Cruel Beloved

“You can’t tell me who to divorce, Father.”

“So, you’re already thinking that way?” Dad’s fishing, the asshole.

“No, but that’s out of your hands. I would never stay married to someone I don’t love.”

“So, you aren’t sure if you love him?”

I place the phone down and mute it, then I scream, loudly. I can hear him saying my name when I unmute it.

“I love him.” Shit! That tasted like acid when I spoke it, a caustic taste that burns my mouth.

“Good, as long as you’re sure. Hate for the newspapers to write about how my daughter marries then divorces straight away. They will think you’ve done it just for the money.” There’s no point in me speaking anymore. He’s digging for more information that I don’t want to give him.

“Okay, I’ll be off then. Send the accounts for your wedding straight to your mother. She’ll handle it all.” Then he hangs up with no goodbye. And so, I repeat the process, screaming at the top of my lungs. One day he will hear me. One day he will know how frustrated he makes me. Maybe.

“You really have issues with your father, don’t you?”

I freeze, then slowly turn around. Whiskey’s leaning against the door, his hands in his pockets as he watches me.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Just before you said you loved me, and before your first scream.”

“Fuck off,” I say, turning back to my breakfast.

“Such a lady. Wonder what Daddy would say if only he knew,” he throws back at me.

“He doesn’t, and it will stay that way.” Turning back to him I ask, “How did you know what I eat for breakfast?”

Whiskey straightens his hands and they come out of his pockets. “I take notice of things. You’re one of them.” Then he walks off, leaving me at the kitchen counter angry at the two men in my life.

One is meant to love me no matter what.

The other is using me for his own personal gain.

And right now, I have no idea what that even is.

“Just run away and never come back,” Emma says, as I walk into my now empty room. Everything was packed up and delivered to my new house, one I never signed up for, one I would never have picked myself.

“That means they all win. How can I let them win when that’s all they ever do?”

“You give them that choice, you know that, right? You know how to use the word ‘no,’ but you just can’t use it on your father.”

She’s so right. I know this. But it’s easier said than done. If I disobeyed him, I could ruin his career as well, and his career is what paid for my schooling and helped me become who I am today. I don’t have it in me to do that to him, even though I know he manipulates me into being something I’m not.

“I just don’t know his angle, and I really want to know why.”

“Well, it’s not your money. Clearly, Whiskey’s richer than you.”

“That he is.”

Emma puts on her hat as we start to leave. “Beach day?” she asks, smiling while reaching for a bottle of wine to take with us.

“Yes, please.” Pulling open the door, Barry stands there, his hands in his pockets and a playful smile written all over his face.

“Oh, fuck, no! You go away, right now.” Emma shoos him, but he simply finds her amusing.

He looks to me. “Can you see the love, it’s so evident in her eyes.”

I reach for the bottle of wine from Emma’s hand before she throws it at him.

“Corton asks that you call him. Said he’s been trying to reach you all day.” Then he turns to Emma. “You and I have a date.”

“No, we don’t.” She slams the door in his face.

I wait for her to calm down as she walks back and forth, back and forth, until she stops and faces me after wearing a line in the carpet.

“I don’t like him. I hate that you’re in this position, and I wish I could remove you from it.” Emma’s hat that was originally on her head is now in her hands. She straightens up, puts it back on, reaches for the wine, and grabs the door handle. “Go! Go to his office, annoy him as much as you can today. I’m going to do some digging.” Then she opens the door to Barry, who’s still standing there. He smiles upon seeing her as she steps through the door, hooks her hand through his arm, and off they go.

Whiskey’s office is quiet. It’s the weekend, but his light is on, and I can hear him talking on the phone. Pushing the door open, I don’t even bother knocking as I barge in. He looks up from his computer and continues his conversation but stares at me. It’s business, but the way he speaks makes me think he’s talking directly to me.