I lifted the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Did I hear her correctly?
“I gotta run. My parents got back. I’ll reach out to your dad. Thank you for putting in a good word for me.”
“Any time, Gabe. You know I still care, right?” I knew. We’d dated off and on for years. I’d always expected she’d be married by now. I suspected she had the same expectations for herself.
The front door opened. I remained in my office behind closed doors. The TV from the den turned on and droned through the wood doors, as did the faint sound of china clinking against marble. I checked my texts again.
No response to any of my texts. The ones where I’d casually asked “You there” didn’t particularly warrant a response. We’d often send those to each other and then call if we received a Y in return. But my longer texts, telling her my parents arrived, asking her if she’d be around once they left, the absence of a response to those texts spoke volumes. I’d screwed up.
It could only mean I’d pissed her off when I asked her to clear out. But I’d been right. She had no idea how nerve-wracking an interview with my parents could be. All the questions they’d unload on her. Especially if they thought we were living together.
She needed to get over it. I’d be leaving for New York soon. Given everything going on, it looked like I’d be back there next week.
I opened a spreadsheet and scrolled through it. But I didn’t see the numbers. I fumed. There was no reason for her to meet my parents. Parental meetings happened when you’d been dating a while, when you thought there might be a future, or if the introduction might lead to business opportunities. But the way Caroline referred to her. If Lauren and Caroline made her feel like she was somehow lower than them… I crumbled yesterday’s list, pissed at the thought. If they pulled some sorority girl bullshit, then I made it worse by not offering a parental meet and greet. Fuck.
I joined my mom in the kitchen where she hovered over a stainless steel kettle. “Did I own that?” I asked, pointing to it.
She nodded. “Yes, it’s a good one.”
Hm. Interesting.
“Gabriel, we’ve moved our flight up to this evening. We’ll need to leave right after lunch, I think. Since we have to take a boat, then drive. Your mother is going to need time to change into her airport outfit once we make it over to the ferry terminal. They have restrooms there she can use, right?”
An airport outfit? Right. They both wear boat shoes.
My dad raised his eyebrows, expecting an answer.
“Yeah, they have restrooms. I think they’re nice.” The ferry terminal, as far as public transportation locations went, seemed fine to me.
I placed my palms flat on the counter and faced my mom. “Do you have time to meet someone?”
The smile on my mother’s face spread instantaneously. “Of course? Who would this be?”
“I’m not sure we have time, Clara,” Dad folded his paper and dumped it into the trash can. Remember to pull the paper out and put in the recycling.
“Oh, we have time. We won’t go to the club for lunch. We’ll eat at the Sand.”
“Sand Piper?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I’m not sure they have lunch.”
“Well, the market has sandwiches. I saw them on the board. We’ll have time.” She sipped her tea and eyed my father over the white rim. My dad headed down the hall, presumably to pack.
She opened her mouth, and I held out an index finger as I backed away. “One minute. I have to go to the restroom.” Avoiding my mom’s questions in a polite manner had become an art I’d mastered.
With the golf cart fully loaded, I fielded unavoidable questions right and left as I drove them over to Poppy’s.
“So, is Poppy the girl Lauren mentioned?”
“Not sure, Mom.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s working on opening her own restaurant.”
“Really? A restauranteur. What kind? Where? Not here?” Disbelief raised her tone an octave with each successive question.
“Yes, here.”
“There’s enough business?”
“Seems to be.”
She frowned. My mom had her own interior design firm, and while the bulk of her clients resided in Connecticut, even she found herself traveling from time to time to expand her business reach. From the back seat, Dad never uttered a word.
When we arrived, I asked my parents to wait in the cart. I pounded on Poppy’s door, certain she was hiding inside. I called her. She never answered. I texted her to let her know my parents wanted to meet her. If I slighted her by not wanting to introduce her to my parents, surely stopping by with them would fix things. How much longer could she freeze me out?
Chapter 27
Gabe
The rectangular images of ten different lawyers flitted around on my oversized monitor. Some women, some men, all in suits. African American, Asian, Indian, Caucasian. The legal firm I chose to represent me did a kick-ass job in ethnic diversity, but they did not, however, do a fantastic job at closing out a case. I had a stack of invoices to prove it.
“Henry,” I said, speaking over a junior lawyer on the team. “Hank,” I repeated, pressing down on my key to attempt to gain the floor. The one lawyer droned on about an upcoming SEC meeting and the documents he planned to bring.
“Did you say something, Mr. Chesterton?” Henry, the leader of my legal team, asked.
“Yes. Thank you. I want to be clear. You are to give the Justice Department, and the SEC, and any other government body each and every bit of information they ask for. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“The legal counsel for Belman is opposed to that, sir. They would—”
“I don’t care. I am paying for your time. Not Belman. You do what I say. And yes, last week, we were cooperating with Belman. This week, I am
