Page 132 of Faithful

“I like calling you that…”

“I promise I’ll make those photos go away.”

I can hear his breath wobble on the line.

“Just trust me. Trust me this once.”

“Okay.”

* * *

I suppose now that my father thinks he took care of Kai and I’m not under his spell anymore, he can order me around.

He summons me to the mansion the following weekend telling me in a very brief phone call a couple of days prior that my mother is coming to Seattle for a few weeks, and we all need to get together for a meal.

I bite.

Mainly because I want him to think he’s won.

Also, I miss my mom.

We’ve been chatting on the phone here and there, but it’s still not enough. Especially with Kai being so far away.

Loneliness is a cruel bitch. It sneaks up on you when you don’t expect it because you’re surrounded by other people—Leigh, Gin, Val, Winona—yet you can’t talk to them. You can’t share your pain or your happiness. You endure it all in solitude. You continue to hold on to the secrets that aren’t yours to reveal.

On Saturday, I show up at the mansion on time.

My mother’s already downstairs putting the finishing touches on the massive table. Julie is by her side, hovering, smiling.

The day is surprisingly sunny and the light falling through the set of bay windows fills every corner of the dining room.

“My boy!” She stops what she is doing the moment I step over the threshold and rushes to me. Her hands pat my cheeks. God, I hate it, but I still allow her to get all mushy. We haven’t seen each other for a hot minute.

“You look skinny.” She steers me to one of the chairs. “Are you eating enough?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I greet Julie with a wave of my hand while she’s rearranging the silverware next to the plate that’s Gavin’s. It’s at the head of the table, so naturally no one else takes that seat.

He shows up a few minutes later dressed in a pair of slacks and a sweater. His face is stony and there’s a cold and calculating look in his eyes that has me questioning my genes and my birth in general. I’m thinking of checking with my mother after this sham family lunch to see if I was adopted. Because I don’t understand how Gavin can be my biological father. We’ve got nothing in common.

“Please.” He motions at the chair to his right and glances at my mother first, then turns to meet my gaze and says sternly, “Dylan. Nice of you to join us.”

We eat in silence. The only noises that occasionally fill the dining room are the clink of silverware and the scrape of furniture.

Halfway through the meal, I ask Mom about New York and we have a stilted conversation about her stay there while Gavin continues to chew on his steak and slurp his soup.

She seems fed up after several minutes of speaking. So she gets up and announces that she’s tired and will be in her room if we need her.

I watch her leave with my heart in my throat. Being one-on-one with my father suddenly terrifies me. I’m scared that he actually has someone tailing both Kai and me and knows I’m cooking a dish called revenge.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, son,” Gavin announces, pushing his plate away.

“Really?” I meet his stare. The food I just ate starts rebelling in my stomach.

“I understand your organization is sponsoring the upcoming gala.”

“Yes.”

“I think it would be wise for you to get a proper date for the event.”

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