Mister Weston

“See?” Riley smiled at me. “Everyone, including me, still loves you, Jake.”

“Fuck you, Riley.”

She gasped, acting as if she was actually shocked.

“Jake.” My father sighed. “When I told a little lie about the flight ceremony to get you here, I didn’t mean for you to take it the wrong way.”

“And when I said ‘Take care of my wife while I’m flying new routes’, I didn’t mean fuck her.”

Riley’s cheeks reddened and she faked a smile for another photographer.

“Jake, listen. “My father tried to steer the conversation, but I refused to let it go this time.

“You have yet to even attempt to apologize for that.”

“For the umpteenth time...” He paused, giving a half wave to someone across the room. “It was a one-time thing that we both absolutely regret. Nothing became of it, we’re both with other people now, and it was a total accident.”

“Her pussy just fell on your dick?”

“No, but if you’d let me explain—”

“There is no justification.” I hated that I saw my own blue eyes in his, that if anyone else stood close enough they could see it, too. “If you’re interested in explaining it to someone willing to listen, I would write Webster’s and make a claim on your accomplishment before its’ too late. There’s already a term for ‘motherfucker’ but I think the world is in desperate need of knowing that there’s a such thing as a father-fucker.”

The two of them glared at me.

“Nothing else to say?” I asked.

“You don’t have the whole story, Jake.” Riley hissed between her teeth.

“I have the only chapter I need. The scene where I came home early and caught you sucking his dick in my bathroom. Unless you were giving out blow jobs as party favors to everyone else, I’m not sure how I could’ve gotten the narrative wrong all these years.”

“You were never there, Jake.” Riley nearly lost it. “You were never home.”

“I was home that day.” I stepped back.

“Jake, please don’t leave.” My father looked genuine, but I couldn’t help but feel that he was playing another one if his mental magic tricks. “I think your mother—”

“Don’t you dare bring her up. Ever.” I felt an ache in my chest. “And fuck you. Both of you.” I took another step back. “But I am quite serious about that Webster’s submission form. You should hurry up before someone else takes credit.”

I stormed off toward the exit, ready to drink this night away. Something told me to keep going, to not bother looking back, but I couldn’t help it. I glanced over at its sleek white frame, at the light blue and crème emblem on its tail. And just as I was about to turn away and continue heading for the exit, my eyes caught something. Something disturbing and utterly callous.

On the right side of the tail, high enough for all to see was a faded image of my mother’s face in a light sepia tone. Her life span and a few words were written underneath:

I’ll always remember you, Irene.

Love, Nate.

Rest Peacefully,

Sarah Irene Pearson

1949-1999

“IT WAS SUCH A SHAME wasn’t it?” An older woman next to me lowered her voice. “Losing his wife in the very first plane he built...I’m sure it still devastates him.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.” I turned around and scanned the room for my father, catching him mid-laugh. I stared at him with fury running through my veins, waiting for his eyes to meet mine.

He posed for a few more photos with his new, much younger wife at his side and turned around, his eyes meeting mine. He raised his eyebrow, as if he was surprised I was still in attendance. Then he winked at me, mouthing, “Is that good enough?” before turning his attention to someone else.

I clenched my fists, seconds away from walking over and breaking his jaw.

Before I could make that happen, I spotted Gillian standing across the room.

Laughing, she was wearing a short, emerald green dress that left little to the imagination. The dressed stopped at her thighs and clung tightly to her hips, showing off her perfect breasts.

I started to walk over to her, but stopped when I realized she was dancing with someone in a navy blue suit. Someone who was rubbing his hands against her back and whispering something into her ear.

Confused, I watched for several more minutes, assuming that it was some friend of hers, a casual dance with an acquaintance. But as she tossed her head back in laughter, I saw exactly who she was dancing with and all the blood left my face.

GATE B18

GILLIAN

New York (JFK)

“YOU’RE HURTING ME...” I smiled uneasily as Evan Pearson, the CEO’s son dipped me low and told another inappropriate joke. He was holding onto me a little too tightly, and I was hoping Meredith would see my “Please come save me from this asshole” text soon.