THE SOCIALITE
Today, at least, I could empathize with my dear friend.
For the first time, a gathering made me physically ill.
The beginning of the previous evening set the tone. Tense, interrogative. Yet in the end, I received two telegrams, one from each respective Nest. Both agreed to support us in our Appraisal.
Typically, this wouldn’t mean much. They were not part of the international collective; just puny feeding joints compared to the courts of Nests who have existed for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years.
But here, on new land, it was everything.
We could not afford enemies, albeit small. It would be death by a million fleas.
It took longer to get uptown and the sluggishness from being on my fourth day without sleep was getting to me. Even when we are built to be sleepless for days, four is entirely too much given the recent emotional exertion.
The bell rang as it slapped against the door of the restaurant.
“Reservation for Astor?” I told the host, but they didn’t need to check the ledger to know.
They brought me to an upper floor, a bit more private without preventing us from watching the leisurely.
My father sat by the front windows, staring down as he people watched. He wore a tan suit today, leaning back with one leg over the other and his hands neatly on his lap. From this angle, he looked almost exactly like Silas.
He turned his head. If you looked closely, you could see the beast before he put up his mask. Then his face softened, his smile upturning his thin-styled mustache. It was incredible how he could look the same age as me, yet hold such years and experience in the way he held himself.
“Hello, Father.” I kissed both of his cheeks before sitting across from him at the table. “Did you have time to look at the menu?”
“Ah yes, just coffee for me today.” He reached across the table to pat my hands. “How’s my little girl?”
The waitstaff brought over some tea. It seemed he ordered again. It was the pale, light-colored stuff that I did not prefer. He knew it, he must at this point from the times I’ve mentioned my preferences. I suppose him gifting me more of it would be a hostile gesture if that was true.
“Fine,” I lied.
“You look terrible,” he said with a smile. “Maybe you should have stayed home.”
“I-I didn’t want to miss—”
“You’ll remember it for our next outing, I trust.” He dismissed the waiter delivering a wide cup of black coffee, which he accepted with such politeness and grace. “How is your little friend? I’m sure you’re excited about your little mentorship role.”
“Mentoring isn’t proving to be as much fun as I expected.” I watched the people pass back and forth on the street. It was too narrow for many carriages, but a single person on horseback did take advantage of the passageway between the buildings.
“It isn’t difficult.” He took a long sip from his cup. “Unless she’s uncooperative. You know what we do with those.”
“No,” I said quickly, his eyes already acutely narrowed on me, “she’s cooperative.”
His stone expression lightened. “That’s wonderful to hear, my dear girl! So it can’t be so difficult.”
I didn’t want to reply, but I didn’t put up an agreeable enough facade I suppose.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s troubling you.” He set his cup down, now leaning forward. “You know, you need not even say a word if you need my help.”
“Growing pains.”
“She’s ill?” His brow rose. “Hopefully not defective.”
“Just a bit of an adjustment,” I admitted, but downplaying honest answers was the only way to make it sound true.
“Well, that’s no good,” he said, as if it wasn’t dire.
“A lot of stress,” I smiled.
“Of course,” he said. “Let’s hope so.”
“It is,” I insisted.
He shrugged. “You know what happens to horses with broken legs. It’s cruel to keep them alive like that.” He clicked his tongue to the back of his teeth. “As their keepers, we must make hard decisions. That has always been the burden of superior species. Like God and the flood, it is necessary.”
“Father,” I said, my tone a warning.
But I swallowed the attitude back when he stilled.
“Oh.” He smiled, the tips of his mustache turning up, and I could see a flash of his fangs, gold covering the tips. “God, how you’ve matured.”
I exhaled, relieved he wasn’t insulted.
Then he reached forward. I thought he was going to take my hand, but a splitting pain shot through my knuckles.
I looked down. His rings glistened in the window light, fingers curled around a fork.
The tablecloth under my palm bleeding black.
My heart puttered. I thought it may quit if I moved.
He let go of the silverware, slowly leaning back in his chair.
“Do not raise your tongue at me, young lady,” he nagged, gesturing far off to the waitstaff. “Speak to me in such a way again and I will nail your tongue to the floor.”
I had to grip the fork to unstick my hand from the table, wrapping it quickly in a napkin.
“My daughter spilled my coffee,” my father said, standing as he pulled a bill out of his pocket, tucking it in the waiter’s lapel.
I couldn’t hide the tears, but I tried to smile politely at the staff member who tidied the cup. It was obvious that the mystery stain was no coffee, but my father had an air to him that scared even those who are oblivious to his distasteful personality.
With every meeting, I was sure I had made a mistake by reaching out. All I wanted was to bridge the gap. I clearly underestimated the sentimental stakes my father had, or rather, was missing.