At the sound of it, Camila’s shoulders loosen, tension melting from her spine. Her nerves smooth over a little more when she spots him rounding the corner, arms already opening wide.
“Hi, Dad,” Camila says, stepping into him and letting herself be swallowed whole.
He’s six-foot-two and built thick; the man’s sheer height should be intimidating, but he’s the biggest teddy bear Camila has ever known, all warmth and safety wrapped in a massive embrace.
“How have you been?” he asks as he lets go.
“Good.” Camila smiles.
“You look good. Love the hair.” He rustles it gently the way he has since she was a kid.
“Thanks,” Camila says, not bothering to stop him.
“Why don’t we head toward the dining room. Lunch should be served soon,” her mother says.
Camila’s dad winks toward her. “Of course,patroa,” he says, and gives his wife his arm. She takes it, and Camila follows after them.
The house hasn’t changed much since the last time she was here—ten-ish years ago. There’s been some updates to the furniture, and the walls are now a sickening white, but everything else is the same—the same artwork hanging from where it always has, the same layout. Which Camila thinks is wild. She re-arranges her furniture at least once a month when thefeng shuifeels off.
When they step into the dining room, Camila can’t help but spot four sets of tableware set out on the table. She presses her lips together, trying to gaslight herself into thinking it’s a mistake, though she knows perfectly well her mother doesn’t make many of those, especially when it comes to table settings.
There are four plates because there will be four people. If her experience with this exact scenario is anything to go by, Camila can almost guarantee this is one of her mother’s setups. She doesn’t know why she thought they were done with this, especially after last time.
Her mom had set her up with a particularly pushy guy, who thought her disinterest in him was her playing hard to get. By the end of dinner, Camila emptied her red wine on his head, staining his perfectly tan jacket. Her mother was furious, but at least he finally understood that she was indeed not interested. Truthfully, even atthirty-one, Camila isn’t above an encore, so whoever is coming had better be warned to wear something waterproof.
Her mother must see her staring at the extra table setting, because before Camila can ask, she says, “We’re having one of your father’s most prominent associates join us. I hope that’s okay with you.”
I hope that’s okay with you;itplays on a loop in Camila’s mind. It’s not like she has a choice. She wants to say that, but she knows it’ll lead nowhere.
“Sure, Mom.” Camila rolls her shoulders. “I thought you had something important to talk to me about. Or at least, that’s what you said on the phone.” Camila narrows her eyes at her.
“Did I?” her mother asks, feigning naivety. “I don’t recall, honey, I’m sorry.”
It takes all of Camila’s willpower not to roll her eyes.
Of course.
She should have known.
This was her mother’s plan all along; she knew if she worried Camila enough, she’d show up, no questions asked. She glances at her father, who mouths an “I’m sorry.” Camila wants to believe he didn’t know, but the odds of that are low.
He takes his usual seat at the head of the table, and her mother sits to his left, forcing Camila to sit to the right, where the extra plate is.
“Would you like anything to drink?” her mother asks.
Camila nods. “Whiskey, please,” she answers with a smile, ignoring her mother’s appalled face. If she’s intent on making Camila’s day uncomfortable, she might as well give her something strong enough to get her through it.
“Make that two,meu amor, neat, please.”
Her mother stands and heads toward the end of the dining room where the bar cart sits.
“So, who is this mystery guest?” Camila asks,
“The firm’s newest associate. Extremely sharp. Graduated from my alma mater,” her dad answers proudly, like he’s talking about his own kid.
“Here,” her mother says, setting a glass of wine in front of Camila and the whiskey she asked for in front of her father.
Camila drinks the entire glass in one sip, before she reaches for her father’s whiskey, sipping it and pretending it doesn’t burn all the way down.
