Page 33 of Craving the Player

Chapter Fifteen

Sierra

Running sweaty palms down my leather skirt, Itry to convince myself that saying yes to this family dinner isn’tgoing to come back to bite me in the ass. I’mnearly one-hundred percent positive that it will, but Irefuse to leave my apartment wired with nerves and nausea.

It’sjust my parents. How bad could it really be? Inearly snort when Irealize just how stupid that question is.

They’ve been taking some time off work to travel this past year—as if parading from country to country for work the past twenty doesn’tcount as travelling—and are only now, six months later, taking abreak to visit their two daughters and granddaughter.

It’sso disgustingly typical of them to think that visiting us is some sort of gift that we should worship at their feet for. Like we should be grateful and not so damn stubborn with our feelings of neglect.

Ican still hear my mothers clipped tone in my ear from when she called and told me that we were having dinner together the night they got back into town. If Ihad just paid closer attention to the caller-id when she called that morning, at the asscrack of dawn, Icould have avoided the entire thing and blamed it on work or something. But since Iwas too exhausted and worn-out from the complete pity fuck Ireceived the night before, Ipicked up the phone and was greeted with the raspy, snippy voice that belongs solely to my mother before Ihad the chance to warn myself.

“We already made the reservation for Sunday night, Sierra. Don’targue with me, it’sthe least you can do for us. I’mtoo old to argue. You know this,” she said, as if fifty-five was the new ninety.

Isimply responded by asking where the reservation was, and immediately had to fight the need to hiss like an offended cat when she responded with, “The restaurant connected to our hotel. The fancy one. Remember? They have the best fish.”

I’ve always hated fish, but Itold her Iwould be there and hung up before Icouldn’tbite my tongue any longer.

My parents only ever stay at the same hotel when they visit. Considering that they sold our childhood home the minute Clare got pregnant and moved out. They forced me, their sixteen-year-old daughter at the time, to live with their eldest daughter so that they could travel freely without having to worry about me and whether or not Iwas okay.

Ahotel is their only option in Vancouver. And for some reason that Ireally don’tcare enough about to know, the hotel restaurant is the only place that they will eat. It probably has something to do with the sticks that have somehow climbed further and further up their asses with every trip they take for work, and how it'smade them too good to eat anywhere with less than afive star rating, but who knows. Definitely not me. Ihaven’tknown anything about them for quite some time now.

The door buzzer makes me jump, yanking me from my thoughts as Itake one last look in the mirror, nod in approval, and grab my purse. Fidgeting with the high-collar of my button-up peach blouse, Iundo the top button and pull the shirt away from my hot neck as Ihead out. Ifan the material and sigh when acool breeze sticks to the sweat there. If Clare’salready down there waiting, Imust have been stuck in my own thoughts for far longer than Ithought.

With that in mind, Isay aquick prayer under my breath and head downstairs with my wool coat under my arm and agrim smile on my face.

“Momma,” Liz sings from the backseat. She’ssnuggled into her booster seat with her favourite stuffed giraffe in her fists, not bothered by the lack of light in the car. It’sonly seven o’clock, but it’salready fairly dark outside thanks to the change in seasons.

“Yeah, baby?” There’saslight waver in Clare’svoice, most likely from nerves, but Idon’tmention it. She’salready on edge enough as it is.

Our parents have only seen Elizabeth, their granddaughter, atotal of three times since she was born. She just turned seven this past July. Their lack of involvement has already pissed off Clare, but they just don’tsee it. They don’tcare. Ifeel awful for my sister, having watched her raise adaughter all on her own after being divorced when she was twenty-three, so young and alone. Iknow that Iwas there for her and Liz, but it’snot the same. She needed her mom and she wasn’tthere for her. It wasn’tfair to anyone.

“Idon’twanna see Nana and PopPop.” There’safinality to her otherwise gentle voice that makes me wince. Tell me about it, kid. “Why do we have to? Do they remember me?”

Clare sits silent for amoment, her tongue pressed to her cheek. Ican only imagine the things she wants to say but knows that she can’t. Kids are like sponges. They absorb literally everything. Not like we both wouldn’tlove for Liz to let afew of our thoughts slip during dinner. Just not tonight. Ascene is the last thing any of us want.

“Because they’re family. And we always make time for family, Bug.”

Iturn to Clare and smile even though she doesn’ttake her eyes off of the road. Iwait for another question to come, but Liz seems satisfied with that answer for the moment. And after another ten minutes in silence, with only the radio playing in the background, we arrive outside of the hotel restaurant.

There’sachill that slides over me when we head for the doors, one that makes my skin prickle and my stomach clench with fear like someone’sreached their hand inside and squeezed. Iswallow slowly and shove my hands inside the deep pockets of my coat, fiddling with whatever Ican find.

The automatic doors slide open when Liz skips afew steps ahead of us, arms flapping in the air. She looks the epitome of carefree and naive. In the best possible ways. It makes me jealous, honestly.

When we’re young, we’re always so eager to grow up. When all we think being agrown up means is no longer having abedtime and being able to eat junk food whenever we want. It’snot until we actually do grow up that we realize just how badly we miss our youth and how we took it for granted. We would do anything to go back to the days of no responsibilities and worryless nights. But we can’t. Because like our youth, they’re long fucking gone and there’saslim to none chance that they will ever come back.

We pass by abusy stainless steel bar cluttered with afew suit-wearing intimidating men perched on leather stools, and the glowing shelves lined with generous arrays of expensive alcohol behind it before we stop in front of ahostess table. The energy in the restaurant is familiar from the various times we’ve dined here, yet Istill can’tseem to get areading on what makes it buzz with asense of comfort the way it does. Maybe it’sthe bright, yet somehow not blinding lights that dangle from the high ceilings or the classical music that plays at just the right volume. Who knows. Iknow that Idon’tparticularly mind being here, though. I’msure that Iwould even enjoy it with better company.

Slim fingers grasp my exposed wrist when we stop and wait for the hostess to show us to our parents. My eyes slide to the left and find Clare’swaiting gaze. The panic in her wide stare makes my mouth dry like Ijust sucked on acotton ball.

“Don’tfreak out,” she says mighty slowly, watching me like I’ve suddenly become aticking time bomb that she’sterrified of setting off. “ButitlooksliketheybroughtLogan.”

Idouble blink. “Say again?”

“It looks like they brought Logan, S. Iwould recognize that sleazy smirk any day. You told them what happened right? That you’re not together anymore? Shit. Of course you did. It’sbeen months.”

Istop listening after she says his name, the sound of blood thumping in my ears too loud to focus on anything else. My stomach burns as what feels like acid rips holes through my insides. Iswallow past the bile in my throat and follow Clare’sstare to the table off to the side of the restaurant, half-hidden behind amassive fish tank filled to the max with exotic looking fish.

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