8. This Aint A Sin, Its A God Damn Tragedy
Chapter eight
This Ain't A Sin, It's A God Damn Tragedy
I was far too overdressed for a place that had a dish called Dee's Nuts on the menu.
So were my dad and Kimberlee, and it was obviously bothering them a lot more than it bothered me seeing as I was the one who picked the restaurant. But neither of them had said a single word about it since they were both stubborn as all hell. Kimberlee was absolutely not going to admit she was wrong for letting me pick where we went to brunch, and my dad was absolutely not going to step in to fix what he’d deemed as her mistake.
“You made the reservation at Beaujolais Park?” my dad had asked after we’d climbed into his Bentley to go to brunch that morning.
“No,” Kimberlee had responded, her voice light.
From my spot in the back passenger seat, I saw a sliver of my dad’s face frowning in the rear-view mirror. “No?”
“No,” Kimberlee repeated, fastening her seatbelt. “We are always going to the same places.”
“Have you made the reservation at a different restaurant, then?”
“No,” she said again.
“Kimberlee,” my dad said, his voice so tight the annoyance couldn’t seep out of it, even though we all knew it was there. “Could you please let me know, my dear, where I am to drive us to?”
“No.”
He almost snapped.
It was almost funny.
I almost rolled the window down and shouted for Pierre to throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave because of all the times my dad had broken up with someone, they’d never aggravated him to the point that I’d actually witnessed it. If I was around, he’d tell them to go to his office or to another room and the next time I saw him, it would be like whoever she was had never existed.
But while all those things almost happened, none of them actually did. I didn’t roll the window down and it wasn’t really funny and my dad, most shockingly, didn’t snap.
Instead, he took a deep, steadying breath.
“Why have we not got a reservation for brunch today, Kimberlee?” he asked.
Kimberlee turned even more in place so she could peer at me in the back seat, a gentle smile spread on her lips.
“Because I thought it might be nice if Nellie got to pick where we went for once,” she said.
And oh, no.
Oh, no .
“That’s okay,” I said before my dad could say anything. “I don’t like picking. You guys wouldn’t like the places I like anyway.”
“How would we know if we have never tried?” Kimberlee said. “We are always going to the same places. I think it is time to broaden that and see what kinds of places you like to go.”
“I can have Pierre call and get us a table at Blanchette Café,” my dad said. “They usually have availability.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “I love Blanchette Cafe.”
But Kimberlee shook her head. “I think it is important to try the kinds of places Nellie would like to go sometimes, Max.”
“Nellie does not want to choose a restaurant,” he replied. “She has already said that.”
Kimberlee was silent for a moment. I thought she was pouting as she accepted defeat, but her hand went out and touched my dad’s thigh.
“Max,” she appealed softly. “Please.”
And then, like the asshole he was, instead of telling her enough was enough and to drop it and if she didn’t like it, she could leave, my dad sighed.
“Nellie, where would you like to go for brunch?” he asked.
My mouth fell open. “I don’t—”
“Pick a restaurant,” he said. “It is not a big deal.”
To anyone else, it wouldn’t be. To anyone else, it probably seemed like nothing, but to me, my dad had just destroyed one of the precious few things I’d counted as his good qualities.
I’d told my dad ten years earlier that I’d never pick a restaurant again. Well, I screamed it, actually, about a millisecond before I screamed that I fucking hated both my parents and about three seconds before my mom told me I was grounded for swearing and sent me to my room, even as I'd sobbed that I'd been invited next door to hang out with Anne-Marie while her stupid brother had a stupid birthday party.
But after they’d stopped fighting—or at least, after my mom had stormed away and they couldn’t continue fighting—my dad had come upstairs and told me I wasn’t grounded. I said I’d rather be grounded than pick a restaurant again, and he said I didn’t have to and for ten years , I’d believed him.
Even before they officially told me they were getting divorced, I’d believed he got why it mattered. It might have been a small throwaway promise made to a child, but it meant something to me, and I’d believed—no.
Not just believed.
I’d trusted he understood.
He didn’t, though. He didn’t see what the big deal was. And since where we went wasn’t a big deal and I was petty, I pulled out my phone and Googled the place my mom had wanted to go that day, which was called Tee Dee Daisy’s. Unfortunately, Tee Dee Daisy’s had closed down five years earlier, but my search brought up a place that had an appetizer called Dee’s Nuts, which seemed promising.
And that was how I’d ended up at a place called John Jean’s Pub and Eatery wearing an Alexander Wang mini-dress and heels while my dad made a pimply-faced server question his existence.
“…and the beef is fresh?” my dad asked, staring at the laminated menu.
“Of course, monsieur ,” the server said in a flat voice like he didn’t get paid enough for this shit because he probably didn’t. “We take it fresh out of the freezer every morning.”
My dad fixed his cold, grey eyes on the server. For a moment, I thought the guy was impervious to my dad’s iciness, but the wall of sass crumbled under the weight of my dad’s gaze.
“I am only joking,” the server said. “The ground beef is not frozen and the patties are made by hand daily. But the smoked brisket sandwich is made with, ah, better quality beef.”
“Fine. I will take that,” my dad said, setting the menu down.
“Fries or salad?” the server asked.
“Salad,” my dad said.
“House?”
“Caesar.”
“There’s an extra charge for that.”
If my dad clenched his jaw any more that day, he was going to end up at the dentist with a cracked tooth. “Fine.”
The server jotted that down, then turned to Kimberlee. “Madame?”
“The summer berry salad, please,” she said, closing her menu. “With grilled chicken and extra dressing.”
“There’s an extra charge for—”
“The extra charges are fine,” my dad said, his tone clipped.
The server nodded and turned to me.
“The chicken strips,” I said innocently. “And is there an extra charge to upgrade my fries to poutine?”
The server fought back a smile. “There is. Will that be okay?”
I turned to my dad, who had pressed his lips into a thin line. “Dad, is that okay?”
“No,” he said.
“Great.” I closed my menu. “I’ll take the poutine. Oh, and I think we should start with an appetizer.” I re-opened the menu. “Is one of Dee's Nuts enough for the whole table?”
“For three people, I think you will need two,” the server said, his voice completely deadpan. “And that way, you don’t need to decide between the sweet and spicy or the dill and cheddar varieties.”
“Is that okay, Dad?” I asked. “Or is that too many of Dee's Nuts?”
“It is fine, Eleanor,” he said.
“Great.” I picked up the menus from the table and handed them to the server. “We’ll take both of Dee's Nuts.”
“Wonderful.” He took the menus from me. “I’ll bring you Dee's Nuts in a minute.”
“Can’t wait to get my mouth on them,” I said. “They sound good, don’t they, Dad?”
“They sound delightful,” he said.
The server’s shoulders shook as he walked away. Kimberlee let out a short, silent sigh and took a sip of water. My dad eyed the silverware in the middle of the table warily, as if he didn’t know what the paper thing wrapped around them was—a napkin, for the record—before taking one and setting the cutlery next to him.
“You have a dress for the Harmonies for Hope benefit tonight, ma fille ange ?” he asked, his tone crisp and business-like, as if he was resuming a conversation we’d been in the middle of when the server interrupted us to take our order.
Of course, since we hadn’t been in the middle of a conversation, I was confused by the question. “Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
He reached for his water glass. “We are nearby that boutique Kimberlee likes, so I am ensuring you have an outfit prepared for this evening.”
For a split second, I took him at the line between his words. Not quite at his word, because he hadn’t outright said it, but I took him at the hope the line between them represented. That it was an implied apology for making me pick the restaurant and crossing one of the few boundaries he allowed me to have.
I shouldn’t have. If there was one thing I knew about my dad, it was to never let my guard down. Because it only took a moment of hope to make it hurt when I was inevitably wrong.
“After all,” he continued. “I don’t want a repeat of the choral event a couple of weeks ago.”
I swallowed back my disappointment as my dad took a sip of water. “There was nothing wrong with that dress, Dad.”
“We were in a church, Nellie.”
“How was I supposed to know God would be offended by a sliver of my shoulders?”
“I am sure God was fine with your shoulders.” He set his water glass down. “However, He may have found the V-neck dipping to your sternum beyond inappropriate.”
“It was an accident,” I said. “It sometimes happens with wrap dresses. The tie came loose and I didn’t notice.”
Which was true. I’d loosened it myself to take a picture of my cleavage to send to JP, but I thought I’d retied it tight enough.
“Be that as it may, there is an especially important prospective client attending this event. It is the largest client I have ever attempted to manage and I do not want to lose this investor. So it is imperative they leave with a good impression of me and my family.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “So you want me to wear the wrap dress again?”
Kimberlee pressed her lips together. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said she was trying not to laugh, but given that she was dating my dad and my dad was looking at me like he sincerely thought there was something wrong with me, I figured she wasn’t.
“I was joking,” I said before my dad said anything else. “I’ll wear the appropriate dress. Don’t worry.”
He nodded briskly. “And your date? Mr. Lemaire?”
“I’ll ask Bruno to wear an appropriate dress, too.”
His lips tightened. “The investor I am working with is quite elderly. Following traditional etiquette, such as a young lady being escorted by an appropriate date, will be noticed. So Mr. Lemaire is still escorting you tonight?”
“Of course.”
“And he will stay for the entirety of the event this time?”
I sighed. “It was one event that he left early, and it was only because there was an emergency.”
That was also half-true. Bruno had only left one event early, but the emergency was that a guy he was crushing on was a musician who had a set that night. But my dad didn’t need to know that.
“And in his absence, you decided it was acceptable to camp out at the table next to the chocolate fountain, staining your shirt, before insulting a député I have supported for a number of years.”
I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t do it on purpose. How was I supposed to know he doesn’t believe in human rights?”
He held up a hand. “We are not getting into this again.”
“But—”
“Eleanor, everyone is entitled to their opinions.”
“Human rights aren’t a matter of opinion .”
“Enough.” He set his hand on the table. “Bruno may not be the most ideal date, but he has been successful at ensuring you make a good impression when needed. If for some reason he is not available this evening, I happen to know Clinton Thibault is available and would be very interested in attending with you.”
Ugh.
Of course he was.
It was news to exactly no one except my dad that there was something wrong with Clinton. After the luncheon at the Marchands’ place, Clinton had been doing his best to worm his way into my life since my disdain for him was apparently more of a challenge than it was a deterrent. Not only had he requested to follow me on two different social media accounts since that weekend, but Anne-Marie had told me he’d asked around for my contact information. Luckily, Anne-Marie had made it clear, in her subtle and powerful way, that if anyone gave my number to Clinton, she’d make their lives hell.
“I’m not going with Clinton,” I said. “I’d rather go alone.”
“It is not acceptable for you to be at any event alone, but especially not this one, as I have just said,” he said testily. “I have made this expectation very clear all summer. There are only two events left that I am requesting you attend, and you are required to have a date for both of them.” He picked up his water glass again, but didn’t sip it right away. “This client is exceptionally particular about appearances and the people they associate with. It is imperative that I display the same values in my family as they have in theirs.”
“Well then, if Bruno can’t make it, I’ll find someone else,” I said.
My dad nodded, lifting his water glass again and taking another sip. Awkward tension circled the table as no one spoke, but when I felt a pair of eyes on me, I looked up. My dad was staring at something on the other side of the restaurant, but Kimberlee was looking at me with a strange expression on her face.
Before I could think too much about it, though, the server returned.
“Here we are,” he said, setting a dish down in front of me. “Let me get Dee's Nuts on the table for you.”
My dad reached into the bowl and popped a couple of the nuts in his mouth, chewed, then nodded his approval.
“Excellent,” he said to the server. “Please let Dee know I am impressed by his nuts.”
And not that I said it out loud, but I also hoped the server would let everyone know that I’d choked on Dee’s Nuts as I started laughing.
The rest of brunch passed by uneventfully. My chicken strips were slightly above mediocre, but my dad didn’t have any complaints about his sandwich and Kimberlee said her salad was delicious.
Then, shortly after the server set the bill down, I nearly had a heart attack.
Bruno
What are you doing right now?
Me
Brunch. Why?
Bruno
Need to talk to you asap
Oh God. What fresh hell was this? Was he sick or something? I tried to panic as subtly as I could, bowing my head and hoping my hair would block my dad and Kimberlee from seeing the heat rushing up my neck.
Me
Uh… okay? How asap?
Bruno
Like before going to the benefit tonight
In person would be best I think
We can get coffee?
I breathed a sigh of relief. If he wanted to meet, he couldn’t be sick. And he said before the benefit, so he was clearly planning on going.
I told my dad I’d made plans to have coffee with a friend, so after he paid the bill, I walked a few blocks to the café I’d said I’d meet Bruno at. I’d just gotten my latte and sat down when Bruno entered, spotted me, and beelined across the restaurant.
“I have good news and bad news,” he said, slamming his body into the chair without even saying hello.
He didn’t look good.
Like, he looked fine . He didn’t look sick or anything. But there was tension pinching his eyebrows together and his shoulders were hunched forward and he was sitting with a weird sort of stiffness that was very unlike the chill person I was used to.
“Do I get the bad news first?” I asked.
“Uh…” he said.
“Good news first,” said another voice. The chair next to Bruno moved and I looked up to see Niko, the muscley mustached man from the night before, lowering himself into it. Unlike the night before, he wasn’t smiling, and there was a wary look on his face.
“Right,” Bruno said. “The good news is that you get to meet Niko.”
Niko nodded and I thought he was going to say something, but when he didn’t, I stuck my hand out across the table.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m Nellie. Nice to meet you.”
He looked at my hand, then shook it tentatively. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All bad things, obviously,” I said.
“Mostly,” Niko said.
I laughed, but I wasn’t entirely sure it was a joke.
“The worst things,” Bruno said, forcing out a weird chuckle. “Like how you could only name four Fall Out Boy songs despite claiming you had a Pete Wentz poster on your bedroom wall as a teenager.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “This again? There are books with less words than some of their song titles. Of course I don’t remember them exactly.”
“You thought one of them was called The Big Lebowski because you mixed up Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction with Bunny Lebowski.”
“It was an honest mistake! There was the whole thing with the toe being cut off and I thought that was from a Tarantino movie.” I rolled my eyes. “Anyone could make that mistake. And clearly you knew I was thinking of Mia Wallace when I explained it.”
Bruno frowned. “What?”
“The song. Mia Wallace . I just called it by the movie name.”
He stared at me, then sighed heavily. “ Uma Thurman .”
“What?”
“The song is called Uma Thurman . Not Mia Wallace. That’s the character she plays in Pulp Fiction.”
“Same difference.”
“It’s not at all the same difference.”
I shrugged. “Could be worse. Wait until you find out the poster was actually of Brendon Urie because I mixed up Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco.”
Bruno’s mouth hung open for a long moment before he closed it again. “This might actually be easier than I thought it would be.”
“What is?”
“Giving you the bad news.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” I said. “It’s not like you’re breaking up with me.”
Bruno’s dark brown eyes were hidden beneath his eyelashes, but I saw them dart towards Niko all the same. Niko stared at me, unblinking and unimpressed. I looked from him back to Bruno, who finally tore his eyes off Niko, but didn’t meet my gaze as he grimaced apologetically.
“Well, actually…”