I’m pulling my luxury SUV out of my building’s parking garage when my phone rings. I push the hands-free button to answer, Eric’s name flashing across the built in display in the dash.
“What do you want, Eric?”
“Hey, man. How’re you feeling this morning? Nostalgic?”
Eric’s deep laugh spills from the speakers and fills my car, sending another painful throb through my head. Guess that shower didn’t help as much as I’d hoped.
“Haha, you’re hilarious.”
“I know. Listen. I wanted to see if you wanted to meet up with the guys and play some ball. I need to blow off some steam.”
“I’m on my way to my parents’ house now. Later?”
“Oh, shit. You’re really doing that today? I thought you were talking out of your ass last night. Are you in any shape to throw down with Mommy and Daddy Warbucks? You drank a lot last night. Like, a lot, a lot. Your mom is going to have a shit fit as soon as she sees your hungover face.”
“I need to catch her before she heads out to meet her friends for their daily shopping-slash-looking down on the poor folk excursion.”
“Ah, yes. I wonder if my mother will join them today. She said she’s been sad lately and nothing makes her happier than belittling the poor retail workers who need to serve her to make a living. It amazes me how quickly they forgot where they came from.”
Eric and I grew up together, but we’re not really from the world our parents have been trying to force us into. My parents are what the society types in Westborough like to call “new money”, and his parents are the same. The Baxter’s shoe empire started bringing in the big money around the time I was ten. My family’s toy company took off right around my twelfth birthday, which means it hasn’t been much longer than twenty years since my mom had to serve tables at Maggie’s diner for grocery money. For a long time, the other rich families worked to keep us out of their inner circle, but our parents chased them so relentlessly that they eventually gave in. Both Eric and I wish they never had. Now it seems that in order to keep in their good graces, our mothers have to be the worst of all of them. It’s sad, really, because my mom isn’t necessarily a bad person. She just wants to fit in.
I have a strong sense that this whole Annabelle scheme is something my mother thinks she needs to do in order to look good to her so-called friends. She’s always trying to compensate for our money coming from somewhere other than oil and long-dead ancestors by attempting to make us lookrespectablein the eyes of Westborough high society. Never mind that I’m positive the toys we sell are in ninety-nine percent of those other families’ homes, more than likely several times over.
Fade Toys is a household name, after all.
“I’m sure she will be. They’re never far from each other.”
“True enough. When there’s a dumb plan afoot, you can bet our mothers are in it together. Which begs the question: does my mom know what’s going on with this Annabelle situation?”
“Even if she does, there’s nothing they can do about it without my participation. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not marrying Annabelle, regardless of who is planning the whole thing. Listen, I’m almost at my parents’ place. I’ll call you later to let you know how it goes.”
I hang up as I pull onto the road that leads to the richest neighborhood in Westborough, deliberately slowing down for the rest of the drive, because I don’t actually want to deal with this situation. They had a house built out here a few years back and they’ve been trying to sell it ever since. Some famous musician already lived out here in his ultra-modern mansion and my mom has the misguided notion that living so close to someone like that is unseemly. There was a commotion not long after they moved in where an obsessed fan attacked the guy in his home and the media attention that followed was too much for my parents. They worried the scandal would bring down property values. What I’m sure they don’t realize is that he no doubt has way more money than we ever will. He’s famous enough that having him in the neighborhood increases property values.
I pull up to the gate at the end of my parents’ driveway and key in the code on the control panel. The garish golden gate swings open silently and I creep my car inside. The house looms as I get closer and a sense of dread fills me. This house is so different from the one we lived in when I was a kid. At least back then, it felt like a home. Now they have an enormous house reminiscent of the one in that old movieAddams Family Values.You know, the one Debbie forces Fester to move to after he refuses to die on their honeymoon. Yeah, my parents are the Debbie Jelinsky of Westborough. I refuse to stay here long, so I drive around the ridiculous fountain in the center of the drive and park in front of the house. With a deep breath to fortify myself against whatever crap I’m about to face, I step out of my car and walk to the door. As I raise my hand to knock, it swings open, revealing my mother on the other side.
“Archer, my beautiful boy.” She holds her arms out to me and thrusts her cheek out. “I’ve missed you.”
“Mother,” I say, bending to kiss her. “I see you were expecting me.”
I didn’t tell her to expect me, so it’s interesting that she’s here at the door waiting for me to arrive.
“Oh, yes. I spoke to Annabelle this morning, and she told me you might stop by.” She smiles sweetly, like she didn’t just let it slip that she’s been conspiring with my ex.
My features harden at the mention of Annabelle. Despite her being the whole reason I’m here, hearing her name out of my mother’s mouth makes me tense. “Annabelle? Would you mind telling me why exactly you’re still talking to Annabelle a year after we broke up?”
She waves me off and walks back into the house, her heels clicking on the marble tile. “You’re right on time for a quick breakfast before I’m off to meet the girls. Come. Your father is already waiting on the terrace.”
I roll my eyes at her use of the wordterrace. She’s even changed her speech habits throughout the years she’s spent trying to fit in. I never could figure out what exactly was wrong with the word porch. It’s always seemed plenty fancy to me.
“Hey, Dad.” I seat myself across the table from him and pour a cup of coffee from the thermal carafe in front of me. “What have you been up to?”
Dad’s always had different ideas about fitting in than my mother, but he’s always gone along with her plans. In my younger years, Mom’s schemes would have me playing nice with the entitled assholes. Now, it seems she wants me to marry one. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s dating the daughter of someone my parents have spent years trying to impress. I should have known my mother would get something like this in her head.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Golf. Taking your mother to dinner. Trying to keep Fade Toys away from scandal.”
“Always so dramatic, Dad,” I say, rolling my eyes. “There’s no scandal. Fade Toys is as well-respected now as ever. More so, since the staff is all properly compensated and happy to be working for us.”
My father huffs. “In my day, people were happy to even have jobs. If they needed more money, they would pull themselves up by their bootstraps and get a second job instead of expecting the first job to fund their extravagant lifestyles.”
