Wishful thinking.
My parents can be a challenge to spend time with, and that’s putting it mildly. They aren’t awful people, they’re just…set in their ways, and a little self-absorbed. Or a lot self-absorbed, if I’m honest. Even when I was growing up, I wasn’t close with them, didn’t rely on them or look up to them the way my friends seemed to with their parents. Mom and Dad were always so busy, and I was always at school or at polo practice or being whisked off to one after school activity or another by the latest nanny. My mom and dad were nothing like the parents I saw on TV or at my friends’ houses.
Now that we’re all adults, I’ve realized that they’re not like other parents because they’re more like long-term roommates than two people who are in love with each other. They used to fight a lot when I was akid, but over time they seemed to become more and more indifferent toward each other, though they’re usually pretty good at hiding their lack of feelings in public. Their relationship is a mystery that I don’t hope to ever understand.
I like to think that at one point, when they were much younger, they had real love between them, but as far back as I can remember, they’ve either had constant friction or a total lack of interest in each other. I’m not sure why they’re even still married. I was convinced by my teens that as soon as my younger sister Eliza and I had moved out, our parents would divorce immediately. But here they are, years later, still together. Like I said, it’s a mystery.
Especially considering the fact that when I was thirteen, my mother had an affair—and not just a casual fling, but one that went on for a few years and became intense enough that it spilled over into my parents’ inner circle. People knew, but they didn’t tell my father. He was the last to know, until photos of my mother and her lover appeared in his inbox, courtesy of the other man’s wife. And then, all hell broke loose.
He kicked her out. They lived apart for a few months and got into screaming matches whenever Dad dropped me off at her condo for visits. It turned into such a scandal that you’d think one of them had committed murder instead of adultery.
So like I said, I have no idea why they didn’t just get a divorce like any other half-sane couple would have. Maybe they didn’t want to deal with the headache of sorting out their tangled finances in court, or maybe they signed some kind of prenup that assured their mutual destruction if theyever divorced. Maybe they just couldn’t imagine their lives without each other.
Either way, it all came to an end when I got home from school one day, and she was suddenly back home, and it was like nothing had happened. Neither of them wanted to talk about it when I tried to ask for an explanation, so eventually I gave up. It’s been a long road ever since, with the two of them either acting civilized but disinterested in each other, or else weirdly affectionate for short spans of time, usually during the holidays after a few bottles of wine.
I just don’t understand them.
“And how are things going at the matchmaking agency, son?” Dad asks. “Roped in any interesting clients lately?”
For once, I have no desire to talk about work, even though I usually can’t shut up about my job. “Same old, same old,” I hedge.
The waiter comes back as if on cue and drops off my mother’s fresh plate, and then we finally get to eating. The meal continues in blessed silence until dessert is served and it’s my father’s turn to complain about the food. The raspberry soufflé is too soft.
“Just send it back, Howard. I’m sure they can whip you up something else,” Mom says.
“It’s fine. I don’t need dessert. Besides, if we don’t get going soon we’ll be late for the show,” Dad says.
“But this is not acceptable,” Mom says, already glancing around for our waiter again.
The life squeezes out of me. I wish my sister were here for moral support, but she was smart enough to flee the country to study abroad and get as far away from our parents as possible.
“Eliza said she was going to Berlin today,” I offer, hoping to distract them from the dessert situation. “She promised to send some pictures tomorrow.”
“When did you talk to her? I’ve been calling her for a week and she’s yet to call me back.” My mother looks aghast.
“Two days ago. She said she was doing some sightseeing before classes resume.”
“Well, I don’t understand why she calls you and not me.”
My father sighs. “Because you lecture her, Deborah, and Nathaniel doesn’t.”
Immediately regretting my attempt to make conversation, I toss back my drink and push my plate away. I can’t stomach sweets any more than I can tolerate my parents.
They start bickering, though the stakes are low and they almost seem to be enjoying themselves. Like I said, they’re a mystery to me.
I wonder how they even got together in the first place. All I know is that they met through “mutual friends,” and that’s all either of them will say about it. Their marriage could have been arranged, come to think of it. Marriages of convenience aren’t always ideal, but a lot of times they work out perfectly well. I’ve seen it happen time and time again with The Quattuor Group’s matchmaking business. Come to think of it, I wonder if QG could find better matches for my parents. Mom and Dad surely couldn’t do much worse than each other.
One thing I’ve learned in life is that regardless of anyone’s perfect smile or their carefully staged family photographs, a relationship—or a marriage—is just twopeople trying to get something from the other. Whether it’s money or love or sex or power, we all want something.
Piper-Lily Barclay, for instance, is willing to bed a man decades older than her if it means she can get back her privileged lifestyle. She’s not interested in finding love or true compatibility. Just money.
Although maybe I’m wrong about her. I assumed she’d eagerly accept my offer, and instead she’d hesitated until I started to think she’d bolt right out of the office, so I’d given her some time to think it over. Why shouldn’t she say yes, though? She gets six months of living in luxury, pretending to be my girlfriend while I teach her how to be a good fuck. At the end of the term, I’ll auction her off. She’ll get a rich husband or a sugar daddy and I’ll get my commission. It’s a win-win for both of us.
So why hasn’t she accepted yet? The clock is ticking.
“Oh, Nathaniel, I have some exciting news,” Mom says, breaking from her argument with Dad to address me once again. “Do you remember my friend Helena? We golf together.”
How could I forget? The woman is intolerably snobby, and she’s had so many facelifts that her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead.
