26. Luther
Luther
When I get to my apartment, my parents are waiting for me.
The concierge did warn me about it with a text message, so I’m not surprised. In fact, I’d be shocked if they weren’t there, especially my mother, after I told Dad that I’d fallen in love and lost the girl all in a short span of time.
I’ve bungled this with all the finesse of a blind man juggling knives in a glass shop.
If you want a masterclass in losing your woman, I have the handbook for you.
My mother is sitting on my couch, a glass of what I suspect is the Dom Perignon that I had in my wine fridge, while my father is drinking what I know is my prized Yamazaki 18-year-old single malt whiskey.
They look rather comfortable.
Neither of them smiles when they see me.
“How long have you been here?” I ask as I drop the key fob in a basket on a console table by the door.
“About a half hour.” Mom raises her glass in a toast.
“If you’d called, I could’ve been—”
“If we’d called, you’d never have come home,” Mom quips.
I walk up to her and kiss her cheek. “I knew you were here. The concierge let me know.”
I pour myself a drink because, why the hell not, and sit across from my parents in a matching armchair.
“Well?” I ask after I take a reassuring sip that doesn’t quite wash away the dark taste in my mouth, thanks to the apology that didn’t land—the confession of love that wasn’t believed.
“I knew you wouldn’t call and…”—she glances at my father and then at me—“we didn’t think you should be alone tonight.”
“There’s no we, sweetheart. This is all just you,” my father interjects dryly. “The boy is thirty.”
“Still my boy,” Mom counters pertly.
I drink my whiskey.
“How are you doing?” Mom asks.
“Like shit.”
“Oh, baby.”
Mom comes up to me. I stand and hug her.
I press my forehead into her hair and close my eyes. “I fucked up,” I whisper.
“I know.” She strokes my back. “I know, baby.”
“Christ!” Dad mutters. “Hann, he’s not a child.”
“Oh, shush,” Mom scolds him.
“Yeah, Dad, shush,” I add teasingly, soaking in my mother’s comfort.
My parents have never been the kind who think their children are perfect—in fact, they’re both eager to tell Ria and me how we can be better people. Constructive criticism is alive and thriving in the Grant household.
Regardless, I know that my parents will always be on my team. They might be kicking me for being in the wrong, but they’ll still have my back.
For a minute there, Anouk thought I had her back—but I didn’t.
The devastation on her face makes me crumble into my mother some more. Anouk has no one, just Finn, and she thought I was her person until I royally screwed her over.
“Enough of the sob fest,” Dad calls out. “Sit your asses down.”
Mom settles next to me on an armchair, holding my hand.
She looks at me the way she used to when I was a kid with a skinned knee, waiting for me to tell her how badly it hurts.
“Have you seen her since?” Mom asks.
“Yes.”
“And?” Dad leans forward.
“And I apologized, and she told me to get lost.” I pick up my drink with my free hand and look at the amber liquid.
“Well, obviously.” Mom drops my hand on my lap and pats it.
I make a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “What was I thinking? Now, when I look back and hear myself…God! I told her she’s a liability, pretty much. That her stutter…something that is a fucking trauma response is a problem.”
Dad refills my mother’s champagne glass and hands it to her. And then freshens up his drink.
It’s their way of saying, we’re here, let’s talk it through.
But I don’t know how that’s going to help.
How do you show someone who trusted you, when they don’t do that easily, that you can be relied upon again?
I let out a long breath, shaking my head slowly. “I hurt her. Professionally. Personally.”
Dad leans back and gives me a long, measured look. “I told you in your office, and I’m telling you again, get rid of Erin. She’s not good for the company or you. This agenda she had with getting Anouk out of there was fueled, I can guarantee, by professional jealousy.”
“Maybe some personal, too,” Mom drawls. “I met her parents in New York a couple of weeks ago, and they’re still hoping you and Erin will get back together.”
My eyes narrow with barely contained irritation. “Get back together?”
Dad shrugs. “Well, you dated once and now you work—”
“We dated in college, Dad. That was a hundred years ago.”
Fuck!
I should’ve been more careful. Erin all but told me that she’d like us to be a couple again. I should’ve suspected her motives about Anouk after that, especially when she told me she knew we were dating.
“Does she know about you and Anouk?” Mom always could nail the bullseye in a pub even after three beers.
“Yeah.”
My parents both purse their lips and nod, their expressions saying: “Son, you’re a dumbass.”
“Tell me about Anouk,” Mom asks softly.
And I do. I tell her everything. Her parents. Finn. Dot. I don’t curate one single thing.
When I finish, my mother is quiet for a long moment and then says sadly, “Oh, Luther. That poor girl.”
“I love her,” I say hoarsely.
“I know.” Her expression softens.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
She tilts her head. “Who said you get to fix it?”
I groan. “You sound like Ria now.” I turn to Dad. “You agree?”
“Son.” Dad’s expression lightens with amusement. “I’ve screwed up so many times with your mother that I’m lucky she still talks to me, so I’m not the right person for you to seek advice from.”
I fling my hands up in the air. “Great!”
Mom smacks the back of my head gently. “You don’t repair harm by making the other person feel better. You repair it by changing behavior. Even if they never forgive you.”
“That’s what Ria said.” I drain my whiskey.
“She’s right.” Dad toasts us with his drink.
“Oh, please, like you know what I’m talking about,” Mom scoffs. “You think you can buy me a Cartier something and everything will be fine.”
“Does that work?” I ask eagerly.
Mom sighs loudly. “No, Luther, it doesn’t.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I mumble. And in any case, Anouk isn’t the type who will be swayed by material things.
“Luther.” Dad sounds serious now. “You win her back with integrity, which you sacrificed in the name of your career.”
Mom finishes her champagne and sets the glass down. “You need to have another meeting anyway, especially after the clusterfuck you had today. Let her present.”
I bob my head in agreement. “I’m afraid, though, that she may not want to present. That she’ll see it as a…I don’t know, a consolation prize.”
“Is it?” Mom challenges.
“No, Mom,” I protest. “It’s the right fucking thing to do.”
“Exactly!” Dad chuckles. “You aren’t as dumb as you look, and thank God for that. Luther, you’re right, this isn’t about reconciliation, it’s about accountability.”
Well, at least they don’t think I’m a complete screw-up.
“But you don’t get another chance if—and that’s a big if—you win her back,” Mom warns.
“I know.”
Mom gets up and pats my cheek. “This is how you grow up, Luther. Not when things go right—but when you don’t look away from what you broke.”
After a beat, I grin, looking into her kind eyes. “You’ll like her.”
She chuckles. “I already do.”
“Can we go home now?” Dad asks. “I have an early meeting with China.”
My parents keep a place in Nob Hill. Since Ria lives in the city, they’re here often, and it’s easier for them to have an apartment rather than bouncing between hotels.
Mom lets out a satisfied hum. “Yes, we can. I think our work is done.” Then, she drills her eyes into mine. “Now, go, and become the kind of man who is worthy of Anouk’s trust…a second time. The first time was easy; you had no baggage. This time…well, that’s what separates the men from the boys.”