Page 76 of Waiting for Acceptance
“Happy birthday,” I tell my father with a forced smile.
“Oh, it’s really just another day, you know?” He laughs and I clench my jaw.
“Where’s Mom?”
He looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “I’m not sure, why?”
I frown at him. “She said that I needed to come alone because we had a family matter to discuss.”
He clears his throat, shoving the hand not holding his drink into his front pocket. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
The look on his face tells me everything I need to know. “There’s no matter to be discussed, is there?” His mouth pops open, and for the first time in my life, I’m curious what he has to say for himself. Before I can find out, my mother waltzes over with a few familiar faces.
“Oh! Wonderful, you’re both here!” She turns and waves someone over, but I continue glaring at my father, who is strategically avoiding eye contact with me. “Look who I found!” I look over and have to keep myself from audibly grunting.
“Let’s all take a photo.”
I shake my head and go to move, but Mother grabs onto my arm. “No, Mo?—”
“Oh, come on, Fitz. It’s your father’s birthday. We’re making memories!” she insists. I swallow down every emotion trying to surface at her words.
She quickly rearranges people and wouldn’t you know it, Jessica and I are standing dead center with our parents flanking each side of us. If Jessica were in white it could be a fucking wedding portrait. She grabs onto my arm and tilts her head to where it almost rests on my shoulder and my whole body tenses. The camera flashes numerous times, then our parents move andI go to do the same, but Jessica keeps a hold of my arm. I look down at her to tell her to let go, but she smiles up at me and the camera flashes a few more times.
“I think we’re done here,” I tell the photographer. He nods and heads in the opposite direction. Then I look back down at Jessica. “As are we.” She frowns, but I pull my arm away and head straight for the open bar, not caring what has her pouting tonight.
“Scotch neat.” The bartender pours my drink and I quickly empty the glass. Tonight is not the night for sipping. I slide it back to him, giving him a nod and he smiles, pouring me another. “Good man.” I drop a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar and lean over the railing of the loft overlooking the party happening below.
I can’t believe I actually fell for the reason my mother told me to come alone. I know my parents never discuss important family business during social events. That with the fact that the Vanderbilts will always be invited to parties my parents throw, I should have seen right through it. I pull my phone out and check Lauren’s location, noticing that it’s no longer shared with me and a small panic settles in my chest. I type out a quick text to check on her.
Me
Where are you? Why is your location turned off?
Trouble
I’m out.
Well, that’s vague and only answers one of my questions.
I’m about to follow up with the question she’s clearly avoiding answering when another voice stops me.
“What’s gotten into you, lately?” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hearing Jessica beside me. I slide my phone back into my pocket, reluctantly deciding I’ll have to deal with Lauren later.
“What do you mean?” I don’t bother looking at her, as I finish the rest of my second scotch. She leans against the railing I’m currently propped up on and tilts her head, trying to get my attention.
“You seem like you don’t even want to be near me. We used to have fun when you’d come into town. At the very least you’d look at me at social events with something other than disdain. What’s changed?” I finally look over at her and her hand rests on my arm.
“A lot has changed. What I don’t understand is why you’re still trying so hard to get my attention when you clearly no longer have it.” She pouts a little, then she smiles.
“Because I know I could get it back if you just gave me a chance.”
I scoff and turn to face the party again. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”
“You never cared about that before.”
“Well, that was before,” I snap, wishing more than anything that this conversation would end.
“Before what?” She might as well have stomped her foot and huffed with the childish tone she uses with me.
