“Nothing much.” Talia smiles tightly. “I’m just going to use the restroom to freshen up. Which of the nine—?”
“Eight,” Townsend corrects her again. “And the closest one is through the kitchen down the hall. Want me to take you?”
“I think I can handle it. Excuse me.” She smiles—a little more warmly this time—and heads off to the bathroom. Then Townsend turns his attention to Mother.
“What was that about? She seemed upset.”
“What?” Mother puts one hand on her hip, the other gripping a shrimp cocktail that she probably won’t eat. “I can’t have a chat with your girlfriend?”
Townsend feels the eyes from his father’s portrait watching him again, but he ignores them. “Not if that chat is an inquisition.”
“I was just asking her more about her people.”
“Her people?”
“I think it’s strange,” Mother continues, “that you don’t share any mutuals or connections.”
“What’s so bad about being from different backgrounds?”
His mom gestures to the guests around them. “I know these people. I know where they golf, where they vacation, where they went to school, and where they’re going to send their children to school. I don’t know anything about your girlfriend’s people, and because of that, I can’t trust her.”
“C’mon, Mom. You can’t trust her because she doesn’t have a chalet in Aspen or a degree from an Ivy League school? Doesn’t that seem a bit elitist to you?” He’s getting heated now. “It seems like no one I date is good enough for you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Remember Heather, who you said had cheap shoes? Or Dahlia, whose teeth you didn’t like? You practically ran them both out of town. And now Talia—”
“I can’t trust Talia,” Mother interrupts in a stage whisper, “because she is hiding something.”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know her.”
“Do you? What kind of young woman doesn’t speak to her family? It just isn’t right, if you ask me.”
Townsend tries to keep from rolling his eyes. His mom must also be feeling the effects of the strong palomas. “Right. Well. While we’re on the subject of trust”—he checks the hallway behind her to see if Talia has reappeared yet—“have you given any more thought to me accessing my trust?”
“Whatever for?”
“I told you, Mom. I need funding for my company.”
Mother looks unsurprised, maybe even amused, by this news. “What happened to those meetings you’ve had with investors? All that talk about partnerships?”
“I have a partnership lined up—a big one, actually.” Townsend waits for his mom to offer praise (or any sort of reaction, really), and when she doesn’t, he continues. “But I still need money. I need to expand. I need to grow.”
“Townsend.” Her sigh reminds him of Orson’s reaction when Townsend had asked about the pitch meeting. “I cannot get into this with you right now.” She gestures grandly again. “I have a party of people to entertain. This is neither the time nor the place.”
“But when will be?” he asks, his voice dangerously close to a whine.
“We’ll talk.” Mother makes eye contact with someone over his shoulder and nods, and when he turns, he finds Talia, anxiously tucking her hair behind one ear.
He leans in close to her. “Let’s get out of here soon, yeah?”
Talia grins, visibly relieved.
“But first ...” Townsend runs his hand along the back pocket of his chinos, feeling for his keys. “Stay here for a second, will you? I’m just going to see if my car is blocked in.”
Outside, the air is stifling, but it’s still a relief, being out of that house. As he starts down the street toward the car, loafers smacking on the pavement, it occurs to him that he’s drunker than he realized, because heswearshe can see that fucking filthy white Honda Accord, double-parked right alongside his roadster. But that would beimpossible, because his parents’ house is in a gated neighborhood. An unregistered visitor would never be able to get in. Right?
As he approaches, the Honda suddenly roars to life. It is her. And she’s going to try and drive away. He can’t let her keep running.
