Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Seth
Iwoke up in a foul mood. It’s Sunday, which means brunch at my father and stepmother’s house.
If it weren’t for my sisters, I probably wouldn’t be invited, and I definitely wouldn’t go.
Luckily, it’s only every other week. Frequent enough that I don’t need to visit more often, but infrequent enough that my skin doesn’t crawl thinking about it.
The twins are sixteen, so I don’t worry about them nearly as much as I did when they were younger.
They’re old enough to stand up for themselves if they need to, but I don’t trust my father to not give them a reason.
He’s a “my house, my rules” kind of man and cares little if those around him agree.
As I knock on the door, I mentally steel myself for the emotional onslaught of the next two hours. Just when I’m about to rap on the tall, wooden door again, it slowly pulls open, my stepmother on the other side.
“Patricia,” I say flatly in greeting. As usual, she’s dressed to the nines, her hair done up, makeup flawless, you’d think she was heading to the red carpet, not hosting a family brunch.
“Seth.”
Calling our relationship cold would be an understatement.
The woman knows I don’t like her. She knows I blame her for the way my childhood turned out.
She holds no remorse for the role she played in my past, nor the marriage she broke.
She’s never once asked about my mom or how she’s doing, not that I’d expect her to.
It just goes to show what kind of person she is.
She’s the reason for my reaction when I learned Cary cheated on Iris; it triggered childhood memories.
The day my mother found out my father had been unfaithful was one of the worst days of both of our lives.
It broke something inside of her, made her feel unworthy of love.
I was only twelve, entirely too young for such raw and adult emotions.
I felt helpless as she disappeared inside of herself for months.
The first week was the worst. She spent it crying in bed, only getting up when I begged her. The months following, she apologized over and over, taking the blame for his bad decisions.
She’d threatened to leave him before, on the nights she’d come home and see my bruise mottled face.
In the beginning, he told her they were accidents—a trip here, a fall there, rough boy play.
Once that got old, he told her I deserved it; he was “beating some sense into me,” turning me into a man.
They’d fight, he’d apologize, and then the cycle would start over.
It only stopped when I turned eleven, and he got elected as state senator, which ended her threats to leave him.
I never blamed her, especially not for her breakdown, but there were stretches of time where I had to parent myself after he left.
I learned to cook, made sure I set multiple alarms so I never missed the bus for school, learned how to pay bills online, anything to help her through her despair.
I grew up too young, and as much as I wanted to cure her sadness, all I could do was wade through it with her.
At the time, it gave me purpose. Knowing I’d come home from school and need to cook dinner, then clean the kitchen, then settle in to do my homework gave me less time to think about how unfair it all was.
She filed for divorce as soon as she found out about his infidelity, and since their divorce finalized, we don’t speak of him. It’s almost like he doesn’t exist until I’m forced to see his face in the news or I go over to the house for dinner to see the twins.
Despite hating Patricia, I wouldn’t trade the siblings she gave me—or at least two of them—for the world. I love my sisters, and a part of me wishes I could see them more often. I know they feel the same; they tell me so in hushed whispers, just out of our father’s earshot.
Without waiting for an invite, I push through the door, hopefully projecting a confidence I don’t actually feel.
“Seth!” a happy scream comes from around the corner.
“Hey, El,” I say as she crashes into me for a hug. “Where’s Millie?” I ask since her twin is usually right behind her.
Before she can answer, a deeper voice says, “She and Dad are in the sitting room.”
I keep my face stoic, not granting him the satisfaction of knowing his words affected me.
“In the sitting room” is code for my father having some kind of serious discussion.
More than likely, he’s trying to talk her out of her plan to take a gap year when she graduates.
It’s been the topic of conversation—and many arguments—for the last few months.
She’s sixteen. I don’t know why he’s putting so much stock into something two years off when she’s likely to change her mind.
“Of course they are,” I reply, shimmying my jacket off of my shoulders. Liam holds out his hand in greeting. I grab it on instinct, knowing it’s the most he’ll ever give me.
He’s twenty and not far off from being a replica of our father. If not for the twins, he’d be just as ruthless as Jonathan Cassidy. Like me, he holds a soft spot for the girls. They have no idea how many lives they saved just by being who they are.
“We should head into the dining room, brunch will be served any moment,” Patricia says as she walks past us, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.
I’m not sure which she hates more, me or what I remind her of.
It doesn’t matter either way, I’m not a child anymore, I won’t shrink into myself in her presence like I did when I was younger.
Eloise grabs my arm, leading me down the hall, Liam trailing behind us. We sit down in our “designated” seats like this is some kind of business meeting and not a family eating brunch. My father and Amelia come in right after us, her face lighting up when she sees me.
“Hey, Mills,” I tell her as she comes up behind me for a hug.
My father makes eye contact with me and nods in greeting but chooses not to say a word. It doesn’t surprise me; my father hates me more than my stepmother does.
He’s the reason I am the way I am. He’s the reason I can’t let myself live the life I want to live.
He spent my entire childhood telling me how wrong and unnatural the queer community is.
I got lectures about gay men being abominations, hearing things like “gay men can’t be successful, they’re like women with useless dicks” when an openly queer man he worked with was up for a promotion he wanted.
The fact he managed to stuff so much hateful misogyny, transphobia, and homophobia into eleven words still amazes me.
He’s a terrible person. How he managed to win an election as a state senator will never make sense to me.
He claims to be liberal in every way, but his words behind closed doors prove otherwise.
As an adult, I can rationalize how his views shouldn’t influence me, but apparently, childhood trauma isn’t so easily erased.
I do my best not to give my father any ammunition when we’re in the same room. At these brunches, I keep to myself, focusing on my sisters and finding out what I missed in the time since I saw them last. Liam and I don’t typically talk much, so it’s surprising when he pipes up.
“Seth, what’s your ROI on Carina Cove? Do you feel like the restaurant was a good investment venture so far?”
The question sounds innocent enough. He’s in college working toward a business degree, so he likes to pick my brain about the operational side. It’s about the only thing we discuss. We have virtually nothing in common, and honestly, he’s kind of an asshole.
Just like our father.
Which is why, despite his words sounding innocuous, I hear the condescending undertone in the question.
Asking about my personal return on investment instead of asking what the general profit looks like is the tell here.
He could have even asked what my projected return is over the next three to five years, or if I’m expecting my percentage to increase significantly with the changes we’ve made in the last year, but he made it more personal and more immediate.
He also did it in front of our father who’s waiting for any opportunity to berate me on my life choices.
What I won’t do is lie to make myself sound more successful. Liam may not realize this, but investment doesn’t always equal an instant high return, even in the best of circumstances.
“It’ll be higher next year. As you know, this was a transition year with a new head chef and the renovations to the kitchen. But yes, I feel it was a good investment, and I wouldn’t change it. I believe in the restaurant, and I think its success over the last few years speaks to that.”
“So you did take a hit,” he surmises with a smug look on his face.
“I made less year over year to ensure my employees didn’t lose their jobs or take pay cuts. If you want to call it a ‘hit,’ then sure.”
My father butts in, “Liam, there’s no sense in arguing with him.
Like he said, the numbers speak for themselves.
” It isn’t at all what I said, but I’m not surprised it’s what he heard.
“Besides, you’ll be following me into politics where the real money is, not sinking funds into a risky investment. ”
I don’t stoop to his level, choosing to ignore the dig and return to my conversation with Eloise and Amelia for the rest of the meal.
Before I leave, I make sure to hug my sisters, subtly checking them over like I always do, the whole reason I come over at all.
“El, I expect a phone call after your history presentation on Wednesday. I want to know all about it. And Millie, let me know how soccer practice goes,” I spout off as I grab the handle to pull the door open.
I choose not to tell them I won’t be at the next couple because I don’t want our dad asking questions, but I make a mental note to text them later with promises to call weekly instead.