Page 192 of Catfish

“Fine.” I begin to pour my father half a glass so that it keeps him from staying too long and mine almost to the brim.

“I wanted to thank you personally for sending the invitation to us for the governor’s ball. Your mother was ecstatic.”

“I just wish you’d keep your side of the deal,” I retort over the rim of my glass. My father’s eyes follow me as he takes a swig of his own and smacks his lips together.

“You always had the best whiskey,” he conveys. “And I am going to keep with my side outside of events and such.”

“But yet here you are in my office.”

“I’m allowed to thank my son in person, Wade. You better get used to dealing with people you don’t particularly care for. You can’t go throwing a temper tantrum in the White House.”

Reagan’s hand falls to my left knee that I didn’t realize was bouncing off the floor. Her fingers begin to slowly brush the fabric of my pants as I clear my throat.

“Of course,” I reply through my teeth. “I’ll work on it.”

“Speaking of working on—” He sets his glass down. “—your assistant.”

Here we go.

“What about her?”

My father shrugs. "She's a pretty girl, I can see why you hired her, but she's not going to be able to run your house when—"

“She does fine,” I retort. “And she’s not going anywhere.”

"Then you need more people. I know you don't like opening your doors to the outside, but you can vet them, do your background checks, and—"

"I have a team. Then if I get elected for the Democratic party, I'll do my research. I already know what to do, but I'm not going to start paying people when I don't have the votes yet."

“When you get elected,” my father quips. “Because with my connections and the people that stand behind me in Congress, you have a better chance than any.”

“We’ve been through this before,” I protest. “Stay on your side of the fence.”

“What’s the point of my raising you to be a powerful political figure if I can’t help you? I set you up when you were in college to—”

“Stop,” I snap, as memories start to infiltrate my brain. “We’re done talking.”

“We’re not done talking. You need to face this, boy. Ignoring it won’t do anything for you, trust me.”

"I did trust you, and it practically killed me."

"I didn't raise a weak man, stop acting like one." I begin to stand, but the hand on my knee squeezes me to stay put.

She can’t be here.

I don't want her to know the ghosts of my past because they are too big for the both of us.

They're too much for her, and I don't want to be the man that she regrets later.

I don’t want to be Grant to her. I don’t want her to regret me.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” my father insists. “But I don’t want all your hard work to fail. You’re going up against men who have been in this game longer than you were in diapers and learning how to write your name. A united family front is one of the many things we need to work on.”

“There goes that ‘we’ word again,” I fume as Reagan’s hand goes up to my inner thigh. Nonchalantly, I grab it to keep her from moving any further. “Your bargain was to stay away from me. Bring my brother and sister to these events—fine. You want to take some press photos—wonderful, make them your damn Christmas card for all I give a fuck. But I’m warning you, when I become president you won’t exist. At all.”

My father’s lips quirk in a devious smile. “That’s where you’re wrong, I’ll always be here. I’ve placed myself so deep into your life that you wouldn’t be able to pry me out if you hired people to do so. The only way you’ll be rid of me, boy, is if you had me killed. You could add that to your résumé.”

“Your idle threats don’t scare me. I’ve been through so much worse than you. It’s fucking disgusting how much.”

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