“We weren’t invited,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Invited? Seriously? You need a written invitation to stop by?”
“Your mother never wanted a relationship with us. She made that clear after Devon left.”
He’s either lying or making assumptions that aren’t true. My mom always made it sound like it was my dad’s side of the family that wanted nothing to do with us, not the other way around.
“After Devon left New York and moved back to California,” Brock says, “your mother told him she wanted nothing to do with the Halliways.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, getting angry. “I still saw my dad. And I would’ve seen him even more if he wasn’t spending allhis time in rehab. My mom never tried to keep him away. She wanted me to have a relationship with him, but he fucked it up.”
“Okay, then.” Brock picks up his phone.
I snatch it from him. “Are you implying my mom tried to keep my dad from me?”
Brock reaches for his phone. “Give it to me. I need to check messages. I’m waiting to hear back from my agent.”
“You can have it when you tell me what you know.”
“This is something you need to discuss with your father. I’m not getting in the middle of it.”
“But you know something. Something you’re not telling me.”
“I already told you what I know.”
“That my mom cut you guys out of my life? You’re lying. I know her better than anyone and she’d never do that.”
“Give me the phone,” he says in a sinister tone that matches the sinister look on his face. It’s probably an actor thing, pretending to be scary when you’re not, but it still freaks me out.
“Rumor, give me the phone.” He holds out his hand. “Now!”
When I don’t, he grabs it from me and then takes a breath to calm himself as he checks his messages.
The waitress stops by the table. She’s just as gorgeous as the hostess.
“Sorry about the wait,” she says. “Can I get you some drinks?”
“Sparkling water with lime,” Brock says, glancing up from his phone. “And we need to place our lunch order. I have to leave for a meeting soon.”
“Certainly, Mr. Halliway,” she says, giving him a flirtatious smile.
What the hell? She’s like twenty-two. He’s gotta be at least forty-five, maybe older. It’s hard to tell with all the face work he’s had done. His skin is so tight it looks like he’s wearing a mask.
“Rumor, go ahead,” Brock says.
I quickly read over the menu. Everything on there is stuff I don’t eat. Bean sprouts. Tofu. Kale.
I look at the waitress. “What do you recommend?”
“The kale salad is my favorite.” She points to it on the menu. “It comes dressed in a lemon vinaigrette, but we can do it on the side, if you like.”
“Mixed in is fine. I’ll go with that.”
“Would you like the cheese?”
“It has cheese?” I check the menu again.
“It has light feta, but if you’re dairy free or vegan I can leave it off.”
