I’m to be another one of his employees starting tomorrow. I’m no trust fund baby, at least that was the case in the years I spent with Mom in our rented, run-down house. On my twentieth birthday, I’m to inherit a large amount of stock in the company along with a lump sum, and I know that the timeline is purposeful because he’s never wanted my mother anywhere near his fortune. His grudge for her clear in that sense. Add that to the fact he’s given the minimum over the years, keeping Mom in her respective place in his food chain makes it easy to see he has no lingering feelings for her.
For a brief time, I’ve lived on both sides of poverty due to their night and day lifestyles, and to spite his wishes, I’ll take the stock and money and go against every one of them. The minute I’m able, my mother will never work again. Any amount of success I have, I’m determined to earn for myself, but the fear of failing along with the possibility that gambling on myself would ultimately cost her is what brought me here. But in order to carry out my plan, I have to play along with his, and that includes being ‘appreciative and respectful enough to learn the business, even if it’s from the ground level.’
The hardest part of that will be to tame my mouth and silence my resentment, which is front and center since he could have spared us both an awkward year together by simply having a fucking heart with the woman who has done both their jobs as my parent.
I don’t exactly hate my father, but I don’t understand him or his unapologetic cruelty, and never will. I’m not about to spend the next year trying to figure him out. Any communication on his part has always felt mandatory and rushed. He’s always been a monetary provider, not a dad. I respect his work ethic and success but have zero understanding as to the whys of his lack of empathy and the chill of his sub-zero personality.
“I’ll come home every chance I can,” I tell Christy, unsure I can make it a promise due to my schedule.
“I’ll come up too.”
Opening the top of my chest of drawers, I toss in a pile of socks and undies, “Let’s see how Adolf feels about you occupying a guest room before you gas up, okay?”
“I’ll rent a hotel with my mom’s card. Fuck your dad.”
I laugh, and it sounds odd in the massive room. “You really aren’t feeling my parents today.”
“I love your mom, but I don’t get it. Maybe I need to go by and see her.”
“She moved in with Timothy.”
“Really? When?”
“Yesterday. Just give her time to get settled.”
“Okay…” she pauses, “why am I just now hearing this? I knew things were getting bad, but what’s really going on?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I sigh, giving in to the resentment I’m starting to feel. It’s not like me to hide anything from Christy. “She’s going through something. Timothy is a decent guy, and I trust him with her.”
“But he wouldn’t let you move in.”
“To be fair, I’m an adult, and he doesn’t exactly have the space.”
“I still want to know why she’s okay with letting you live with your dad now.”
“I told you, I have to work at the plant for a year to get her set up. I don’t want to worry about her while I’m at school.”
“It’s not your job.”
“I know.”
“You’re not the parent.”
“We both know I am. And we’ll resume our plans the minute I get back.”
It was a surprise to me that my father agreed to let me attend community college here for a couple of semesters, rather than make me take a sabbatical to start a year late at a more acceptable school. It’s his dime, and he’s the sole source of my college fund, so that win during negotiations let me know he wanted his way enough to compromise—a departure from his controlling personality.
I glance around the room. “I haven’t spent more than a day with him or summered here since I was eleven.”
“Why is that?”
“It was always something. He claimed it was overseas trips and expansion that kept him from being able to care for me for weeks or months at a time. The truth is, I got my period, boobs, and an attitude, and he couldn’t deal. I don’t think there’s anything Roman fears more than being a real parent.”
“It’s weird you call your dad by his first name.”
“Not to his face. When I’m here, it’s Sir.”
“You never talk about him.”