Risky Business

I sound like a used car salesman on his first day on the job, but it’s the best I can do. I’m just a kid mostly repeating what I’ve heard at the dinner table. Not the PR department.

“Interesting,” Mr. Richardson says dryly before excusing himself. He walks away, and I can almost read his mind and the shade he’s going to throw on the park after this. Pissed off, I turn to Archer.

“What the fuck, Archer?” I hiss.

He shrugs as though he’s not torpedoing Dad’s company. Our company. Or at least what will become our company. Archer’s just happy to be here, fucking off with free access to champagne and appetizers.

“It doesn’t matter. Dad’s never going to turn over the reins of this place to us. It’s his baby, the only one he cared about.” He snorts, correcting himself. “Other than Toni.”

Realization dawns. This is about Toni, who’s been sweet and innocent and is still not too sure how she fits in around a house that’s probably bigger than the entire apartment building she was living in before things became public. “Are you seriously jealous of your little sister? Is that what this is about?”

“Dad has been putting Izzy and Toni before us for years. We knew it, even when we didn’t know why or what he was doing. But we do now,” Archer sneers.

Archer has a point, actually. The news of Dad’s long-term infidelity and second family is fresh and new and sharply painful. And Archer’s been taking Mom’s ditching us extra hard, even sitting on Dad’s front steps with a backpack, vehemently telling everyone that she’s coming for him and that she wouldn’t leave him behind.

She never came. And in front of me, I realize that on some level, Archer is still that kid on the porch steps, pouting at being forgotten by one parent and never appreciating the parent who loved him unconditionally, even long after he deserved it.

“Yeah, we used to grab as many desserts as we could and stuff them in our pockets, then we’d sneak champagne by pouring it into the water glasses until they were nearly full to the brim,” Archer says as if what we did was always just good, clean fun. “And we’d sit under the carousel, down there with the dirty mechanisms in our penguin suits, and gorge ourselves while we talked about what we’d do to make this place actually fun. Remember that, Carson?”

I’ll admit, we did have some fun together as boys, but those weren’t the good old days, and Kesha and Macklemore aren’t sitting around somewhere singing about us. Archer grew up. And I grew up.

And we definitely grew apart

“I do. I’m actually following through on those plans, making Americana Land better for today and the future,” I tell him sternly, my voice a few degrees above freezing only by pure effort. Archer notices and scoffs.

“Making Americana Land bigger, better, wow-er,” he mimics in a chiding voice. “You always were a people pleaser, the classic middle child.”

It’s more of a dig about Toni’s existence than any of my personality traits, and we all know it.

“That’s enough, Son. I think you’ve done what you intended tonight, and it’d be best if you leave now,” Dad says tightly. He’s trying his best to keep his cool, and for once, I’m on Dad’s team.

We’re not perfect, but after everything I’ve done to help Americana Land’s reputation, I will not let Archer torpedo it again in one drunken outburst. This is bigger than a single, sullen teenage conversation with a donor. This is our charity event, and the hospital is depending on us to fundraise, not make a scene with our family drama.

“Time for you to go, Archer,” I growl softly, grabbing his bicep tightly to physically drag him out if need be.

He makes a quick move, breaking my grip at the same time he shouts, “Get your hands off me!”

As he wanted, everyone’s eyes turn to us curiously. I can already see heads tilting together as people begin to whisper.

He tugs his jacket down, straightening it as though I mussed him by merely touching him. “Are you saying my donation isn’t as good as everyone else’s? Think of the children.”

His volume is loud enough to draw gasps from multiple people.

“Archer, do not try to manipulate your misbehavior.” Dad matches his volume and forceful energy, not putting up with Archer’s strategic posturing and very nearly correcting him like the wayward teen he once was. “Your exploits are well-known . . . unfortunately.”

Archer’s face reddens as he looks around, realizing that the attention he’s receiving isn’t leaning his way as he expected. Some of the crowd’s reaction is due to the fact that Dad is a respected man among them and Archer is the quintessential spoiled brat child that many of them can relate to.