Pops waves a dismissive hand. “Come now, Delilah, the poor boy just got here. Let him enjoy his dinner.”
We fall silent. It’s cold and uncomfortable and so doesn’t feel like home in this big old dining room we hardly ever used. I try my best not to stare at the vacant fourth seat across from me.
Instead, I look around the space. Very little has changed in over a decade. My parents used to talk about renovating, but the walls still boast the same cream-colored wallpaper, so it’s clear they haven’t gotten around to it. The furniture in the living room’s all the same—hand-carved mahogany seating with Italian-stitched cushions for accent. The glass display cabinet that hosts Mother’s collection of Swarovski crystal trinkets is still kept under lock and key. She used to let Jacob and me play with the ones shaped like horses when we were little boys.
That was a long time ago.
“So,” Mother mutters as she takes another bite of her rare steak, “do you have a girlfriend yet? Or should I not hold out hope for grandchildren?”
Ugh, here we go.
“No, Mother. I don’t have a girlfriend yet.”
I’m technically not lying. It’s just easier to say I’m not seeing anyone than try to explain I’ve actually got several girls who are friends—and they all just so happen to have sex with me. Not all at once, of course, though I’m hoping to live out that fantasy one day. Maybe when I have the time, but we’ll see.
There’s Shannon from SoHo, a redhead with adorable freckles and amazingly large breasts. She likes to call me up on the weekends when she’s “fed up” with her on-again, off-again boyfriend. I’m obviously more than happy to show her a good time.
Then there’s Amanda. I can’t remember where she’s from. She’s always calling me at two, sometimes three in the morning for a quick fix. She also has a pair of amazing breasts.
I might have a type.
And then Eve pops into my head like the little minx she is and leaves me momentarily confused. She’s the exact opposite of my type—delicate and small and no bigger than an A-cup. So why did I feel all antsy when I so much as looked at her back in the exam room?
Mother takes a long drink from her red wine. She swirls the liquid about the fragile glass as she looks me over. Disapproval’s written all over her face.
“If you’re having trouble meeting someone, my friend Barbara has a daughter about your age. You went to the same high school. Angela, I think her name is.”
“Are you trying to set me up?”
“Just looking out for you. I wouldn’t want some woman taking advantage of you for your looks and money.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I’d rather not spend the next few weeks passive-aggressively being ignored by Mother. I don’t think she sees the irony in her statement. Before she married Pops, she was a small-town waitress. My parents actually met at Brook’s Diner down the street from the Haven Farmer’s Market. Pops says it was love at first sight.
I say it’s bullshit.
“I can handle myself,” I tell her calmly.
Mother clicks her tongue again. “You’re twenty-eight.”
“So?”
She shrugs, attempts to look nonchalant but is anything but. “Just saying.”
My patience starts to wear thin, but I’m not about to lose my cool over something so trivial. Mother always had a way of pushing my buttons. Jacob used to be there to keep us from losing our heads. I admired that about him. Always calm and collected. I think he would have been a great lawyer when he grew up.
Now I have to deal with her all by myself.
And it’s fucking exhausting.
I give her a stiff smile. “Thank you for your concern, Mother. But I’m not thinking about settling down any time soon.”
“I’ll give you Angela’s number. Just in case.”
“Mother—”
“Who knows? You two could hit it off. Maybe you can finally settle down and come home to Haven. I know there are several nice houses on the market you could buy. Big backyards, picket fences. Plenty of space to start a little family of your own if—”
“That’s not necessary.” I cut her off, stress my words. I never raise my voice, but there’s an edge to my tone. I don’t like people telling me what to do. That’s why I like being in New York so much. I don’t have to deal with her constant nagging.
Mother huffs and finally backs down. “If you say so.”
God, I’ve only been here three days and I already can’t wait to go home.
Chapter Four
Eve
Class starts at seven in the morning.
Day in and day out, it follows the same structure. We start our warm-ups on the barre, then we move to center, adagio, allegro, and reverence. The patterns that the class master calls out to us is ever-changing, though, so it never feels stale and boring.