17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Patrick
As soon as my eyes landed on Marcy, I breathed in relief. Not so much when I saw who she stood with.
I’d been uneasy about this fundraising event as soon as I’d discovered my parents planned to attend together. Despite our chat the other night at the house, I still didn’t trust my father’s motives. He couldn’t sway me from my do-gooder career, but politics? That opened up a whole new avenue for coercion.
My parents’ support should have been exactly what I’d wanted. I’d always wished they’d taken an interest in what I liked instead of parading me around like a show pony when my accomplishments suited them. Running for mayor was my thing. For my own reasons.
Until it wasn’t, of course.
I itched to get Marcy alone and away from my dad, especially not knowing what he’d said to her.
I’d heard enough of his criticism of the Russos over the years. While my parents never forbid me from spending time with them, they’d made regular, cutting comments about their family’s financial state. Which was solidly middle class, and pretty well off compared to some of our classmates. My parents would question whether Matteo and Robby could pay their way if I invited them places instead of just paying for all us kids. Meanwhile, the Russos always covered the cost of movie tickets, dinners, or whatever I tagged along to with them. Once I was old enough to notice the difference, I offered to pay my own way with allowance money. The Russos always refused, but I never wanted them to think I was taking advantage.
I couldn’t make sense of how my parents had so much wealth themselves but acted stingy and judgmental of others. My parents weren’t the worst people ever. I just never really understood them when it came to money.
And so much of our lives revolved around it.
As Marcy smiled and shook hands with one person after another, a memory hit. High school, junior year.
Over a rare dinner when all of us were at home at the same time to eat together, I told my parents I’d asked Marcy to prom. Our first prom. Neither of us had been asked by upperclassmen in previous years, and neither of us was dating anybody, so we decided to go together as friends.
“She’s not looking for us to buy her dress, is she?” my mother had quipped.
“No…what?” I hated when they immediately zeroed in on money. “She’ll buy her own dress. She was actually considering a jumpsuit with pants with like, sequins—”
“I’ll pay for a limo, but you be smart about dating that girl.” My father tended toward the cryptic at times. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, and besides, I’d never said I wanted a limo. That didn’t seem like something Marcy would care about. I sure didn’t.
“I’ll drive my own car.” I didn’t like feeling like I owed him either. “And we aren’t dating. We’re friends.”
“That’s what they all say now.” My mother grinned at my father, sipping her usual white wine with dinner. “They don’t date. They hang out. They’re all just friends . ”
My father snorted. “Sure, okay.”
They had their own laugh, which felt like it came at my expense. Marcy and I were just friends. Even though my feelings had shifted from time to time, I would never threaten what we had by trying to be more. She meant too much to me.
“I want to be straight with you, kid,” Dad said. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. It’s about time you stopped being so wrapped up in that family.”
I didn’t like how my parents viewed the Russos. As lesser. My parents so predictably focused on money and their own status, it read like a movie script. I could write out the rest of this dinner conversation scene by scene because they were so predictable.
“They’re my best friends.”
It felt like a triumph mumbling those words through bites of chicken. I tended to shut down when my parents went judgmental. I didn’t know what to say and the whole topic of other people’s money or not measuring up to our standard made me uncomfortable. Why couldn’t they see how generous the Russos had been with me? With their time and attention? And how much fun we all had together? How much we laughed?
The Russos were part of every good memory I had.
“You’re meant for better.” My father took his plate to the sink, rinsed it off, and left the room. Moments later, his voice carried over from his office off the kitchen, on a business call.
I sat there, stunned. My mother, lost in her own thoughts, didn’t appear to have heard him. Or didn’t care. Maybe she even agreed with him.
My father had no idea he was right. I was meant for better. He just had the wrong family in mind.
After excusing myself to the bathroom for a precious few minutes on my own, it was time to get back in the game. Not a single person I’d spoken with tonight lived in Birchwood Hills. These weren’t my voters. These were friends of my parents and influential people Bea Clark positioned us in front of.
I hated every second of it.
But I also knew how to play this game. Years as a country club kid taught me how to act and what to say at events like this. It didn’t mean I liked it, but I understood it. I knew my place.
If this support helped me gain the mayoral office, I could help the community. They needed someone who wasn’t pay-to-play with casino owners. I wouldn’t use my platform to make deals for my own benefit. Without those convictions, I wouldn’t be doing any of this.
I headed down the hall back to the party when I stopped short. Marcy stood with arms crossed, facing Bea Clark. Bea pointed at her, accusingly.
“What’s going on here?” I questioned Bea specifically.
“She was late and didn’t report in as instructed.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “She’s here.”
Bea spoke as if I was a toddler. “It does matter. I run this show. The show doesn’t work without me.”
“Everything’s fine,” Marcy insisted. “I apologized for running late. Everybody ignored me anyway until Patrick’s dad found me.”
Bea muttered under her breath.
“What?” I pressed.
“This campaign has more riding on it than you know,” Bea spat.
“Excuse me?” I moved closer. “If there’s some other objective beyond me winning the mayoral seat, you better tell me right now.”
Bea had the nerve to look haughty. “Are you that na?ve to think I’d take a job running a low stakes campaign for a meaningless town’s forgettable election? Think again. ”
I wasn’t that na?ve. “I’m sure they promised you something valuable in exchange for getting their son his little small-town election. But hear me out. This is my campaign. I refuse to do anything that will cause harm to my town or to line my own pockets.”
Bea assessed me, then shifted gears. “I saw your fiancée chatting with catering in the kitchen just now. I had to pull her out before she embarrassed us all. She’s not to mingle with the help .” She turned to leave.
I wanted Bea gone, but I couldn’t let that be the final word. Before I could reprimand her, Marcy angled into Bea’s personal space.
“Don’t ever speak disrespectfully about hired staff. If you knew your client, you’d know Patrick would fire you in an instant for being rude to anyone providing service.” Marcy glanced at me. “She didn’t just pull me out of the kitchen. She scolded me for ‘slumming it’ in front of the head caterer. A business owner who runs high-end events, who happens to also be a Strauss campaign donor.”
Bea began to speak, but Marcy kept going.
“Do you know who secured that donation? Me .” She patted her own chest. “That’s right. I made that deal myself and you nearly ruined it.” She threw her hands up, her breathing quickened.
Bea scowled. “Mere pennies, I’m sure.”
Marcy shot a dark look at Bea, tugging harshly at her dress straps. I blinked. It looked like something…popped up.
Oh shoot. I covered my eyes. The dress was low cut—how could I not notice? I’d tried not to stare, which had been nearly impossible all night. She was gorgeous, and I definitely wasn’t the only one noticing.
That’s my future wife! I’d thought more than once tonight.
Hoping she’d righted her dress situation, I peeked through my fingers. Only whatever had popped up was continuing its ascent out of her dress .
I stared, dumbfounded. “Is that a chicken tender?”
Bea merely flinched. “Keep your lady in line. You may think you have the authority to fire me, but you don’t sign my paycheck.”
Bea’s time was ticking. One more blow up and she’d be out, whether I signed her paychecks or not.
As she stomped off, Marcy crouched to the floor, sweeping raw chicken into her teeny purse.
I met her at ground level. “What are you doing? That’s a salmonella hazard! We need to wash your hands—”
“It’s not chicken, Patrick.” Her cheeks grew pink and she wouldn’t make contact with my eyes. “It’s an insert for your bra to make your boobs look bigger. Or to fill out a dress that doesn’t fit right because it was ordered by a five-foot tall monster.”
I tossed up my hands in surrender. I had nothing more to say to that, but wow, did I owe Marcy big. For all of this.
I stayed until the very last guest walked out the door. My father, also having stuck around until the last few guests dwindled, pulled me aside. “I know this isn’t your scene, but I can’t tell you how many people told me how inspired you sounded in your speech tonight.”
I’d tried to speak from the heart about my reasons for running for mayor. Why I worked at a legal clinic, and why I wanted to help the community. “Glad to hear it.”
“ I was inspired.” He cleared his throat as he loosened his tie. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you with all my boasting. You’ve carved out your own path and well, some days I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished. It probably seems like I disapprove of everything you do, but I don’t. That’s on me. You’re doing a good thing, son. ”
Was he gunning for a world record here? He hadn’t spoken like this to me in ages and now offered two apologies in person in close succession. I looked him over. More gray in his hair than I remembered. A softness in his eyes that might have been there if I’d bothered to look. These words were a long time coming. My throat swallowed my words.
“Okay, enough sappy talk.” Dad patted me on the back. “Take care tonight. Good work.”
Dazed, I returned to the kitchen. I’d already apologized to the staff for Bea’s rudeness, so this was strictly selfish on my part. I needed food.
Marcy appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing a plain black T-shirt style dress and flats which reduced her height a few inches. “I sent the heels and gown off with Bea. This is my emergency outfit from my trunk. The shoes I had folded in my purse.” She turned her foot toward me, as if modeling the slim shoe.
“You fit shoes in that purse? Wait—I don’t want to know.” After assuming Marcy had stuffed raw chicken into her dress, I had no business commenting on her clothing, accessories, or their mode of transportation.
On the massive kitchen island, assorted leftovers remained in several to-go containers. “All yours, boss.” A guy from the catering staff tapped a container shut. He was a good five years younger than me, with messy curly hair and a mark on his nostril where a piercing had been removed.
“Thanks, man.” I held up my fist for a bump and gathered the containers. “You sure you don’t want these?”
“Naw, I’m good. Hey, by the way.” The guy grabbed a black bag with the catering logo on his way out. “I always check up on the jobs I do beforehand. Just a thing I do. I thought you should know that short blond lady was talking about a casino deal. I know that’s not your thing and she like, works for you. Hope I’m not out of pocket for saying anything. ”
I shot a look at Marcy. “You think she was talking about the Ribbens’ deal with the casino?” I turned back to the caterer. “The guy running against me wants the casino deal. I don’t.”
“Right.” He nodded. “I saw that on your website.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “Thanks for checking out the site.” I considered asking him if the scrolling banner on the page looked tacky, but he spoke again.
“That lady was definitely not talking about someone else making a deal. She was talking about it for herself. She was on her phone out by our truck. She thought she was alone, but I was already out there for a vape break.” He shrugged. “Good luck to you, dude.”
Marcy and I followed him out of the house without speaking, using the side exit where the valet had our cars pulled up. The catering truck pulled away, leaving the two of us alone.
Marcy spun her keys around her finger. “What do you think about that hot tip on Bea’s alleged treason?”
A sinking feeling settled in my gut. Add to that, I was starving. “I don’t know what to make of it yet. You want to get out of here? Like, definitely away from this house and everything that happened tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
“I mean, unless you just want to go home. You should. Go home, I mean. You’ve been here for hours and this wasn’t an easy gig. I owe you so much, Marcy.”
“As your betrothed, this is part of the deal. Do you know I said that to someone tonight? I introduced myself as your betrothed. I joke too much and then the word comes out of my mouth.”
I leaned against her car. “I’m sorry for whatever my dad said to you.”
“How do you know what he said?”
“I don’t, but you looked uncomfortable. ”
She winced. “Sorry. He did say something that wasn’t great, but I called him on it and he apologized. I just think he doesn’t really know me. I meant it when I suggested having dinner with your parents.”
I had hundreds of questions, but exhaustion chose then to hit, so I just said, “I’ll have to think on that.”
“When you were speaking to the crowd, he told me how proud he is of you,” she went on. “I could tell he meant it.”
“He’s been pretty complimentary lately. Apologizing and stuff.”
“That’s promising. You dreaded so hard asking your parents for help, but maybe this isn’t so bad.”
I possibly had some grudges to let go of. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“I’m proud of you for what you’re doing. I’m not sure if I told you that.”
I waved her off. “I know small-town politics aren’t your thing.”
“They’re not, but they’re your thing. And I know tonight was hard to be like, showboating in your tuxedo. You’d rather be at the library teaching a free legal class to the elderly.”
She wasn’t wrong. “But I have to do this to get to that. Well, not to teach at the library. But to make a difference that matters.”
“What you already do matters.”
“Thanks. So, your place or mine?”
“How about a third option? We’re going to need drinks and to be honest, some of these appetizers in your takeout containers don’t look all that appetizing after three hours. I think we need twenty-four-hour tacos.”