I don’t even know what this is.
We aren’t friends. We are not enemies either.
And we definitely aren’t just pretending, not after last night.
But what are we? What the fuck am I?
…
By the time we pull up to the building, I already have a headache. I take the elevator to the top floor, nod at two assistants, keep walking. I know how to wear this version of me, the clean, professional,yes sirversion, the one my father doesn’t yell at, the one the others respect just enough to leave alone.
The doors open.
I step into the meeting room, and immediately I feel it.
Something is off.
The room is half full, people standing around, chatting softly, the usual. But my father is already seated at the far end of the table, and he doesn’t look at me.
Not even a nod.
Okay.
I walk to my seat, greet two people politely, sit down, wait.
Still nothing. No glance. No greeting. Nothing.
My mother sits beside him, sipping from a tiny glass of water. I lean toward her. "Is he mad at me?"
She keeps her face forward, smiles softly. "We’ll talk after."
My stomach drops. That means yes. And bad.
What the hell did I do?
What did I forget?
Did I slip up somehow?
Did I send the wrong file?
Did I miss a check-in for the hotel?
Did he hear something?
See something?
My brain sprints through every possibility at once, none of them helpful. I bite my lip hard, trying to ground myself.
He can’t know.
There’s no way.
Maybe I forgot a signature.
Maybe a shipment is delayed.
Maybe I misfiled one stupid document and he’s blowing it out of proportion.
