Page 3 of Brighton

“Yeah, me, too.”

Chapter Two

Edward

I am such an idiot.

All the signs were there yet I chose to ignore them. Again. Daddy rumor mill at the club confirmed this behavior was a pattern for Stevie and that I wasn’t the only one he’d been stringing along. I swear, I had the worst luck and trusted far too easily. What the fuck was wrong with me?

You’re lonely and desperate and latch onto every boy you meet.

Shut it, brain.

“Edward, you have a call on line one,” my assistant, Dorine, announced as she peeked her head around the corner of my office door.

“Thank you.” I slid the invisible manager mask into place, well, technically I was the owner. “This is Edward, how may I help you?”

“So professional,” my mother’s sarcastic voice chided. “Edward darling, will you be home for Christmas?”

Home.I hadn’t lived with my mother since my mid-twenties and she was less than an hour away, but I knew what she meant. “Yes, Mother. I come over every Christmas Eve and spend the night. Why would this year be any different?” Since my father passed away, Mom relied on me more and her friends less. I didn’t mind, not really, but I hated the fact she kept to herself as she had. “Are you okay, Mother?”

She sighed, dramatically I might add. Mother truly missed her calling as an actress. “Yes, it’s just,”wait for it, here it comes. “I don’t see my baby boy enough. Why don’t you visit your mother more often?” And there it was, the motherly guilt trip.

“Mother, you know this is our busy time of year.” Need I remind her that father had the same work ethic as I had? Where did she think I learned the behavior from? I had worked for our family furniture store, Fulton Fine Furnishings, since before I was of legal age to do so. When my father passed away, it was a given I’d take over. Since then, we’ve expanded and added four new locations across the state. My office was in our flagship building upstairs in what we called the corporate office.

“No, I remember those years well, Edward.” Her clipped tone was enough said, she didn’t appreciate my pointing out the obvious.

“Mother, what would you like for Christmas this year?” Change of subject was in order, though I already knew the answer.

“To spend more time with my only son.”

Yup, I could pretty much write our conversations by now.

“I’m your only child.”

“Yes, one was enough.” My parents were great. Father worked too much, and Mom was a bit uppity, but they loved me and never failed to show me they did. I was blessed in that aspect, though it still made for a lonely childhood. Once I was old enough to go to work with my father, I jumped at the chance. Mom called herself the furniture widow long before she became an actual one nearly a decade ago when my father passed away from complications due to pneumonia. Not a day went by that I didn’t miss that man.

“I love you, too, Mother.”

“My dearest Edward, you are my heart and I love you with all of it.”

Now I felt like a jackass.

“How about I come over on Sunday and take you out to brunch?” Getting out of the house would do her some good. Maybe a stroll around Main Street and a bit of shopping would complete the day nicely.

“Darling, there are too many people out and about this time of year. How about brunch here instead? I can have Suzette make a lovely spread.” Suzette was my mother’s chef and housekeeper. There was a larger staff when I lived at home but now that it was just my mother the need for more bodies was no longer there. She should really consider selling her home, it was far too large for one person and my dream of raising a family there had all but died with this last dating debacle.

“I can make that work. I’ll see you then, Mother.”

“Kiss-kiss,” she blew into the phone. “See you then, darling.”

I had hopes of Stevie and I eventually moving into my childhood home, possibly adding a dog or two. Maybe even a couple of kids. What a fool I was. A fool who fell far too fast and always for the wrong boy. A feeling of longing with a hint of claustrophobia hit, “I need to get out of this office and clear my head.”

“Dorine?” I called out as I slid into my jacket and grabbed my hat and gloves. “I’m going out for a bit.” She nodded as I passed her desk and exited via the employee entrance at the back. The store was packed, and I’d likely get stopped a million times on my way out if I headed through the main area. Right now, clearing my head and not having to people was necessary.

In the beginning, my grandfather made the furniture by hand and sold it via word of mouth. Over the years, it became more lucrative to mass produce. He likely flipped over in his grave on the regular as he watched us handle the business as we had. My father only tinkered with making things, same with me. When I needed to get away from the city, I drove out to my parents’ house and lost myself for endless hours in my father’s wood shop. He had every tool imaginable, some in duplicate, though many were relics my grandfather had passed down. Even though Father had updated the equipment he never got rid of the antiques. Family heirlooms and all that. But the freedom I felt when working there was therapeutic for me.

For my own home I’d personally made my dining and coffee tables. One of a kind, usable pieces of art as I liked to call them. There was a sense of pride in that whereas in mass production, not so much. At least not for me, though our customers felt otherwise, thankfully. I didn’t want to create to sell, I wanted to create to use. My mother still had all the pieces my father made and every time she walked by them, she’d trail her fingers along the finish, her personal connection to the man she loved dearly. Almost like a shout out through their connection. She’d pause, gaze lovingly at the piece and nod, then continue along her path.

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