After Brin gets home and inhales the food Robbie made for her, she and Anastasia claim that being surrounded by so much testosterone is rotting their brains, so I drop them both off at the movies for some girl time.
Not to make things uncomfortable with the planner slander, but Stassie has been filling her time with unnecessary stuff. Living here has been a culture shock for her because nothing gets done when it’s supposed to.
I can see how uncomfortable it makes her when she feels behind, so I do my best to stick to her timeline while still reminding her that sometimes taking a change of plan is good—like an impromptu trip to watch some romance movie.
Pulling into the driveway back home after dropping them off, I notice a car I don’t recognize parked in my spot. My phone rings as my keys twist in the door, and when it swings open, I don’t need to ask who is calling me or why.
“Nathaniel,” my dad says curtly. “It’s nice to confirm you’re alive.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I blurt out.
“You mean in the house that I paid for, where my only son lives? Or in California?”
The superiority in his tone has bile rising in my throat. I truly don’t know how Sasha and I have been raised by someone so fucking obnoxious and not turned out like him.
Visually, it’s like looking in a mirror that shows your future. Same hair, same eyes, same face basically. There’s unfortunately no doubt whose son I am. But his personality,Jesus Christ.It would be like if I had Aaron’s personality or something.
“Both.”
“You haven’t been answering my calls.”
“You flew one thousand miles because I’ve been too busy to answer your calls? Are you for real?”
I haven’t even noticed the guys are also here until I notice them all shuffle into the den in my peripheral vision. It’s always been awkward for me because all their parents are nice. Henry’s moms live in Maple Hills and even they don’t drop in on us unannounced.
“I traveled because I have business in California. I’m here because I wanted to see you.” The caring father act has always been a favorite; if you don’t know him, it’s almost convincing. “As I said, you haven’t been answering my calls.”
I sit on the couch, mirroring his seated position on the chair across from me. It’s all suspicious, my gut is yelling at me that something is off.
“What business could you have in LA? You know it doesn’t snow here, right?”
“Don’t pretend to know anything about our family’s business.” His façade slips. “You don’t mind spending family money on your tuition, or your house, or that hundred grand car you drive. You just don’t like contributing anything.”
Leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, I sigh, refusing to engage in the same conversation we’ve been having since I graduated from high school and told him I wasn’t going to study business at Colorado State. “Why are you here, Dad?”
“Your sister is unhappy.”No shit.“I need you to talk to her. She says she wants to quit skiing.”
Sasha doesn’t want to quit skiing. It’s the only thing she can say to him to get him to listen to her. “What else is she saying?”
Eyebrows furrowed, his hand rubs against his jaw.Fuck, even our movements look the same. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t just come to you and say she’s quitting. What is she asking for that you’re ignoring? What does she want?God, I shouldn’t have to teach you to parent your sixteen-year-old.”
“Watch your tone, Nathaniel.”
“Do you even listen to her?” My voice gets louder, the anger bubbling in my chest. “She’s not a freaking racehorse, she’s a little girl. She doesn’t exist to win trophies for you. She has needs! You’re lucky she hasn’t filed for emancipation.”
I want him to shout back, for us to argue this out, but he just stares at me with a blank expression.
“She loves skiing, you know she does. She wouldn’t be as good as she is if she didn’t love it. But she needs breaks, Dad. She needs care and attention, and to know that how much you love her doesn’t depend on how clean her runs are.”
“She wants to go on vacation for Christmas.”
I knew he’d know; I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been asking for months, and he’s ignored it. “See? Easy. Take her to St. Barts or something. Let her lie on a beach, read a book, chug a virgin piña colada or two.”
Without missing a beat, he ignores what I said and nods toward the stairs. “There appears to be a woman living in your bedroom. Where is she?”
He catches me off guard, clearly his intention. His only intention usually, as demonstrated by turning up here uninvited. When the initial shock subsides, the realization hits, and for the first time, I’m glad Anastasia isn’t here.