“First…” I raise my glass in her direction while she keeps hers noticeably cradled in her lap. “Let’s not do the whole hypocrisy thing, okay? I don’t think two little bar mishaps can be construed as fights.” Especially if I welcome the occasional split lip or black eye.
Her regal shoulders sag, and for the first time in years I see a crack in my mother’s armor and wonder if she’s hoping to peek through mine, too. Then my thoughts shift to Maggie, to last night. What did she see when she looked at me? Who did she see? And did I ever get a glimpse of the real her, or was her mask even better than mine? I think of Miles and the words that were so obviously not meant for me to hear. She’ll be okay by tomorrow. She hides herself as well as I do. Problem is, I don’t know who I’d be if I came out from behind the curtain.
Now here’s my mother, inviting me to be candid.
That’s not what she really wants, though. She wants me to be who I’m supposed to be—to be grateful for the gift my family has bestowed upon me. So I throw on my easy smile, the one that says everything’s going to be fine.
Perfect timing, too, because Vi leads Grandpa through the porch door, and even though the room has a table that seats eight, the space shrinks in my father’s presence.
“Good morning, Griffin. Glad you could join us.”
The edge in his voice is only enough to let me know of his disappointment—for being late. For being me instead of him. Who knows? I’ve grown too used to it to bother figuring it out.
“Morning, Dad.”
I give Violet’s hair a good ruffling before attempting to trade places with her and my father and heading back into the kitchen. “Food smells great. I know you, your mom, and your aunts went all out,” I say, looking at my niece. “I’m going to see if Nat needs any help before we eat.”
“Give us a minute, will you?” My father looks at me and my mother, and I know which one of us he’s asking to leave.
My mom kisses me on the cheek and stands up, no words of encouragement. Not even a prayer for my safe return. I may get away with a lot when it comes to her, but at the end of the day, she’s Dad’s better half, supporting his endgame regardless of what it means for mine.
“Come on, Violet. Let us go see if your mom needs our assistance.”
Vi grabs my mother’s hand and skips out the door without another thought.
My father sits at the table, motioning me to join him.
“I’m good right here,” I tell him, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his foot over his knee.
“You left in a hurry last night before we’d finalized your choices. You need to start signing up for interviews, so I know where I might have to call in a favor.”
I laugh. “Call in a favor? Jesus, Dad. Here you want me to help run your business, but you don’t think I can make it through a damn interview. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He stands.
“This has always been the plan, Griffin. Whatever you’ve been getting out of your system these past few months, it ends now.”
The finality in his tone tells me this isn’t open for discussion. I know my place, to simply stand and listen, so I do, my teeth clenched so hard I feel my pulse in my temples.
“This is more than your future we’re talking about,” he continues. “It’s the future of the company, the one you swore up and down four years ago you wanted to run. I didn’t get a thing handed to me growing up, so I made sure things would be different with my children. We’ve given you everything. Now it’s time for you to give back.”
Give back? I want to ask. I don’t remember signing a contract at birth saying I owed my parents for whatever they handed to me growing up. Who knows, though? The kid I was, hell even the teen I was, probably would have signed it anyway. It’s not like I haven’t enjoyed the perks, but I’m beginning to understand what it is I might be getting out of my system—that guy. The one who would have signed on to that deal.
He doesn’t say anything else. After a few long moments of holding eye contact, he pivots and leaves the room.
Finally, I’m home free, back in the kitchen where my sisters are putting the finishing touches on Nat’s spread, and I paint on the smile everyone expects me to wear. I snag a piece of bacon off a tray, and Nat slaps my hand, not before the food is in my mouth, though.
“Everyone’s supposed to contribute a dish, Griffin. This is the second brunch you’ve come empty-handed, which is shitty considering you cook better than those two.” She points a spatula at Jen and Megan who are already at the dining room table, mimosas in hand, ready to dig in.
“Earmuffs,” I whisper, stealing one more piece and stuffing it in my mouth, then donning the oven mitts to grab Nat’s famous egg soufflé to bring to the table.
“Fuck off,” she whispers.
Violet calls out from the half-open door to the porch, her voice a sing-song accusation. “I heard you!”
Nat’s shoulders slump in defeat, and I do my best to rein in my laughter, if only to save the soufflé.