Page 42 of I Blame the Alcohol

“Jonathan O’Brien.”

Ignoring the handshake offer, Jonathan turns and blinks down at me, as if he forgot how to properly embrace his daughter after months of being apart.

“Stella.”

“Father.”

One more blink and that’s it. That’s all I get for a reunion.

“Have you eaten?” Jonathan directs the question at Mo, the undesignated leader of our group.

“Not yet.”

“I’ll get Margaret to prepare something for you.”

Taking the suitcase from my hand, Jonathan nods at the boys, “Leave your bags here. Stewart will see to them.”

He turns and leads the way into the foyer, the elegant chandelier hanging high and proud from the arched ceiling. Once upon a time, the chandelier cast a warm light on the massive room, but even the electric candles have grown colder since my mother’s passing.

“So, you guys are rich?” Cody whispers the question to me, his gaze widening as he takes in the spiral staircase to our left.

“My father is a very wealthy man, yes. My own state of affairs, however, is a very different matter.” I lean closer, enjoying the scent of Cody’s Old Spice deodorant.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes flick to mine, and I’m surprised to see a hint of disappointment buried in the molten brown.

“It’s not the easiest thing to bring up in a conversation. Plus, we aren’t that close.”

My retort hits its mark and Cody pulls away, ending our conversation.

Jonathan marches us towards the dining room, floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of the Vancouver skyline. The city lights glow in the distance, the busy bustle of traffic one endless cycle.

It’s beautiful in an isolating way.

Margaret must have been messaged on the walk over because three plates of steaming food are already set on the table by the time we arrive. We all take a seat, my father taking the head position, with Mo and Cody on his right and me on his left. He watches Cody carefully as the varsity captain takes his first few bites, waiting for a sign of weakness via poor table manners.

Surprising us all, Cody picks up the appropriate fork and begins respectably eating his food. I spy Jonathan give a small nod of approval before turning his attention to me.

“How did your first semester go, Stella?”

Most parents are looking for the generic response, one that gives them an overall summary of the experience, like how you are enjoying it and did you make any new friends. Unfortunately, my father is not like most parents.

“Four As and one B. Actively participated in five clubs, two of which held extracurricular events that were off campus. Gym progression has been steady.”

Cody raises an eyebrow at the flat monotone I have spent the last two years perfecting.

Jonathan nods, “What class was it that dropped your academic standing?”

“International management.”

I jab a big piece of vegetable pasta into my mouth as a stalling technique. My father would rather cut off his own arm than hear someone speak with their mouth full.

“That is disappointing, Stella. Very disappointing.” He leans forward, his handsome features so much harsher than they used to be.

“What are you going to do to fix that?”

In my peripheral, I see Cody open his mouth to say something but Mo elbows him before he gets the chance. A silent conversation battles itself out across the table, the guest not yet understanding the patriarchy this household follows.

I swallow my food with a sigh, “I won’t let it happen again, father. The professor marked subjectively through essays, and he did not like my writing.”

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