Chapter Five Townsend #2
Townsend can still remember the gut punch he’d felt, learning that his inheritance—his birthright!
—had been put into an inaccessible trust. To add insult to injury: As the trustee, Mother was the one who’d determine when he acquired the funds.
It made sense that his little sister Blake, eight years his junior, didn’t have access to her trust—she’s basically still a child.
But he’s an adult, a thirty-four-year-old man with a smart, serious girlfriend and a legit health care start-up.
He’d even recently deactivated his Instagram, erasing the last vestiges of the scotch-swilling libertine he’d been in his twenties.
There was no reason he should’ve been punished.
The food arrives then, and they hold conversation as the server sets down their meals.
Townsend watches as his mom artfully drizzles honey over her Greek yogurt bowl and takes a slow, lingering bite—and he’s about to make his request again, wondering whether she heard him at all, when she finally speaks.
“Isn’t that what investors are for? Getting more money?”
“I’m meeting with some firms. But I already gave up a large amount of equity in my seed round.
I want to retain some control.” He doesn’t want to get into the real reason he’s reluctant to approach investors—not now, and not with her.
“Anyway, I’m sure Dad would have faith in my company, seeing as he already invested in it. ”
“Townsend,” she sighs. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I’d like to discuss it again.”
“The discussion is over. You’ll gain access when you’ve proved you’re ready for it.”
“What more do I have to do to prove myself?” Townsend hates the petulance creeping into his voice, but he can’t help it.
He could be a drug addict, or a drunk, or a hard-partying playboy, but instead, he’s a clean-cut Penn grad whose worst crime is occasionally showing up a few minutes late to brunch.
As though reading his mind, Mother says, “You could start by addressing your chronic tardiness.”
“It’s my fault we were late today, ma’am,” says Talia, saving him. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I was having trouble deciding what to wear.”
Mother makes a face, as though to say And that’s what you chose? But instead, she asks, “And would you ever ambush your family like this at what was supposed to be a nice birthday brunch?”
“I . . .” Talia hesitates. “I wouldn’t, but that’s only because I don’t have a relationship with my family.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, dear,” says Mother—and though she’s likely too tactful to pry further, Townsend wants to be sure she moves on from this topic. Plus, he selfishly wants to keep this conversation on track.
“Will you at least consider giving me access to my trust?”
In a singsong voice, she says, “We’ll see.” An empty promise that makes Townsend feel violent.
It isn’t until the drive back to his condo—when his head isn’t so clouded with outrage—that he notices Talia’s silence. “You okay?” he asks.
She responds without turning away from the window. “All good.”
By now, Townsend knows Talia well enough to assume she’s still thinking about her family, who she’s told him about in bits and pieces: her father (a butcher with calloused hands, a personal Bible on his nightstand, and a mean streak), her mother (a commission-based cold caller who either cried or drank herself to sleep every night), and her older sister (who—after getting pregnant at sixteen—was sent away to live in a faith-based maternity home called Neveah’s Oasis).
Leaving for college was what convinced Talia to cut ties with her family for good, but Townsend can tell that the decision weighs heavily on her, even to this day.
“I’m sorry if my mom overstepped at all,” he tells her. “She can be nosy.”
“It’s okay.” Talia shrugs. “I like talking about my job.”
“I was referring more to all the questions about where you’re from. And, you know, your family.” After a beat, he adds, “But if you ever do want to talk more about them, you know I’m always down to listen.”
A long pause follows. “I appreciate that,” she says carefully, “but I’d rather not get into it right now, if that’s okay with you. We just had such a nice birthday brunch. I’d hate to kill the mood.”
From the corner of his eye, Townsend sees Talia crack a smile, and he laughs.
“It’s hard to say what your mom was more impressed by: my outfit or my pedigree,” she continues.
“Or your job. She seemed positively enthralled by the world of ML engineering.”
“She couldn’t stop asking questions! I was like, enough, lady. I know my work is fascinating, but surely you’re dying to hear more about Townsend’s start-up.”
Talia places a hand on the center console, and Townsend lays his hand on top of hers, interlacing their fingers.
How lucky he is, to have this woman who can make him laugh—and who can laugh at herself—after such a disastrous morning.
Any other girl would have run sobbing from the club following such an unpleasant brunch with his mom. But not Talia.
At the Austinite, he pulls in front of the building to wait for the valet. “Do you want to hit the spa this afternoon?” he asks. “Or we could go lay out by the pool.”
“I’m happy to do either. Or both,” Talia says. She glances in the rearview mirror. “Hey, are you expecting someone?”
“No. Why?”
“It just seems like that car behind us was waiting for you. They pulled up right when you got here.”
Townsend turns around to look out the back window.
Sure enough, there’s a grubby white Honda right behind him that hadn’t been there a moment ago, so close it’s in danger of tapping his bumper.
The windshield is too dirty for him to see the driver’s face, but he can make out a baseball cap and what appears to be a long blond ponytail snaking over one shoulder.
“Do you know them?”
“I don’t know,” Townsend answers honestly.
But he feels dizzy and off kilter, like he had five cocktails at the club instead of just one.
He grabs the door handle, ready to get out and confront them, when suddenly, the car backs up and then peels away from the curb, passing by the left side of his roadster too quickly for him to get a good look.
But he does see something that gives him pause: a decal on the rear windshield that looks like the Roman numeral for two.
The Gemini symbol, he knows, because his ex had the same design tattooed on her right hip bone.
For a moment, he’s back in bed with her, kissing that spot on her hip as she whispers, “Two Geminis are so powerful together. We’re twin flames, you and I.
” But just as quickly, he’s brought back by the sound of the valet tapping on his window.
“You good?” Talia smiles uncertainly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“All good,” he says.
He hands his keys to the valet and hustles Talia inside. It’s a coincidence, he assures himself. A fluke. That couldn’t possibly have been her car because she’s not here.
She’s not a problem for him anymore.