Page 70 of Catfish

“You actually look happy,” Em jeers, still clapping her hands along with everyone else.

My mouth curves into a smile. “I’m just imagining this night already being over.” She laughs, shaking her head because she knows how I am.

I hate this shit.

"Shake hands, learn people's names, and try to remember them for the amount of time you’re with them. And please, for the love of God, just be nice.”

“Yes, Emmy,” I recite. “Anything else?”

“Just use that charm I know you have lying around in there somewhere and you’ll be fine. I won’t be far away from you.”

Making my way off stage, I stop to talk to a few people who are near the stairs, wishing me their congratulations on getting this far. How they’d love to speak with me later about my stance on certain subjects while I inwardly groan and make a mental note not to. I make them promise to come find me later, simply because I’m starving and I need a whiskey before we start this shit.

It's not long before my trusty assistant has my drink in hand with a few appetizers, and I'm good to go for the rest of the night. I speak with lawyers, doctors, a few congressmen from Connecticut and surrounding states. Two phone numbers are shoved into the pocket of my suit with the promise of a good time; they get a smile, wink, and a cold day in hell when I'll be calling their asses for just that—ass.

I usher my way through the throngs of the room, to what seems to be a line of people wanting to talk to me, when the voice of a thousand whining banshees sounds behind me and sets every single one of the hairs on my body on end.

“Wade, my darling boy.”

Oh, holy fuck and everything sacred on this Earth.

Rotating on my heel, I turn to face Nora Lockwood, the plague of son’s everywhere who just want their mothers to stay the fuck away from them—for life.

“Mother.” I can’t even fake sincerity in my voice because there’s none left in my heart or soul to offer her.

She reaches for me, her red fingernails clasping on to my Valentino suit, wrinkling the fabric with how tightly she’s holding on to it for dear life. She should because my first instinct is to shove her away.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she spouts, her brown eyes searching my face for some sort of sympathy or forgiveness, I’m not sure.

“Did you take the suggestion I told your husband and stash yourself into a suitcase? Or did you climb through one of the bathroom windows?”

Nora keeps the stamped smile on her face though her eyes are telling me to shut the fuck up. Loosening her grip, she soothes out the sleeves of my jacket.

"I received the invitation from your high school assistant," she replies. "A little late, but better that than never.”

“Ah, yes, Emmy Lou, full of great ideas. Why, the other day, she asked me if we could get the Confederate flag hung outside my office to get the vote for those deep southerners to represent the—”

“You better be joking,” Nora grumbles through clenched teeth. “I told you to hire one of the grown women I thought would be—”

“Your thoughts, Mother, are absolutely worthless when my brother and sister are still the walking, talking jokes of the family you continue to baby through life.” I look over her shoulder. “Speaking of, where are the two little assholes?”

Nora shifts her weight and takes a step back from me. “If you’d speak to them, you’d know that they are having a hard time with their recovery and addictions.” My grin slips, and I don’t fucking give a shit if she wants to slap it off my face.

If she loved them enough, she’d put her pride away and think of them. Not how much press she’d have to deal with when someone slipped up that they were in rehab.

"I guess they have you to thank for that, Mom. You might as well point out the young fourteen-year-olds for Lucas to bang and grab a list of doctors who will fill prescription drugs for—"

“You better watch your next words, Wade Lockwood,” she fumes. “Your family is the most important thing you have right now to help you win this election. To win the Democratic party and continue towards your dream.”

I adjust the lapels of my jacket because it’s either that or strangle my own mother with my bare hands.

“The only thing I have to thank my family for is setting me up. For betraying me in the most despicable and ruthless way a mother and father could treat their oldest child. You're both selfish and a fucking waste of space in my life. You're only here to flaunt your reputation and social standing, so soak it up, Mom, because when I win this fucking thing, you won't be breathing the same air as me."

Her chest rises and falls in her cream-colored dress as though I did, in fact, just slap the shit out of her. I’ll let Em do it when I tell her after the presidency that my mother thinks she’s a child.

“Enjoy the food,” I surmise. “Don’t choke on anything to steal this being my night.” I then round her body to grab another drink because, obviously, I’m over this shit.

However, to my utter annoyance, this party is just beginning. Emmy had to turn people away for this party, and I'm not going to let her down by sneaking out.

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