Brick heartily agreed, though.
“That’s what I’ve been saying! The USCA has to let our Minnesota hockey teams...”
More Portuguese.
Okay, so Yom was not only here but also talking to former-Governor Swain about Minnesota hockey at my brother’s swanky Chicago party. Normally, this would be the point where I checked out, but my dad—who I hadn’t seen or heard a peep from since I landed at O’Hare—appeared out of nowhere.
“Lydsie, there you are!” he said, pulling me in for a hug.
Well, as much of a hug as he could manage with Yom’s arm wrapped like a steel band around my waist.
As usual, he smelled of cigars and expensive cologne, and like Yom, he also wasn’t wearing a slim-fit tuxedo. In fact, the vest under his double-breasted jacket appeared to be serving as a girdle to contain his sizable gut.
“People prefer doing business with jolly fat men,” he once assured me after convincing Weiss Fox, a beer company headquartered in Guadalajara, Missouri, to open up a second Midwestern factory on a parcel of land he happened to own just outside of Gemidgee. “Makes them feel like they’re giving money to Santa Claus.”
“Hi, Dad,” I said, giving him an awkward one-armed hug back. “This is Yom. Yom, this is my dad.”
“Mr. Carrington. It is honor to meet you,” Yom said, extending his hand.
“The honor’s all mine. I’ve been telling Lydia to bring you down to see us in Excelsior.”
With an inward sigh, I settled into Dad Translation—one of my favorite games for keeping my mind occupied at events that somehow managed to be both overstimulating and boring as hell. It was basically my version of the YouTube classic Honest Trailers.
Dad: I’ve been telling Lydia to bring you down to see us in Excelsior.
Dad Translation:I’ve been inundating Lydia with text messages about how committed you were to going to the Indiana Polar. And then, when she told me “completely,” I badgered her with more questions she had no idea how to answer. I never once told her to bring you down to our house.
“Though, from what I hear, our little lake house in Minneapolis hardly compares to yours in Gemidgee,” Dad said with a jovial laugh. “How many acres did you score up there? Four? Five?”
Dad Translation:I wouldn’t move to a small town like Gemidgee in a thousand years. But I like beginning every conversation with an ego stroke.
“Only three,” Yom answered, as if that number were oh-so-humble.
“Well, we weren’t even able to get up to two for our place in Excelsior. They’ve got us packed in tight over there.”
Dad Translation:My mansion size is directly correlated to my ego, and I’m still upset that the “King of Commercial Minnesota Real Estate” can see his next-door neighbor on one side of the house.
It took all of my mom’s society training to keep my eyes from rolling.
Speaking of which...
Mom swooped into the conversation, alighting like a perfumed crane in a red evening gown at Dad’s left side.
“My darling, why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend would be coming?” Mom shot me one of those kittenish pouts that only rich ladies of a certain age could pull off. “You know your father and I have been dying to meet him!”
Mom Translation:I asked Lydia about the boyfriend rumors exactly once at breakfast, then said, “I assumed that was the case. No offense, darling, but why would a Rustanov choose you over a Tri Kappa sorority girl? When I attended UMG, we were the only choice for men from his sort of background,” after she answered that you two were only housemates.
Not going to lie—her accepting my explanation for the boyfriend rumors so easily kind of stung. I didn’t know whether to feel vindicated or annoyed over Mom switching gears faster than a race car before she stepped forward to introduce herself to Yom with a, “Abigail Carrington. So lovely to meet you.”
Yom once again stuck out his hand like a cyborg who’d read a single book about how real humans behave.
Mom bypassed his palm to give him an air kiss, which I imagined would make for a great image for the party’s photographer and videographer, who’d just so happened to follow her over here.
The photographer’s camera clicked in the background as she said, “Thanks for coming down to Chicago for Paul’s little soiree.”
“I know it must have been hard to squeeze us in with the Big Ten coming up,” Dad added in that affable way that made him seem like a teddy bear when he was really a shark.
“Yes, this party is hard for me to squeeze in,” Yom agreed in his exact opposite, super-direct way. “Perhaps you will tell me when Lydia’s party will be in three weeks? Her birthday is during spring break,nyet? And we now have many practices scheduled for then.”
