Chapter 2 #2
When I walked inside, I was greeted by my cat Beans, who brushed up against my legs.
“Hey, buddy.” I crouched down, petting the top of his head as he nuzzled into my hand.
Beans was a twelve-year-old tuxedo cat I adopted about four years ago.
With my work schedule, it didn’t make sense for me to adopt a kitten who had high-energy and needed constant attention.
Beans, while affectionate, enjoyed his alone time and spent the day sleeping while I was at work.
I had plenty of toys, windows, and perches for him to enjoy.
Beans had a better setup than me. Apart from his various toys and furniture, there was little in my apartment that made it clear someone lived here. I had my TV, couch, bed, and enough food to get me by. At least the floor-to-ceiling windows gave me a great view of Lake Michigan.
If anything, my apartment felt more like a second office that I happened to sleep in than a home. I could add photos and other personal touches, but…it didn’t seem worth my time. I could be getting work done instead.
I collapsed onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with an exhale.
Beans quickly trotted over, hopping onto my lap and making himself comfortable.
As I was about to reach for my laptop, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
My mother was calling, as expected. I inhaled deeply before picking up the call.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Can you believe your father?” My mother greeted. “He’s threatening to cut me off, and I just got here!”
After my parents split when I was sixteen, my mother decided to use the money from the divorce settlement to travel.
That was still what she was up to. I didn’t see her often—which, honestly, was fine, since my relationship with her wasn’t great either—and she was rarely in one place for longer than a couple of weeks.
It was more common for me to get a call from her after she’d talked to my dad.
That’s all we talked about. There was no How was your day, Gabriel? or What’s new with you, Gabe?
Beans stirred on my lap, a low growl rumbling in his chest at the sound of my mom’s voice.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oh, no. I didn’t know that.
He didn’t mention to me that he was going to do that.
” I had no idea how to respond to her or what type of response she wanted.
What I truly wanted was to ask her to stop involving me in these conversations because I had bigger issues than if my father was going to cut her off.
One, she’d be fine. And two, she could use one of his other cards.
“Uh, can you remind me where you are again?”
“Bali!” she said with an exasperated sigh. “I told you. Do you not listen to me, Gabriel?”
Listening to her wasn’t the problem. It was keeping track of her various locations, and frankly, caring about her trips when she couldn’t care less about anything I had to say. I’d truly tried over the years to have a relationship with her, to have real conversations, but it was never reciprocated.
“I listen to you, Mom, but I don’t think you updated me on where—”
“Of course, I told you,” she snapped. She paused for a moment, clearing her throat, her voice softer this time. “Will you put in a good word about me to your father? I can’t stay here if he cuts me off.”
Ah, so that was why she was calling. There was always something. I didn’t realize it as a kid, but my relationships with both of my parents was as transactional as it got. The relationship that I saw between them was transactional, too. Unconditional love was the biggest fucking myth.
“I really don’t think I should be getting involved.
” I dropped my hand and checked the time on my watch.
It was inching closer to ten. If I wanted to work on the proposal and get some sleep ahead of the morning, I needed to wrap up our call.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I still have some work to get done tonight. Could I call you tomorrow about this?”
Her exhale was so loud I had to pull my phone away from my ear. I knew what was coming before she even said it. She’d been telling me this my whole life. I also knew the look she had on her face even though I couldn’t see her.
“Gabriel, you are so selfish. You’re just like your father.”
Before my parents divorced, I thrived on hearing them both tell me “you’re just like your father” or “you’re just like your mother.” I thought it was a compliment. I wanted to see the ways I was like them because they were my parents—my role models.
That phrase quickly turned from compliment to insult after the divorce. Now, the words sliced through, reopening old wounds each and every time.
I worked too late and was too focused on success? I was just like my father.
I disagreed with my father and wanted to do things differently? I was just like my mother.
There was no winning. I didn’t want to be like them—and yet I’d gotten their worst qualities.
I also remembered when I wanted to be like my father, before I knew who he truly was.
At first, I saw him as a successful business man going from small town living to creating a booming development group.
I wanted to follow in his footsteps, make him proud, and eventually run Nelson Group with him. I thought that’s what he wanted, too.
I realized now that he wanted a follower, not a son. But my father was the only family I saw regularly, which was another reason why I’d stuck around Nelson Group, why I kept holding out that maybe, someday, our relationship would be different.
A heavy feeling settled in my chest. Was I like him? I did the same type of work. Was my future, who I was going to become, already written?
I didn’t want pity—I knew I was a grown-ass man who needed to make his own choices—but if I walked away from my job, that would be it. I’d be alone. And that was terrifying in its own way.
“Thanks, Mom. That’s exactly what I needed to hear today.” For the second time today, I bit my tongue to keep from saying more. It wouldn’t do any good. “Was that all?”
I waited for a response, but all I got was the click on the other end of the line. She hung up on me.
“Great talk, Mom,” I muttered dryly. I tossed my phone on my couch and leaned back, setting my hands over my face. I rubbed the heels of my palms into my tired eyes and let out a groan.
This wasn’t how I imagined my life at twenty-eight. I’d taken a wrong turn, and I needed to find a way to get back on track.
Golden Falls looked like my best option at the moment, and I wasn’t going to let anyone get in my way.