He follows me into the kitchen and as I know my way around, I jerk my chin for him to take a seat, and I grab a bottle of Mr. Burley’s whiskey and two glasses from the cupboard.
I join him at the table, choosing to sit opposite and a smirk plays around his mouth.
“What?”
I’d like to know what he finds so amusing. I pour half a glass of the amber liquid, having no idea about proper measures and slide the glass across the table to him.
He scoops it up and throws the entire contents down his throat. Slamming it on the tabletop, he slides it back for another.
Pouring myself a glass, I top his up and put the bottle down. I slide him his drink and take a sip from mine. The liquid burnsmy throat on the way down and feels like a fire has been lit in my chest.
“You amuse me,” he says.
I frown. “In what way?”
He lifts the glass and swirls the whiskey as he says, “You’re not how I imagined you’d be like. I’m not often wrong so when I am, I find it amusing.”
I don’t need to ask how he imagined me to be, I can already imagine he thought I’d be a spoilt brat. I don’t deny I usually get what I want from my dad, but I don’t ask for much and I don’t feel the need to show off the things I do get. I know my life is privileged, that not everyone has the same luxuries I do.
“How long have they been seeing each other?” I ask to steer away from talking about me.
“Isn’t she your best friend? Shouldn’t you know?”
I should know but I’m not a fool, I know she’s not been telling me everything, especially when it comes to Tariq. A few months ago, she would disappear for days at a time, she would be vague when she returned and then I found out she had met Tariq.
“You’d think so, but there was a period when she went radio silent on me. I’m guessing she met him then, he’s certainly been around ever since.”
He stays quiet for a beat and finishes his drink. He doesn’t slide the glass for a refill.
“I take it your house is just as big as this place?” he asks, leaning his arms on the table.
He notices when I cringe, his eyes holding me in place, weighing me down.
“It’s a little bigger, only by two bedrooms and our pool is bigger.”
God, I sound stupid but it’s the truth and he asked.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?”
“Six.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and disgust. He looks around the kitchen, making his own assumptions about what the rest of the house must be like, and I too look around trying to see it through his eyes.
“What does your dad do to afford a place bigger than this one?”
“He owns a publishing house. It’s been in our family for nearly a hundred years.”
I’m expected to follow in my father’s footsteps and go to college, get a degree, ready to join the family business. I’m not sure what I want, and I’m not fixed to know what I want right now. What I’m content to do now is enjoy my last few weeks at school before my father gets on my back about college. I’ve been accepted to a few different colleges, but if I attend is a different story.
“What does your dad do?” As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I instantly regret it. His jaw tightens, though I assume he hopes I didn’t catch it.
“He’s in prison, he won’t be out in this lifetime.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
He narrows his eyes, tilting his head as he stares at me. I curl my fingers around my drink and take a small sip to wet my lips for something to do.
“Who are you?”
