Never Kiss A Stranger

* * *

I pull into my father’s mansion by the water, and spot Urban’s SUV. Thank god he’s here before me.

The house on the hill boasts wealth, importance, and a lie he’s trying desperately to hold on to. It has all the elements of things to compete with all the neighbors. A grand yard, big columns, and a dock with a boat tied off to the end of it.

I really don’t want to be here. But, I’ll play the game. Whatever game that is. My father looks at life like a game of chess. He positions the pieces so that no matter which move you make he’s already calling checkmate before you even know what’s happened.

But not this time, not today.

“Ellis, so glad you’re here,” my father says with a tight smile.

“What do you need to see us for?” I ask him before I’ve even completely stepped into his house.

Of course, my father is one of those types. He needs to set the mood, have us come inside. Light cigars. Drink our tea. Act like civilized folk, and all that other horseshit.

Urban obliges, stepping inside and making small talk until my father has us sitting inside his office. It’s a power play.

Him sitting there behind his big cherry-wood desk, degrees from the various universities he graduated from decorating the wall behind him, and us in the chairs on the opposite side. He towers over everything in the room even in a seated position, like his chair is on the highest setting. Another power move.

Hell, all he’s missing is the red tie to show he means business.

But, not today. He wears a Tommy Bahama shirt, blue with a white hibiscus flower pattern. He pulls out a little wooden box from his humidifier case. Ah, the cigars.

I decline, but Urban and my father light theirs up.

“Are we about done with all the theatrics?” I lean back in my stiff wooden chair, trying my best not to look as displeased as I feel. But, that’s easier said than done.

“Ellis, you should be grateful I don’t throw you off this new project you and that girl have started.” My father stares at me from behind his dark-rimmed glasses.

“Don’t threaten me, old man.” Ha. I’d like to see Daddy dearest try.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Ok, we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. I called you both over because I feel like you’ll need me to move forward.”

“Need you?” I ask, and before I can go any further Urban stands from his chair.

“Dad, while we appreciate the help, I think Ellis and I can take it from here. We’re seconds away from closing the deal with Henry, and have all the products ready for production.”

“Yes, but we need a face for the new products, and I think that’s where I need to take the reins. I need to showcase my new products to the world.”

“Ah, so you get the credit.”

“Well, it is my brewery,” my father says, his eyes gleaming with dollar signs. Wonder how long it will take him to gamble away the future earnings.

“No deal.” I rest my hand on his desk. “I’m not here helping so you can just get us into the same predicament next year.”

Urban sits back in his chair. “He’s right, Dad. We can’t have things getting as bad as before.”

My father hangs his head for just a moment, really for show more than anything else. “You’re right, boys. I need to be better. I will be better,” says any good junkie who needs his next fix, and for my father it’s gambling.

“Ok, seriously. If we need to get you into some sort of rehab, we will,” Urban says.

My father laughs. “I’ll be good.”

Richard Atwood could never be seen at a rehabilitation center for gamblers, or for anything else for that matter. The country club gossip would fly through the roof, and they’d not be invited to their weekly squash game.

I stare at my father, the anger I’ve had toward him doubling over, begging to be released. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

My father sits up straight, puffing out his chest. “Urban, give us a minute.”

Urban nods, leaving the room.

Richard Atwood doesn’t speak right away, instead he studies me over his glasses, puffing on his cigar. “You really hate me, don’t you?” he finally asks, his voice low and concise.

“I really do.”

“You know your mother has forgiven me for what happened all those years ago.”

I laugh. “No, she just doesn’t care about you.”

“Ellis, do you know what the opposite of love is?”

“Hate.” Because everything coursing through my bones is the opposite of love right now.

He shakes his head, like he knows everything in the world. His smugness nearly kills me. “No, it’s indifference. When you no longer care, and all the anger melts away. That’s when you know you no longer love someone.”