Caught in Us (Lost 3)

"You know, you should stop doing this," he says, but his strong arms sustain me, as always. "You're not ten years old anymore."

"I'll always be your younger sister, which entitles me to cuddling forever," I say. He laughs softly, hugging me tightly to him. "Can I come to your place tomorrow after school and stay for the weekend? We could do a movie marathon?"

"Sure. You can come anytime; you have a key, after all." He puts me down, but still keeps an arm around me in a half-hug. "But how about spending some time with kids your age? And by that, I don't mean nerding out with Hazel," he adds. I glower at him because that's what I call my time with Hazel, but secretly I’m pleased that James pays enough attention to what I say that he remembers it. "Go out with a group of girls. Do something fun. Or here's an idea, how about going on a date with someone?"

"Girls at school don't like me, James. I’m supposed to be into Vogue, and some other ridiculously named fashion magazines. Not to mention that I should be looking like a runway model. That would probably help in the dating department, too. I’m into fantasy books and comics, and I look...like myself."

James opens his mouth, no doubt to tell me I am in fact very attractive, I just don't know it. Like the good brother he is, he has to say this by default. I interrupt him, not in the mood to go through this again.

“Don’t say anything.”

Mom and Dad await us stoically at the table when we enter. The dining room is sizeable, the twelve-person table occupying most of it. It's Rococo, or Baroque, or something. Mom's newest acquisition. She scoured nearly every antique shop on this coast to find it. Mom and Dad sit at opposite ends. Beatrix and Anthony Cohen used to love each other passionately. They met when Mom was at the height of her modelling career, in her native London, and had a whirlwind romance, ending up married six months after they met. She quit her career afterward, because Dad was too jealous and impossibly controlling. Somewhere along the years, their love burned to bitter ashes.

As usual, they avoid looking at each other. This is the one day every week when they are forced to eat in each other's company, because James visits. I almost always eat alone in the evenings, in the kitchen. Sometimes our cook stays after schedule, so I don't have to be alone. Mom and Dad mostly eat out. Separately. I very much appreciate that at least every Thursday, they make an effort to be together in one room and behave in a civilized manner. I don't understand how their relationship can survive on nothing but coldness. When I get in a relationship, it will be the exact opposite.

As we eat the appetizer, salmon tartare, Mom drinks her first glass of wine while asking James if he'll be around for her yearly themed charity party. Mom throws multiple parties every year, but the themed one she hosts every spring is the highlight. This year, the theme will be nineteenth-century Venice, which translates to extravagant dresses and masks. I always had misgivings about this party-throwing occupation of hers, deeming it shallow, but it does raise a lot of money. The party is still months away, but Mom has worked all the details out already.

"Put Parker on the guest list," James tells her.

"Parker is here?" I ask excitedly.

"Yeah, we'll be working together for a few months."

"Let's go out to dinner, the three of us," I say.

"Sure."

Parker is our cousin. He lives in London and visits a few times a year. Like me, he's not much of a talker, but I like being around him. He's a good sport and has a perfect British accent. Mom has an accent, too, but it’s faded since she's been living here for more than twenty years.

Then Dad contributes his part to the evening's chatter. I almost know by heart how the conversation will go. He asks James how his company is doing, and after James briefly recounts his latest achievements, Dad heavily hints that he could use James's brain at the chocolate factory. James politely declines, and then my parents go silent. When I was little, I used to adore the chocolate factory, even dreamed about taking it over one day, but as I grew up, I started resenting it for keeping my father away from me.

"Mom, there is an event at school in two weeks on Friday. Do you have time to come?"

"No," she says automatically. I try not to appear too disappointed. "I have to prepare for the Steel's charity gala that weekend."

"You can just come for an hour or so." I know for a fact that preparation means long hours of shopping followed by more long hours at the spa. Would it kill her to do something with me, just this once?

"No," Mom repeats. I sink lower in my seat, pushing the last bits of salmon around with my fork. Well, at least I can count on Hazel's mom to be there, and she's the funniest person I know.

With the serving of the main course, the evening belongs to James and me. Mom and Dad could leave the table for all the attention they pay to what is going on.

"Anything new at school?" James asks.

"A new guy came today. I've never seen a more arrogant jerk; he treats everyone like they're beneath him. He didn't bother to take notes in any of the classes and is rude to everyone, including teachers."

James laughs. "That's a passionate speech. Falling for the bad boy already?"

I choke on my orange juice, spewing some on Mom's beautiful tablecloth. Thankfully, she’s too preoccupied gulping down her third—or fourth—glass of wine to pay any attention. I glance quickly at Dad, who focuses on his steak, lost in thoughts of his own. They probably concern the chocolate factory, as usual.

"What's his name?"

"Damon Cooper."

"I didn't know Cooper sent his son to your school," Father says in surprise.

"He's a snob. He probably learned it's the best school around and sent him there, hoping he'll be accepted if his son goes to a decent school," Mom says. "As if anyone wouldn't know Cooper is a leper."

"Didn't you just start working with him a month ago, Dad?" James asks. "He must have some redeeming qualities if you chose him as one of your suppliers."