn’t going to happen.
“Dad, if you would just hear us out,” Mitch tries.
My dad inhales and then lets out a long, audible breath.
“Sit down, honey,” my mom encourages, rubbing his back again, but he doesn’t move.
Why is he being so fucking dramatic?
“Mitt, this isn’t Mitch’s fault,” Farah explains. My brothergrabs her hand and squeezes it tenderly. “It’s my job, and I can assure you I tried everything I could to stay in the country, but it’s not feasible.”
My dad ignores her, turning his head toward my brother. Every second of silence seems to fill the air like helium in a balloon, pulling the surface tighter and tighter until it threatens to burst completely.
“You know how much we have on the line right now,” my dad barks, shaking his head.
“I know,” my brother begins. “But Farah is my wife, and this promotion?—”
Fleur, my parents’ private chef, walks backwards through the door holding a round cake covered in white icing, interrupting my brother. “Dessert is serv—,” she sings in a French accent, flipping around. She stops abruptly when she realizes she’s interrupted whatever the hell is going on here. I let out a loud laugh that I quickly try to muffle when my father’s eyes shoot in my direction.
“Should I come back?” she asks, hesitantly.
“No, it’s fine,” my mom says through clenched teeth.
She pulls my dad back into his chair, and they both sit. My father continues to glare in my brother’s direction while Fleur slices the cake and serves each of us. The silence in the room is deafening, and I still can’t figure out why my sister-in-law’s promotion caused such a visceral reaction from my father.
“Dad, can we talk about this?” Mitch begs, once Fleur is back in the kitchen.
My father stands, throws his napkin across his plate, and then leaves the dining room.
I guess that’s a hard no.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask, looking toward my brother.
“It’s complicated,” Mitch huffs out. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Why? Because I’m me? I know about your secret little meetings. Just tell me why you having to move is such a big deal. You’re an asset to the company, of course, but why is Dad reacting like this?”
Mitch downs his glass of wine. “Should I follow him?” he asks.
