She and Bill rise and make their way around the coffee table. “It was nice to meet you,” she says.
“You as well.” I decide to stay put and let Nate escort them to the door, where they linger, speaking in hushed, angry tones.
I wish I could eavesdrop, but the balcony doors are wide open, and horns are honking in the street. It sounds like a wedding procession.
Eventually, Joan calls out to me. “Goodbye, Sienna!”
“Bye!” I reply with a pretense of gregariousness.
They leave, and Nate shuts the door gently behind them. He stands for a few seconds with his back to me, his hand on the doorknob.
When at last he turns around, he spreads his arms wide. “I apologize for that.”
“For what?” I ask innocently.
He inclines his head and gives me a look. “You can be honest.” He moves into the kitchen and emerges with another glass of wine. “You think my dad’s a douchebag.”
I laugh. “Not at all.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want to insult his family. “He’s intimidating—that’s all.”
“You picked up on that.” Nate shakes his head at the situation and sips his wine.
“I take it you weren’t expecting a visit from them?”
“No,” he replies, “but they often do that—show up unannounced to make sure I’m not sleeping off a hangover in the middle of the day.”
The rancor in his tone gives me a touch of unease. “Does that happen often?”
“Not since high school,” Nate says, “but my dad’s never going to let me forget it.” He gestures toward the sliding glass door. “Let’s go onto the balcony. I could use some fresh air.”
I’m intensely aware that we’re on the sixteenth floor, and my fear of heights causes my heart to race. I take a few calming breaths—one of many coping skills I’ve learned through years of exposure therapy—and follow him outside.
A small barbecue stands at one end of the balcony, and a bistro table with two chairs occupies the other. Nate moves to the railing, but the sight of him leaning over to look down at the treetops in Victoria Park is too much for me. I feel lightheaded, so I step sideways and press my back up against the glass door.
“I should apologize,” Nate says, turning to face me. “I was inspired by our conversation earlier, but I shouldn’t have gotten into it with my parents when you were on your way. It was bad timing.”
“What do you mean ... gotten into it?”
“I told them I wasn’t enjoying law school,” he explains, “and I floated the idea of dropping out and going to culinary school instead. Maybe Europe or Toronto.”
I strive to focus on what Nate’s saying to me and not the sixteen-story drop behind him. “How did they respond?”
He shakes his head. “Let’s just say the idea was not well received.”
“Did theybothfeel that way? What about your mom?”
“It doesn’t matter because she’d never go against my dad. Not even privately, to me. They’re old school that way. Dad’s the head of the household, and Mom falls in line.”
“I see.”
Nate and I stand for a moment, staring at each other.
“Isyourfamily like that?” he asks with drawn brows.
I don’t want to rub salt in the wound, but I do want to be honest with him. “No, my father respects my mom’s opinions. They don’t always agree on everything, but they talk it out, and he’ll admit if he’s wrong. She’s the same.”
“Do they act like that with you too?”
I nod. “Yes. I always felt like I could win a debate with them if I could convince them to see my point of view. Usually, we’d come to a compromise.”
