Chapter 23 #2
Before Caleb can protest, his father's already turning back to me. "Webmaster, is it?" The way he says it, as if he's identifying my species, but it does confirm that he heard our painful conversation. "Quite the digital age we're living in."
"Yes, sir."
"Caleb," Caroline interrupts, "I need your help in the kitchen. Maria is having trouble with the table settings." She gives him a look that brooks no argument.
Caleb hesitates, glancing between his mother and me with obvious reluctance. "I'm sure Maria has it under control—"
"It will only take a moment, darling," she insists, already moving toward the door.
Caleb shoots me an apologetic look. "I'll be right back."
As soon as he's gone, his brothers make their excuses as well. Thomas suddenly remembers a call he needs to make, and Robert offers to help his wife find something upstairs. Within moments, I'm alone with Caleb Huntington II, exactly as planned, it seems.
"So," he says, motioning to a pair of leather chairs by the fireplace, "let's talk, James."
I sit down in the chair he pointed to, trying to keep my face blank. Warning bells are ringing in my head. "What would you like to talk about, Mr. Huntington?"
"Call me Caleb," he says with a smile that says he would rather never see me again as long as he lives. "After all, we should be on a first-name basis, considering your... relationship with my son."
"Alright, Caleb."
He leans back, studying me with the practiced ease of a career politician.
"I'll be direct, James. I appreciate a young man's desire to explore his options while in university.
It's a time for experimentation, for finding oneself.
" His tone suggests he's being incredibly reasonable.
"But my son has a future to consider. A family legacy to uphold. "
"I'm aware of that." Careful. Be careful.
"Are you?" He leans forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like you might be a distraction at a critical time in his life."
"With all due respect, sir, I think Caleb is capable of managing both a relationship and his responsibilities."
He chuckles, and it's the most joyless sound I've ever heard.
"You know, when I was about your age, I thought I was in love with someone my family disapproved of.
I was convinced we were meant to be together, that she understood me like no one else could.
" He swirls the amber liquid in his glass.
"My father sat me down and explained the facts of life to me.
About responsibility. About the long game. "
"And you broke up with her." Yeah, this is going exactly where it looks like it's going.
"I did what was necessary." His gaze hardens.
"And twenty years later, I was governor of this state, married to a woman who understood the demands of public life, with three sons to carry on my name.
" He pauses. "The girl I thought I loved?
Last I heard, she was teaching kindergarten in Nevada.
A fine profession, but not the partnership I needed to achieve my goals. "
"I'm not sure what this has to do with me and Caleb."
"Don't you?" He sets down his glass with a sharp click against the side table. "Let me be perfectly clear, James. My son may think he wants this... experiment... right now. But his true future lies in following the path set for him. Law school. A respectable position. Eventually, politics."
"That's for Caleb to decide, isn't it?"
"In theory, perhaps." His smile turns cold. "But Caleb has always been easily influenced by the wrong people." The look on his face tells me precisely what he thinks of me as a person. "A father's job is to protect his son from those influences."
The implication hangs in the air between us. I force myself to hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.
"I'm going to make you an offer, James." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a chequebook. "Seventy-five thousand dollars. Cash or check, your preference. In exchange, you end this relationship. Quietly. Respectfully. You go your way, Caleb goes his. No drama, no scenes."
For a moment, I'm too stunned to speak. Staring at the chequebook, then back at his face, searching for some sign that this is a joke. There is none.
"You want to pay me to break up with your son?" My voice sounds distant to my ears. "On Christmas?"
"I want to help you both make the right decision," he corrects smoothly. "You're a young man with student loans, I imagine. Career aspirations. This money could help you achieve your goals without the..." His pause is telling. "Complication of a relationship with no future."
Anger rises in me, hot and sudden. "With all due respect, Mr. Huntington, you can go to hell."
His expression doesn't change. "Don't be hasty, James. Think about it. Seventy-five thousand dollars is a significant sum. And let's be realistic, how long do you think this relationship will last once Caleb graduates? Once he's surrounded by people from this world again?"
"That's not your decision to make. Or mine. It's Caleb's."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." His voice drops lower.
"Caleb thinks he wants independence, but what he really wants is approval.
Why do you think he's still pre-law despite claiming to hate it?
Why do you think he came home today, despite how 'awful' we are?
" He shakes his head. "He'll always come back to the fold, James.
The only question is how much damage gets done before he does. "
Standing up, unable to stay seated across from him any longer. "I'm not taking your money. And I'm not breaking up with Caleb because his father is stuck in the last century."
He studies me for a moment, then, unexpectedly, smiles. "Good answer."
"What?"
"I said, Good answer." He tucks the chequebook away. "I needed to know what kind of man my son is involved with. You'd be surprised how many would take the money."
Disbelief wrestles with suspicion. "You expect me to believe that was a test?"
"Believe what you want." He stands as well, adjusting his jacket. "But I respect loyalty, James. Even misguided loyalty."
Bullshit. The offer was real; the only thing that changed was his approach when I refused. It’s a classic manipulation tactic.
"I should find Caleb."
"Of course." His hand on my shoulder stops me as I turn to leave. "But James? A word of advice: the Huntington family has been playing the game for generations. Be very careful which battles you choose to fight."
Despite the pleasant way he speaks, the threat is clear, and I step away from his touch, forcing a neutral expression. "Thanks for the advice."
Leaving the room, my heart is hammering against my ribs, anger and disbelief tangle in my brain, and everything short-circuits.
Seventy-five thousand dollars to walk away from Caleb.
Like he's a car being sold off, like I'm being paid to disappear.
Who does that? What kind of father tries to buy off his son's boyfriend on Christmas Day?
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, and the lock turns with a satisfying snap.
The mirror shows me what I already know: my face is flushed, and my jaw is tight enough to crack teeth.
I try cold water over the wrists, that old foster-kid trick for keeping your shit together when everything's going sideways.
Well fuck, the porcelain is probably worth more than my laptop.
I've never had a traditional family Christmas, but I've thought about it a lot: warmth, laughter, fun, and a sense of belonging.
Not this cold calculation, this chess game where people are pieces to be moved around.
No wonder Caleb is the way he is, growing up with the constant knowledge that his usefulness to the family brand measures his value.
By the time I get back to the main rooms, I've pulled myself together enough to keep my face blank, but inside I'm still spinning. Caleb sees me right away and comes over.
"Sorry about that," he murmurs. "Mother's 'emergency' was deciding which tablecloth to use. Where did you go?"
"Bathroom," Technically, it isn't a lie. "Your father and I had an... interesting chat."
Something wary crosses his face. "What did he say to you?"
Before I can answer, Caroline calls everyone to the dining room. Caleb's warning look says this isn't over, but he lets himself be hustled into lunch.
The dining table is a masterpiece, set with china so delicate that it might shatter if you breathe too hard. I follow Caleb's lead on which fork to use, but still catch Audry exchanging a knowing look with Alexis when I hesitate over the array of cutlery.
"So, James," Thomas says as the first course is served, "Caleb tells us you're quite the computer expert. Self-taught, I imagine?"
"Mostly to begin with," there's no point in denying it; they have investigated me anyway. "But I'm taking the advanced courses at PCU."
"Fascinating," he replies in a tone that suggests it's anything but. "Our family's foundation donated a new computer science building to Princeton. State-of-the-art facilities."
"That's very generous." Don't take the bait. Don't take the bait.
"Education has always been important to the Huntington family," Caroline says. "All three of my boys went to prep school before university. Caleb was at Westfield Academy. Did he tell you about that, James?"
"He mentioned it," Caleb looks even more tense beside me.
"Such formative years," she continues. "The connections one makes at institutions like that last a lifetime. Thomas met Audry at a Westfield alumni event, didn't you, dear?"
Thomas nods. "A family friend introduced us. Her father and mine were in the same class at Harvard."
The message couldn't have been clearer if they'd written it on the walls: You don't belong in this world, you don't fit.