“Natalie…”
She crosses her arms and gives me a pointed look. Though she’s only twenty-six, the youngest of my sisters, the disappointment coming from her tears at something inside me. I was almost proud to walk in here and have Mom and Dad flip out at me. Not Nat. She’s the one who roots for me, which means she’s always the one who gets let down.
“Everyone’s in the other room?” I ask.
This time she nods.
“Let’s do this, then.” I lean down to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi, by the way.”
“Hi.” She smiles, and I’m guessing it’s probably the first time this morning she has. “Now get your freaking, frakking ass in there.”
She marches ahead of me, and I follow. Mom and Dad may run the show, but behind the scenes, Nat’s the one in charge, the one with true maternal instinct. She may have gotten pregnant young, but like everything else, she shines at the whole mothering thing. It’s in her blood. In that we’re so different. I love my niece probably more than any other human, but I could never do what Nat does. And definitely not alone.
The French doors leading to the great room swing open, and Jen and Megan burst out to greet us.
“Please save us,” Megan says. “If Mom raises her eyebrows one more time, I swear she’s going to break through her Botox.”
“What about Dad?” I ask.
Jen answers this time. “He’s doing that scary-ass silent thing where he stands next to the piano observing. I think he’s saving the rage for you.”
“Dad doesn’t rage,” I say.
“I know. The silence is worse.”
Jen’s right. There’s nothing worse than someone who turns off everything rather than letting it all spill out. But that would be too messy for Griffin Reed, Sr. And Dad doesn’t do messy. In that respect, I’ve learned from the best, leading a life free of any real complication, mild bar brawl notwithstanding.
“No one has anything to say about how I look?” I flash Jen and Megan an exaggerated grin, waiting for them to reprimand me as well. My plan backfires as I cut the grin short, a shock of pain reminding me of my physical vulnerability.
“Honestly, Griffin.” Jen says. “It’s getting harder to keep up with your bullshit.” She turns to Megan. “Didn’t he come with a busted lip to Dad’s casino night fund-raiser last month?”
Megan shakes her head excitedly. “No! That’s when he got drunk and started singing “Blurred Lines” in the Bingo caller’s microphone. The busted lip was for family dinner the week after.”
“Oh yeah,” Jen says. “That performance was actually pretty epic.”
“See?” I say. “I’m adorable.”
“An adorable mess,” Nat adds. “We thought you’d grow up in Europe, having to rely on yourself for over a year. But you came back no different.”
I laugh, shrugging off her analysis to mask the twist in my gut, then head toward my mom. How do I explain that the year off was my best year, that I wasn’t this guy over there? I gaze around the room. I love my family, and sometimes I think they do bring out the best in me—at least my sisters do. But it’s not enough, not when family is defined by expectations and obligations. I may be my father’s son, but I’ll never be the Griffin Reed that he wants me to be.
“Hey, Mom.” She stands, scrutinizing the frames and holiday-decorated vases adorning the mantle. Everything is tasteful and understated, of course. “Someone need some batteries?”
She doesn’t look at me yet. With a flick of her wrist, she motions to the photographer setting up in the corner to her right. “They’re for him. This is what I get for taking a recommendation from a neighbor. Someone young and fresh. I hope he understands this is coming out of his fee.”
I hand off the batteries.
“Good to see you, too, Mom.” I kiss her on the cheek, and she lets out a breath, one that makes it seem as if she’s been holding it since this day began, and it’s only ten o’clock in the morning.
She softens as she faces me, but only for a second until her hands find their way to my face.
She doesn’t speak, but her fallen expression says it all.
“Mom, it’s only a bruise. He can Photoshop it right off my face.” I look to the photographer and point to my eye. “Hey, man. You can edit this out, right?”
Photo guy looks from me to my mom, and then back at me, before nodding.
“No problem, Mr. Reed.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s Griffin. And thanks.”
Mom’s expression doesn’t change, her sad eyes saying more than she would ever let on.
She kisses my forehead. “You’re here. Late…but here.”