Chapter 15 #2
His thick head of hair had greyed some more, but he still kept it neatly combed back, accentuating his prominent widow’s peak.
“Ah, thank you, darling. And who’ve we got here?” He removed his aviator sunglasses and gestured to Hunter with them.
Hunter stood straight as a pole, still sweating from his encounter with Mom.
“This is Hunter, my—”
“Ah, yes, of course—grab our bags, son, and pay the cabbie,” Daddy said, patting Hunter on the back, then handing him some cash.
As Hunter rushed out the door to the taxi, Daddy leaned in and whispered, “That’s the one we’re really rooting for… isn’t it?” He cut his brows toward Graham.
“Daddy?” Warmth spread through my chest, unbidden.
“Trust me, he’s the guy. Hasn’t taken his eye off you since I stepped in—looks like he can protect you too. I like that.” He sloughed off his double-breasted peacoat, handed it to me, and scooped up the gifts before heading past Graham by the kitchen. “The gifts go where?” he asked.
“Oh, let me show you, sir.”
I was fucking dumbfounded by that man. Hadn’t seen me in over five years and still knew exactly the type of men I liked.
I put Daddy’s coat in the closet and when I came out, Hunter was zipping up the stairs with Daddy’s luggage. I had a feeling he was about to take his time with the delivery so as to avoid any more uncomfortable conversations with my mother.
Something moved at the corner of my eye. A strange woman slightly older than me, wearing the floofiest white fur coat I’d ever seen, was standing just inside the door, unsure of herself. She had long, straight, light brown hair and looked like she’d just gotten off the catwalk or something.
“Uh… can I help you?” I asked, taking a few steps closer.
“Hello, darling! You must be Maggie.” Her British accent took me aback as she held out a red-gloved hand. “I’m Gemma. I’m a… friend of your father’s.”
My eye twitched. “Of course you are…”
Ugh… don’t be an ass, Maggie. “I mean—it’s nice to meet you.” I shook her hand. “Let me take your coat.”
She slipped off her elbow-length gloves, shedding her coat in the process, and handed it to me.
I knew right then the evening was about to become a drunken holiday special of Jerry Springer.
Under her coat, she wore a really cute—really short—leopard-print dress, cut low enough for me to see the scars from an apparent boob job, and blinged out in enough rhinestones to blind the sun.
Oh God. Mom’s gonna freak.
Perfect.
“Why don’t you get yourself something to drink? Just through the kitchen, to the right of the arch there’s an assortment of drinks on the buffet.” I waved my hand directing her.
Mom’s face fell. Then her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she watched Gemma saunter to the dining room.
Annie glanced up from her work with the ham, took note of the snake tattoo on Gemma’s thigh, and looked to me. She didn’t have to say anything. Her eyes gave it all away with that “We in fo’ a show today” expression plastered on.
Once she was out of sight, I turned around, ducked into the closet, and shut the door behind me.
Gemma’s coat covered me up like a soft blanket of snow as I slid down the wall. It would be only moments before Mom would go apeshit on Daddy for bringing her here.
There was no way she was just a friend of his. He never traveled with “friends,” only the women he planned on marrying. This would be his sixth wife if you didn’t count the three close calls during a couple of business trips—Gemma must’ve weaseled her way past the definition of a “close call.”
I really didn’t want to go out there and deal with the awkwardness of Hunter and Graham and now Mom and Gemma.
Maybe I’d just stay in the closet. No one would know to look for me here. I’d live out my life as a depressed coat thief, surviving solely on the after-dinner mints and the evasive strawberry bonbon candies Annie always had a supply of.
My siblings would be here soon—which might actually be in my favor this time—they should divert Mom’s attention off her “failure as mother” to her perfect children… the ones that didn’t leave the religious cult to spend their life as a baker’s assistant and fuck all of Ohio.
The closet door opened.
“Max, you in here?” Graham’s gravelly voice was a comfort I couldn’t help.
I popped my head out from under Gemma’s coat, reached up, grabbed his arm, and yanked him down to me.
“Jesus!” he yelped, collapsing to his knees.
“Shut the door,” I whisper-yelled.
He did. “What’s going on? Your dad is looking for you. Something he needs to tell you.”
“Oh God, he already did it, didn't he? He married her.”
“Who? Twinkle tits?”
“They’re awful, aren't they? It’s like someone chiseled them out of stone and forgot to round them off.”
“Max, be nice.”
I gave Graham a side-eye. “It’s not like your dad brought some Botoxed, implanted woman to a holiday party you never wanted in the first place?”
“No, but I did walk in on my dad fucking my mom’s best friend at my parents’ anniversary party when I was fourteen… and again at my graduation from the Police Academy… but that time it was with the chief’s wife…”
We both stared straight ahead, brows twitching—mortified.
“At least I’d already gotten my badge,” he added.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with our parents?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s an answer I’ve decided I don’t need.”
“Smart.”
Graham settled in. “So why we in here, cupcake?”