2. Graham
GRAHAM
There comes a time in every man’s life when kidnapping a woman off the street feels like the most reasonable way to prove to his family that he’s not a soulless disappointment.
Yes, I understand the irony.
After all, I know my last name.
My family won’t let me forget it.
Three hours before I turn into that which I have been running from my entire life, I’m sitting in a family-style old-school red-sauce Italian restaurant.
If you didn’t know us you’d think “What a lovely family.” The mom, the dad, the five children—all a beautiful blend of them both, a testament to their love for each other.
And then that other man, off to the side—who’s he?
Maybe a lonely family friend? The new boyfriend of one of the girls, his frame too big for the rickety wooden chair, awkwardly meeting her parents for the first time?
My half sister Hannah finishes her story of the squeamish kid in her freshman nursing program to a flourish of laughter.
My stepfather beams at her with pride.
I used to think he loved me.
Then when I saw him with his real children and he looked at them with stars in his eyes, I realized…
I am grateful to have a family.
I clear my throat.
“Shall we—”
My mom stiffens then relaxes.
She doesn’t look at me.
I don’t need an explanation.
I have tics that I inherited from my father—less of a personality quirk and more of a thin sliver of glass under your skin.
The way I clear my throat.
The way I cut my veal parmesan with the back of the fork flat against my index finger.
The way I drop my Os when I say the word know.
The older I get the more I become him.
I know it disturbs my mom, though she tries to hide it.
I don’t know why they keep inviting me to these happy family functions.
“Shall we order? I’m paying, so get what you want,” I repeat.
“Yes!”
“Hell yeah!”
Max and Sean, the youngest of my half-siblings, pat me on the back.
“He always pays.” Bridget rolls her eyes. “And you always act like it’s the second coming.”
“G-dogg! Surf and turf, here we come.” Max pumps his fist.
“Boys.” Mom gives them a mock glare.
“I’m getting wine.”
“Bridget.”
“What? Graham’s paying. If he says it’s okay…”
“Kid, you don’t have to pay,” Mom tells me. “You did not birth these walking garbage disposals.”
I shrug. “It’s nothing.”
“Love having a rich brother.” The younger two high-five.
“We need to wait for Ryan,” Mom tells them. “Text him, one of you, that I’m eating the last of his bread if he doesn’t show up.”
“Dammit.”
I got here early because if you’re on time you’re late.
I’ve already been sitting here with them for—I surreptitiously check my watch—seventeen minutes.
We’ve already been served waters and piping-hot focaccia.
If Ryan had shown up on time, we would have already had appetizers and then I could have gone home before 10:30 p.m. Now?
It’s going to be 11:15 at the earliest before I get out of here.
I’m not going to manage this dinner. I try to keep my expression neutral.
“Let’s order appetizers,” the teens beg.
“Not yet.” Frank sighs. “Ryan’s the one who wanted to meet up.”
“Ryan’s going to have to eat dirt.” Mom opens the menu.
“What a thing to say about your firstborn.” Frank nudges her.
“I have other children,” Mom jokes. “There’s only one plate of mozzarella sticks.”
“You can order two,” I murmur.
They all start lightly bickering like people do in family-friendly comedy movies.
My mom tucks her black hair behind her ear and beams at her perfect family.
Her FBI knight in shining armor grabs her hand and rubs his thumb over her knuckles, over the tattooed date fading into a bruise of blue.
“Ryan!” Bridget and Hannah squeal as the eldest, the pride and joy, saunters into the restaurant, laughing as the girls mob him.
“And Claire!”
“Claire! We didn’t know you were coming.” My mom jumps up to hug Ryan’s girlfriend. “I swear we would have saved some bread if we’d known it was you.”
I fetch another chair so I don’t have to participate in happy family.
“Graham’s paying,” Max says, scooting over so I can place the chair on his left.
“Oh no, don’t do that—we invited you all here,” Claire says with a brilliant smile.
“Graham always pays.”
“It makes him feel like a man.” Bridget snickers.
I hold out my hand for their coats to take them to the hooks on the wall by the entry.
“Oh, thank you, Graham!” Claire hands hers to me.
And the ring catches the candlelight—sparkles dazzling the table.
“Surprise,” Ryan announces, a grin splitting his face.
My half-siblings light up, screaming. They all jump up and hug the beaming couple.
I stare down at the ring on her hand.
I feel sick.
Engaged.
A wedding.
“Wow!” My stepfather looks like he’s going to cry.
A good cry. A happy cry.
Mom and the girls all hug Claire.
“Welcome to the family—we have snacks!”
“She’s always been in the family, Bridgie,” Hannah says.
The owners—old-school Italian American—come out with champagne.
There’s more hugging and kissing.
“You’re going to be a grandma soon,” Sean jokes to Mom.
“Sean.” Frank lightly cuffs his ear then smooths his hair down.
Tenderly.
“Congratulations, you two.”
I sit on my hands to keep them from shaking.
“A toast!” the restaurant owner bellows.
“Salut!”
I set down my glass without taking a sip. I don’t want to grip the glass too hard. I’ve done that before—gripped it so hard I broke it and cut my hand.
It didn’t hurt as much as you’d think.
“This dinner’s not all about me—you have big news too.” Ryan turns to me, a shit-eating grin on his face as he scoots in his chair.
The scrape is too loud. The restaurant is too loud.
Ryan looks like his dad when he smiles.
I look like mine when I frown.
No one would think we’re brothers.
“Big news?” Frank turns to me. The happiness bleeds off his face as his attention is forced away from his beloved children.
“Did you see that brand new Mercedes out there?” Ryan raises an eyebrow. “It’s a factory custom.”
“Did you treat yourself to a quarter-of-a-million-dollar car?” Max jokes.
“Seriously, Graham?” Frank explodes. “You spent that much on a new car? What is wrong with you? You’re too old to be wasting money on toys. I know you have other cars.”
Ryan grimaces.
“My half brother wrecked my other car.” I keep my voice level. “I needed a new one.”
“You could have bought a normal car.”
“It’s his money, Dad.” Hannah rolls her eyes.
“Which brother wrecked it? Was it Spencer?” Bridget asks.
“You all aren’t hanging out with those boys, are you?” Frank demands as he shoots a piercing gaze at his daughters.
“No, but they’re all over social media.” Hannah waves her phone.
“Connor wrecked it—he’s the youngest,” I explain to Claire, who might not know.
Connor was the baby, the one everyone was most concerned about after the rescue.
“Oh.” My mom’s hand flutters to her neck with its butterfly tattoo.
Frank grips her thigh under the tablecloth.
“How is he doing?” She calms. “How’s Connor?”
“Fine. He didn’t need to go to the hospital. I didn’t punch him in the face that hard.” The joke lands flat.
Everyone stares at me.
“I didn’t actually—never mind.”
“How are your… How are the rest of the—” Claire searches for the right word. It’s awkward.
“Fine. They’re fine.”
“Rich!” Max hoots.
“You got the wrong Donnelly brother.” Sean elbows Claire. “Not too late to upgrade.”
“Randomly, I talked to Siobhan last week,” Mom says in a rush. “She says that Grayson is planning some big trip?”
“Yeah—it’s not a good time, but he wants me to go, so… What do you want to order?” I hold up the menu.
I try not to slip into the past as they spend an agonizingly long time ordering appetizers. My mom talks to some of the girls occasionally. It’s not like they all get together and hang out like normal people, though.
How could you?
“Isn’t it weird?” Hannah smirks in my direction, a little drunk from the champagne and red wine.
“What?” Bridget sighs as Max and Sean argue over the arancini.
“That Ryan is getting married before Graham?” My half sister continues. “I mean, Graham’s rich, and he’s way older. He should have been married with kids by now.”
“Yeah, but he’s never even had a girlfriend.” Sean wins the battle over the appetizers.
“You’re not a virgin, are you Graham?” Claire giggles, drunk on champagne.
“Car like that—he’s a chad.” Max jumps to my defense.
“Everyone goes at their own pace,” Frank chides Hannah then gives me a patronizing smile.
“Wait,” Claire says in shock to Bridget. “Are you serious? Never? He’s never dated?”
“Never. Didn’t go to prom, didn’t hang out at the mall.” My sister ticks off.
“Malls are dying,” I remind them.
“You’d think he’d be crawling with women. Dad’s gone over to his penthouse before—never sees anyone,” Ryan remarks as he offers his fiancée some bruschetta.
“I have spent hours online, and nothing,” Bridget says dramatically, jumping in to spar with Ryan for a stuffed mushroom.
I stare at my little brother.
He’s young but not that young, I guess.
I’m old, though.
Damaged.
Bridget is right—I haven’t even had a real girlfriend. And here’s my little brother, who’s ten years younger than me, all emotionally stable with his future wife.
The love of his life.
The mother of his children…
They’re going to be so well-adjusted.
I swallow the bitterness, open the menu, and stare down at it blankly as around me my family speculates about what’s wrong with me.
They’re right.
I feel sick.
Stunted.
I wish I could just disappear—not have to deal with this family, these people.
I’m not supposed to be here.
Was never supposed to be here.
Who do I think I even am?
“Claire, do you have any hot sisters or cousins?” Hannah jokes. “That we can set Graham up with?”
I don’t have to look up to know Frank is scowling.
“I don’t think we need to be throwing innocent young women at Graham,” my stepfather chides.
“Well,” Claire says with a snicker, “my cousin’s not that innocent.”
“We should totally set them up.” Bridget claps her hands.
“We’ll need to give Graham some relationship lessons, though.”
They all laugh drunkenly.
Something in me snaps.
“Oh,” I say over their laughter. “There’s no need—I actually have been seeing someone, but I…” I trail off.
“Oh?” My parents look a little alarmed.
“Is she pretty? Is she a model?” Max demands.
“He’s a billionaire—of course she’s pretty.” Sean pokes him.
“She’s probably, like, eighteen too.”
“That’s enough, boys,” Frank barks.
They gulp and sit up straight.
My teeth grind.
“Show us a photo,” Bridget demands, making grabbing motions.
“This is Ryan’s day,” I remind them. “Tell me about your wedding plans.”
“You’re not getting out of this that easy, bro.” Ryan smiles at me.
“Bet he’s lying,” Hannah says into her wine glass.
“Bet,” the teens chorus, on their phones.
“No phones at the table, boys.” Frank glares.
“I’m not lying.” It comes out too forceful.
My stepdad seems nervous.
I tone it down.
“Annoying little shits, aren’t they?” Ryan says, half joking.
“Yeah. Annoying.”
“What’s she like? What’s her name?” My stepdad is in his FBI-interrogator mode.
“Why—so you can stalk her?” Mom jokes.
“Is she eighteen?” he demands.
“No. She’s my age.” I keep my voice steady. “She’s normal. Doesn’t care about fashion and clothes and stupid stuff like that. She’s not a skinny model type.”
“Real boobs.” My half sister nods. “I approve.”
My stepdad knows I’m lying.
“Bring her to brunch tomorrow,” Ryan offers. “We’d love to meet her!”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re hosting a brunch tomorrow at a fancy restaurant. Claire’s parents are coming into town, and we want to surprise them with the news—we want all the families to meet.”
“I don’t know if she will be free.”
“Who’s not free for brunch?” Ryan counters.
“And we’re paying—you don’t have to,” Claire tells me.
My stepdad stares me down.
I hold his gaze.
Fucking liar, the lines on his forehead say. Dirty rotten liar.
I force a smile.
“Sounds like a plan. My girlfriend loves brunch.”
Bring her to brunch in the morning.
Fuck.
“What was I thinking?” I scream, slamming my hands down on the steering wheel.
The dinner went longer than my allotted two hours and blew past the extra thirty-minute buffer. There were multiple courses, desserts, after-dinner drinks, photos, more drinks.
Now it’s after midnight.
Brunch is at 8:30 a.m.
“So that’s breakfast,” Max said.
“Well, we couldn’t get a table for everyone any later.” Ryan kicked him.
And that means I’m fucked.
Just because it’s Manhattan in winter doesn’t mean it’s the North Pole. Magic happens here, but not this late.
If only I had a little more time.
But I don’t.
I am out of time.
I’m going to have to show up and make an excuse, which my stepdad will know I’m lying about, because he’s a pit bull who used to be in the FBI.
He probably already has his FBI buddies trying to find this mystery girlfriend.
I can’t hire an escort because she will obviously look like an escort, and then my siblings will mock me mercilessly—though my stepdad would be happy.
I start to call Spencer, because he seems like the type of person who could find a normal-looking escort, then stop.
I need another plan. I can’t bring more people into this lie. If Grayson were to find out…
I’ll go to a bar—the bars are still open. I’ll find a normal-looking woman and take her home then take her to brunch.
But with the cold, heavy rain, no one seems to be out. The streets are chillingly empty for Manhattan.
The few girls who have braved the elements don’t look “normal”—they’re all young twenty-somethings with fake pouty lips and breast implants.
I’m fucked.
My mom is going to finally see this as an excuse to fully jettison me from her life.
My stepdad will tell everyone I’m a sociopath, and I’ll be ostracized. Word will get around town, and no one will do business with me.
I grip the steering wheel as my mind spins, trying to think of a female I know who I could pass off as a girlfriend.
But my siblings are correct. I’m a loner. Always have been. I don’t really have friends—especially not female ones.
Motion under the beam of a streetlamp surprises me, and I jerk the wheel.
It’s a girl.
A normal one.
I don’t realize my heart is racing until I feel my heartbeat strangling me.
Keep driving. Go to Brooklyn. There are probably normal girls in Brooklyn, right? There are clubs there.
I made my money on risk management in technology.
I know it’s highly unlikely I’m going to find what I need in Brooklyn.
And with this rain—there’s going to be flooding.
But there’s a girl right here.
Sitting. Waiting. Just for me.
To take her.
No.
But it’s too late.
Something sick and dark has taken over me.
That thing I’ve been fighting my entire life.
It wins.
It slows the car.
Lets it trawl alongside her as she fights the wind for her umbrella.
Opens the door…
And delights in how she screams when it squeezes its hands around her neck.