Chapter 15 – Padraic
Chapter Fifteen
Padraic
“What are you doing here?”
I’m surprised I didn’t hear her squeaking up the stairs.
Oh, I can hear her now though. I like to think she looks more like Zack than me, but she doesn’t even look like herself anymore.
Needless to say, we aren’t close. I was raised by a large-breasted nanny from St. Kitts followed by an even larger-breasted nanny from Grenada.
Those women did far more for me than Alison Tyler ever did.
“How about a hug?” she says, standing in the doorway, popping her hips and thrusting her chest forward.
I sometimes wish that my father married for love. My mother was a famous super model for three years before she got married, had kids, resumed her pill addiction where she could live happily ever after on my father’s money.
“I’m busy.”
My mother’s heels click annoyingly across my office floor. “You’re not busy. You’re hiding a wife and I want to meet her. Now.”
She leans over and my eyes squeeze shut inadvertently as her strong perfume causes stinging.
“I’d rather not facilitate that. My wife doesn’t deserve to be clawed to shreds by the local vulture,” I respond to her calmly. I don’t want to meet my mother’s desperate need for conflict.
“If that’s an insult, I won’t acknowledge it.”
“It’s an insult to vultures.”
I know Zack didn’t invite her here. The last time they saw each other, she called him a zesty little f—--t. He hasn’t spoken to her since and I don’t blame him. She wasn’t even that drunk when she said it. She might be drunk now, which would explain dousing herself in perfume.
She stumbles back into her chair, just as drunk as I expected.
“I want to meet this wife,” my mother says. “Why are you so closed off about your love life? It’s bad enough I have to deal with your brother.”
Again, my brother doesn’t speak to her. She lives in her own little world, where the truth doesn’t exist.
“I don’t want you to meet her. That’s why I didn’t invite you to the wedding.”
My mother stops twirling her hair around her finger like a little girl trying to flirt with me. She doesn’t know how to have a regular conversation without trying to get her way. I try to ignore my mother’s sneering.
How the hell did my mother find out about Cullen? There must be a leak in this house and I’ll squash it immediately – as soon as I get her out of here.
“Are you giving me grandbabies at least?”
“I’d rather have a vasectomy than allow my children anywhere near you. How did you hear about my wife?”
“I read the news.” That can’t be true.
“Who’s the president?”
“What?” she squirms nervously and then adjusts her boobs uncomfortably. The smell of liquor finally breaks free from the Chanel No 5.
“If you read the news, you should be able to answer the question.”
My mother probably doesn’t even know that people don’t read newspapers anymore.
“The president right now is that black man – Bark O’Alabama.”
I stare at her dumb-founded. If my mother hadn’t married well, I don’t know what would have happened to her. Unfortunately, the queen of silicon has broken containment. I don’t bother correcting her about the president. I just want her out of here – along with the spy on my staff.
“You didn’t read about it in the news,” I respond calmly. “Someone told you.”
“Are you worried that she’ll be jealous of me?” my mother asks, completely misreading the situation in a way only a narcissist could. I don’t even want to think about my mother comparing herself to Cullen. I have human emotions for Cullen.
“No. Tell me who you have spying on me.”
“Why would I do that?” My mother smirks. She enjoys even the slightest hint that she has the upper hand.
“Because you want to make it out of here in something other than an urn.”
“I didn’t raise you to be so rude.”
I thought my mother was my older sister until I was four years old.
“You don’t need to worry about my wife,” I answer her. “It’s an arranged marriage purely for financial reasons and she means nothing to me.”