Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Do you mind if I just have some time by myself?” I manage to speak despite my throat tight with unwept tears.
“Yeah, no, of course,” Dad says awkwardly.
But as he’s leaving, Bray steps into the room. “Hey, this letter’s for you. I opened it by mistake. You finally graduated high school, did you?”
I glance up at Bray and snatch the paper from his hands. “Why are you opening my mail?” I snap indignantly. I don’t dare look at the paper. I don’t want to have a conversation about why I bothered getting my high school diploma. Bray and Dad aren’t going to understand.
“Hey!” Bray says. “I told you I opened it by mistake.”
“You didn’t need to read it.” I drop it on the bed next to me. They’ve already emailed me to tell me that I graduated. Why are they sending me stuff by snail mail? And why’s Bray being an asshole by opening my mail? He never gets mail. It’s not like he could have thought it was for him.
“Shouldn’t we celebrate?” he says. “It’s a pretty big deal, you finally getting through high school.”
I keep my head down, focused on the screen. Why is everyone in my bedroom? I left the living room to avoid people.
“Why didn’t you say that you were studying for your high school diploma?” Dad asks. Maybe I’m imagining it, but he sounds a little hurt.
I just shrug. “I did it on my own time. It didn’t stop me doing my job.” I know I sound defensive. I just can’t help it.
“That’s not what I meant, Iris. I’m your dad. We’re your family. Why didn’t you tell us? We could have…”
“What?” I ask, finally looking at Dad. There’s nothing he could have done. There’s nothing I need from him.
“Are you looking at going to college?” he asks.
Bray chuckles, and even I let out a cynical laugh.
“How on earth would I go to college?”
“I just never knew…” He trails off.
“Is that what you’re doing on the laptop?” Bray asks. “Studying?”
How is it that my brother never grew out of the immensely irritating stage? I spin my laptop around. “No, asshole, I’m working on spreadsheets to try and make the business more efficient so we can put food on the table, so can you just leave me alone.”
I pull my laptop back around and slouch down on the pillows behind me. Bray goes to respond, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad point at the door, indicating he needs to leave.
I just want to be on my own.
I want to stop thinking. Stop feeling. Stop everything.
THIRTY-FOUR
Jack
My legs feel heavy, like I’m carrying rocks on sand, as I take the stairs in the apartment to the drawing room. She summoned me to lunch. If there’s an impromptu date with a so-called suitable woman, I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll do.
“Jack,” she calls. “Is that you?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. I know this feeling pulling on every step isn’t my mother’s fault, but I can’t help hating her at the moment. And it’s not just my mother I’m resentful of. It’s every trust meeting. Every investment meeting. Every communication from every board my father’s on, which all now assume I’ll take over. Worse, it’s even the blare of the horns of the traffic and the crowded streets.
I hate everything about my life.
The last thing I want to do is sit opposite my mother for ninety minutes and make nice. I don’t feel nice. I feel like I want to crawl out of my body and into the ocean or something.
Crawl back to Colorado.
I enter the drawing room, bracing myself for who I might find there. Luckily, my mother is on her own.
“Good morning, darling,” she says, putting down the magazine she was reading.
I bend and press a kiss to her check. “Good morning, Mother. How are you?”
“We battle on. I saw your father this morning.” She sighs. “They tell me he’s making progress.”
We both know that whatever progress he makes, life will never go back to normal.
“I’ll see him this evening. I have a call at five. I’ll leave after that.”
“He gets very tired in the afternoons, Jack,” Mother says. She lowers her eyes, like she doesn’t want me to look at her.
“I won’t stay long,” I say.
There’s a knock on the door and Greg enters. “Lunch is ready.”
We stand and head through to the dining room, where two place settings have been made. Everything’s the same as it always is when we have lunch midweek. Except my father isn’t in the office, he’s in the hospital.
“I had a call from Regina,” she says, as we sit. “She’s very disappointed that I’m not going to make it to their gala. You’ll have to go in my place.”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “You know I can’t stand that family. And why would I need to be there? You can’t make it, but it’s the donation they’re really interested in. Just be generous.”