Page 8 of A Smooth Operator

"What kind of marriage will these two have?" he mused. "Neither of them has a job they take seriously. I guess Lani at least has a passion for buying brand names, which, thankfully, her husband will be able afford. But living without purpose like that is going to hurt them both in the short and long term."

I didn't disagree with him. Eventually, if he wasn’t already, Tommy would wander. He was the type who couldn’t help himself. Lani would lose her mind, and they’d end up with the same kind of marriage so many in our social set had—a lifeless, in-limbo relationship, maintained for appearances while waiting for someone to finally make a decision about something.

"It's their business, Dad." I rose. "They're grownups. You just need to pay for the wedding."

He laughed. He got on his feet and came to me. He gave me a hug and said what he always did: "I love you, son."

"I love you, too, Dad."

"See you tonight at dinner?"

I nodded.

"Good. Good. That'll make your mama happy."

He looked worried about something, I thought as I got into my car, aware that there were only a few cars left in the company parking lot this late in the evening. One of them was Echo's BMW.

I sighed when I looked at it. I didn't have the energy (or the inclination) to go in and talk to Echo—make up for being an asshole—also, I cajoled myself that this was a good thing. Echo would get over her crush on me and move the fuck on.

I soon forgot about Echo when I reached my parents' house an hour later in Germantown to find a very upset Lani.

"Now what?" I asked, not really wanting to know.

It was a lovely spring day, and my mother had arranged for us to have dinner in the garden under the fairy lights and an abundance of mosquito-repelling candles. The table was set for eight, which meant that Mama had invited some others as she usually did.

"Tommy is being horrible," Lani wailed.

I frowned and looked at my father, who merely shrugged.

"How?" I sat down on a chair across from her. My mother was holding her hand and stroking her hair, looking just as inconsolable as my sister.

"I want a destination wedding, and Tommy says we have to get married in Memphis. I just…," she sobbed.

I looked at my father again, who just shook his head as if saying, "I told you so."

"You know she's always had her heart set on marrying in Italy." My mother looked just as sad as my sister. "I mean, I don't know what Tommy's problem is since we're paying for the wedding."

"Italy?" I frowned. I was losing the plot of this story, that was for sure.

"In Tuscany," my sister said as if everyone should know what she was talking about. "Amber Hansen had her wedding in France. I want mine in Italy."

"Y'all know these are first-world problems, don't ya?" I got up, feeling a little disgusted with both my sister and mother. How was this a crisis that warranted tears?

"Stop it, Remi," my mother scolded, "show some compassion."

"I think I can do that better after a drink," I muttered. "Dad?"

My father's eyes twinkled with amusement. We went to his office, where he had a bar.

"Who else is coming for dinner tonight?" It was a Monday night, for God's sake.

"Your girlfriend and her parents," Dad informed me. "And, of course, Tommy, who's on their shitlist."

"Tuscany?"

My father chuckled. "I have no fuckin' idea, Remi. I leave these things to your mama. And she does what she wants."

Okay, maybe I was imagining things, but something was off in the way Dad was talking about Mama—like he was unhappy, almost resigned. Damn it! Was he having an affair? That would explain so much. My mother seesawed between being bitchy and overly sweet these days. I was no psychologist, but something was way off.

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