“Joseph, we had lunch early today because of the Gala tonight. It’s not Joe’s fault. I must have forgotten to tell him about the early start.” Mom walked to the bar, and when she turned to give me a bottle of water from the minifridge under the counter, she winked and mouthedthe DelVecchios were here for lunch.
My look of horror made her smirk. As I got over the massive minefield my mother had saved me from, I mouthed backI love you so much. Thanks!
Our silent exchange was interrupted by my father’s continued grumbling. “Well, I suppose mistakes happen, but it’s most inconvenient.” He turned from filling his crystal tumbler for the second time with what I knew would be a very expensive Scotch. His eyes weren’t glassy, and he didn’t spill any, so that was a definite silver lining to having guests for our family lunch. “You know my plans for you and DelVecchio’s daughter Veronica. She’s an attractive girl and has a nice pedigree for an Omega. You would do well to go ahead and pin her down for yourself, Trip.”
Hearing my father return, yet a fucking gain, to his insistence that I marry Veronica made my blood boil. Not even feeling my mom grab hold of my hand and squeeze could stop me from letting go of the anxiety I’d been pushing down the entire two hours it had taken to drive here.
“My name is not Trip, Father. I might be Joseph Alexander Langford the third, but I’m not Trip. I don’t care if it is the traditional nickname for a third in the family. I’m just plain Joe, just like Papa Joe was.”
Father’s face was turning red. “I’ll call you what I like. I’ve always called you Trip.” I held up my hand to shut him up. I should have heeded my mom’s death grip on my hand and her pleading eyes, but I didn’t stop. This had been a long time coming.
“I have repeatedly told you to call me Joe, but you refuse to listen.” I wrenched my hand out of my mother’s grip and finally twisted open the water bottle she’d given me to take a huge swig before I continued. I twisted the lid back on the top, then moved my feet into a sideways stance like I was about to fight. Actually, that was exactly what I was about to do. I tipped the bottle in my hand to point it directly at my father across the room. “As a matter of fact, you don’t listen to anything I say. Ever.”
He took a breath to speak, but I beat him to it. “Nope, that is not up for debate. You want examples? Fine, I’ll give you examples.”
Mom stepped in front of me and tried to take the water bottle I was brandishing out of my hand. “Sweetheart, he doesn’t mean any harm or insult. You know that. I have a lovely cake in the kitchen for you. It’s carrot cake, your favorite.”
I let her have the bottle reluctantly. “I don’t want any cake, Mom. And you might think he doesn’t mean any harm by ignoring my repeated requests, but it’s harmful anyway.” I returned my full attention to my father and finished my previous thoughts, still speaking to my mom, drilling holes into his head. “He doesn’t call me what I want to be called. He keeps trying to marry me off to some girl because he wants to go into business with the girl’s dad and his company. I’m never going to marry someone just because you want me to. That’s barbaric. And even if I were going to let you pick, they’d have to at least be the right gender!”
I heard my mom gasp to my right, but I kept my gaze on my father. He stiffened, placed his empty tumbler on the mahogany bar, then left the room. From the sound of his steps changing from carpet to tile and back to carpet, I knew that he’d retreated to his library in the back of the house. He’d stay there the rest of the night, more than likely. It was always the same. I told him I was going to live my life on my own terms and love who I wanted to love, and he would walk away and refuse to acknowledge any of it.
The fight left me, and my exhaustion hit so suddenly that I flopped down into the navy-blue chesterfield sofa behind me and sank into the worn leather and tufting. Mom came over and sat on the matching sofa opposite me, shaking her head as I settled my large feet in my beat-upVansonto her coffee table.
“Joe, you know you can’t come at your father directly like that. He just digs in and won’t budge.”
“Mom, you keep saying that, but it’s been fifteen years, and he still won’t acknowledge that I’m not into girls. I know I’ve had it easy since I have my trust from Papa Joe to pay for everything while I’m in school.”
“You’re more than lucky. That trust will pay for your tuition and living expenses while you’re in school. But you, honey, you can’t stay in school forever. You’re almost thirty years old and still haven’t even gotten a Bachelor’s degree in anything. You’ve put your life on permanent hold. Don’t you want to get married to a nice Omega and settle down? Have a family of your own?”
I flopped my head onto the sofa with a sigh that I felt came from my tired soul. “Of course, I want a family of my own, Mom. I want a husband and kids and the white picket fence. I want it more than you can even imagine.” I heaved my feet off the table and straightened up, reaching for the water bottle Mom passed me across the space between us.
“I want the family and the dream, but I want it my way, Mom. I want to pick my partner, maybe I’ll even get lucky and find my mate, but no matter what, I want to be the one who decides my fate. I won’t waste my chances for love and happiness on a sham marriage to help my father with a business merger.”
Mom remained quiet while I finished my water, then stood up to throw the bottle in the recycling box under the bar counter next to the fridge. When I returned to my seat on the sofa, she met my eyes, a seriousness in their depths I hadn’t seen in a long while. The last time I’d seen that look, she’d been about to tell me that my goldfish, Buster, had died and we needed to plan the funeral. That was the last pet we’d had in the house.
“Joe, I understand what you want and why. I do. I admire you for holding out for your dream. Now that I understand how you feel, I need to tell you something about the trust. I know you’ve been going through your father all this time for your stipends and payments.” We heard a noise from the other side of the room, and she whipped around to look in that direction. Silence settled over the house until we heard the water kick on to fill the ice maker at the bar. Satisfied we weren’t being overheard, Mom leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Your father is not your real trustee, honey. Your dad handled all the paperwork for you when you started school because we decided you were still a little too immature to handle it on your own, but now...” Her voice trailed off. “Now, you’re ready. Maybe it’s time we let you take over so you can quit waiting and make a life for yourself.”
“Has Father been stealing from my trust all this time? What the hell, Mom!” I couldn’t help the accusation any more than I could help the volume I had made it with.
She pushed her hands in the air toward me to get me to hush. “No, of course, he hasn’t been stealing from the trust. Don’t be an ass, honey. You and your father might not get along, but he’s not evil. He’s just set in his ways and stubborn. He loves you. He just thinks he knows what’s best for you, and he’s been seriously wrong for a long time. We both have. I see that now.” Mom got up, walked out of the room for a moment, and then returned with a black business card. “This is the contact information for your trustee and advisor. We’ve never met him. We called once and were instructed to email every time we needed to access the trust for you and the money was released to your account. Call the number and set up a meeting with him when you get back to Lakeview. His office is near there, I believe.”
I felt the cold metal business card slowly warm in my hand as I read the two lines of text and a phone number.
The Moffett Group
Grover Moffett, esq
“The name sounds morelike a Muppet than a lawyer or financial guru.”
“Don’t be flippant, Joseph. Your grandfather put a great deal of trust in that group. Get it, a lot of trust.” She couldn’t help but giggle at her pun.
I groaned but loved that Mom was back to being her silly, lighthearted self. “That was so bad, Mom.”
“I know, honey, but at least it got you laughing again.” She slapped her hands onto her khaki-covered knees and stood up. “Let’s go get you some of our lunch and cake packed up for you. I know you can’t stay, so let’s get you ready to head back before it gets dark.”
As she walked away, I noticed that her auburn hair, which had once been the same exact color as mine, was showing more lighter silver strands than red. She was getting older. As I stood up, I got a familiar twinge in my right knee but ignored it like I always did. We were all getting older, weren’t we?
I followed her into the kitchen, stealing bites of cake when she turned her back like I had when I was little. When I had kids, I’d turn around on purpose so they could steal bites of cake or cookies, too. I stayed for another hour sitting at the kitchen table with Mom, listening to her complain about the ladies in the garden club shutting her out for the grand prize for her roses and nagging me about my beard. It was comforting to be home with her, but all the while, I kept going back to the card in my pocket—start living my life.
