Page 83 of The Thorne at My Side
Grandpa left the company when he turned 65.Dad was 35 at the time.
Now, 30 years later, I expected the tradition to continue.
What do I have to do to prove myself to him?
Why doesn’t he want me to succeed?
What do I do now?
???
A few days later I’m dressed in a tux at the family Christmas Eve party. Don’t picture Norman Rockwell, tonight is a high society affair. It's about 250 people at my father’s estate in Mclean, fully catered, with a pianist playing soft music in the corridor. Everyone is in black tie and the multiple trees throughout the first floor have been professionally decorated according to the theme. This year it is winter wonderland so there is fake snow along the baseboards, crystal snowflakes hung with fishing line from the ceiling, and twinkle lights covering every other surface. It looks like frosty the snowman threw up all over my father's home. Elle and I arrived together but she quickly disappeared and now I find myself stuck between Dad's head legal counsel and one of his golf buddies.
“The numbers out of AI Media look good. And the way you maneuvered to dodge that lawsuit? Bravo, son.”
I give him a closed lip smile because I'm not proud of how I dodged that lawsuit for Dad. In fact, I’m not happy with my dad at all. I haven’t spoken to him since the meeting.
Before that meeting I was able to throw myself at work to escape the misery of my Maggie situation. Work is no longer an oasis.
Basically, I’m miserable everywhere, all the time.
I bow out of the conversation they were having and walk slowly around the party sipping my old fashioned. I look at allthese people who would rather spend their Christmas Eve trying to impress my billionaire father than be with their own families. Most of them are Dad’s age or older, their children would be my age now, but when I was younger I don't remember other kids being at these parties. So did they spend Christmas Eve with nannies? With their grandparents?
More and more these days I'm questioning the way I've done everything my entire life.
I turn the corner and find Elle standing near the doors that lead to the terrace. When she spots me she waves me over.
"Bro, get a load of this!" She pulls my shoulders in front of her so I can peek out the window of the french doors.
At first I don't see anything but then I squint and can make out two figures that are wrapped around each other.
"There is nothing remotely sexy about this party. What is wrong with people?" I say as I turn back to Elle.
"Well, for one, they're each married to other people," she grins.
"I see you got the Thorne gene for endless gossip."
She punches me in the shoulder. "C'mon, even you have to admit that is scandalous. I wonder if Dad has a photographer on call ready to document this. I feel like he's a House rep or something."
"Well, either way, Dad will find a way to profit off of this."
"He always does."
"Should we find the man and take the obligatory family photo?" I ask as I dump the last drops of my drink down my throat.
"Sure, better do it now before I get too drunk and start to look it." Elle says as she stands up from where she wasleaning. “Let’s find Mom.”
I hold out my elbow for her to hook her arm through. Then the two of us try to find Laura in the crowd. When we were little she came to the parties with us and would pose in the photo with Dad. She bragged about us to his colleagues and their wives.
When I got older I’d hear the whispers about her. They’d be questioning why she would attend the party. Was she trying to get him back?
They called her desperate and pathetic. And they’d give Elle and I pitying looks.
As a teenager I got angry about it. One time I lashed out at a woman who called her a tacky, gold digger but Elle was next to me and she pulled me away before I could get more than “Hey, you don’t know anything” out.
I don’t know why Mom still comes to these parties.
We cross into the den and find her sitting on the end of the sofa. She’s chatting quietly with a friend she brought with her this year.
