Page 19 of Cocky Choices: Zoe Cocker

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“Is this about Ryder?”

“No!” I laugh, waving that idea away. “I’ve let that go.” Under my breath I add, “In a big way.”

The more aggressive of the two by far, Lexi smacks the table and demands, “How?”

Samantha is more gentle. “Zoe, we can tell something’s happened. You look…weird.”

“I am weird.”

“This is a different kind of weird.”

Lexi grabs the focus back to her. “Zoe Cocker! Did you do what I did?!”

They look at me as all three of us remember the night she met her husband and how crazily that all went down. “No, I definitely did not do what you did. But I did something big!”

“What?! What did you do?!” People have turned their heads to look at us, but Lexi hasn’t noticed. She’s even forgotten we’re in public because her volume doesn’t lower in the slightest as she exclaims, “Are you no longer a virgin?!”

I jump out of my seat and race from the restaurant, pushing through a group of ten customers who are waiting to be seated, “Let me out!” before I explode through the entrance’s skull-head door.

TEN

Caleb

Chandeliers cast their warm light over a polished mahogany table by the entrance adorned with a large flower arrangement not nearly as beautiful as the one Zoe made for our hotel lobby. Perhaps I could persuade the owners of Le Papillon, one the city’s most exclusive restaurants, to hire her design services. I slide a glance around the elegant décor — white tablecloths, flickering candles, sparkling view of Atlanta — and bend my ear to the gentle murmur of refined conversations. Boring, boring and more boring.

My parents sit across from me, both impeccably dressed as am I. My father’s tailored suit and cufflinks speak of status, while Mother’s diamond earrings catch the light, drawing attention to her poised smile above a dress fitting for a woman of her age and position. I’m also in a suit, as usual, but it feels a little tight tonight. “Le Papillon,” I mutter, bringing water to my lips and finding comfort in its icy clarity. “It means The Butterfly.”

Mother lifts an eyebrow. “We know, dear. We all speak French.”

“I was pointing it out for a reason.”

“And what reason could that be?”

“Because I would think with a name like that, this restaurant would be more colorful. Not so much…beige.”

“Caleb,” my father begins, as though he didn’t hear or care what I had to say, “…you know the retirement dinner is just around the corner. Five hundred guests, all of them important.” He emphasizes the last word as if it carries the weight of the world. And it does. His.

Not my world.

I couldn’t care less.

“All of them business relations,” I dryly comment, adding the question, “Why even have the dinner when you plan to still reside over the corporation, and subsequently, the companies?” I allow distraction to pull my focus to a nearby table where a couple is holding hands.

“With a new CEO in charge,” Father clarifies, “I will be less hands-on.”

“You still own the majority of shares. I doubt you’ll loosen your control.”

“It will remain my company until it’s passed down to you.” He takes a sip of bourbon with a sneer. “If you’re able to stay sober and show your worth.”

We stare at each other a moment, and I look away first, pretending I’m bored of his insults, although in truth I’m secretly hiding my anger.Show your worth?This is the ‘love’ I was brought up with? Ever since I began going to Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve uncovered the disfunction in my family’s foundation. In A.A.’s steps, tools, and fellowship, I’m learning what healthy relationships really are. It used to be ‘normal’ to me but now I’m learning that continued belittling, disinterest, and disdain isn’t the way to raise your son. Not if you want him to love you. I’m thinking this when my mother raises her voice to be heard, catching my attention and dare I say…hope?

“Leave him alone,” my mother says.Wait. Did she just come to my aide?She sighs, “You’ll make me lose my appetite if you two start arguing.”

Ah.

No.

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