Never Say Never (The Ladies Who Brunch 1)

“Hey, Dad.” I prop my phone up on the counter as I finish cleaning a few dishes I left in the sink. It’s Thursday night and Charlotte will be here soon, but I’ve been avoiding his calls all week, so there’s no time like the present to get this conversation over with.

“Damien. Long time, no talk, son.”

Yeah, for a very good reason. “Well, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I heard—hanging out with Charlotte Montgomery, huh?”

I close my eyes, exhaling in frustration. I knew it was only a matter of time before I got this phone call. “We’ve reconnected, yes…”

“Reconnected? That seems a lot more casual than what her mom said the other night at dinner.”

“And what did Savannah say?” I prod, wanting to hear what he knows before I give him too much information.

“That you two are dating.”

“Okay…” I say, waiting for the outburst.

“What the hell are you thinking?” And there it is.

“You make it sound like this is a problem?”

“It’s not a problem, per se. But Charlotte is…” Here it comes. “Well, she’s not the type of woman you need.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I dry my hands on the dish towel right beside me. “And just what type of woman do I need, Dad?”

“A woman who knows her place, who will remember that the man is the head of the household. Charlotte always had too much grit for my liking, and given her job now, I’m pretty sure she makes more money than you, doesn’t she? I just don’t understand why you would want to date her?”

And there it is—the glaring reminder that my father’s chauvinistic views of the male/female dynamic are way too outdated, and therefore women like Charlotte are threatening to his manhood.

You see, the competition between Charlotte and me? It wasn’t perpetuated solely because we’re both competitive people. Sure, it was fun for me to ruffle her feathers and beat her when it counted, but most of our competition was driven by my father’s need for me to be better than her.

Because our parents are best friends, all I ever heard was how smart Charlotte was, how good she was at soccer, how hardworking she was, and how successful she was going to be. And every time he could, my dad would tell me that I should be doing more than she is. As a man who carried the last name Shaw, I should be on top in all aspects of my life. A woman shouldn’t be showing me up—ever.

Call it crazy, because that’s exactly what it is, but my dad was the one who wanted me to beat her at everything, to give him bragging rights about his kid. And for the longest time, I played into it. His praise made me feel ten feet tall, and when praise came from other people too, it validated who I was and my namesake.

By the time I was a senior, I was done. I didn’t want to worry about Charlotte anymore. I wanted to worry about me—what I wanted for my future, my life beyond high school, and my career. If my father had it his way, I would have stayed in South Carolina for college and gone to work for him in real estate after graduation. I probably would be rolling in dough right about now, but that career aspiration didn’t interest me in the slightest.

I wanted to work in advertising, and applying to school in California was a way for me to get as far away from him as possible. Sure, part of me applied to Charlotte’s dream school because I had to for my father’s wishes, but also because I wanted to see if I would get in too. Ironically, things didn’t work out the way either of us wanted them to, but in a way, they did. Getting into USC allowed me to escape my father’s wrath and his outdated view on the world—that I should marry a woman who would stay home and raise my kids, inherit the family business, and be just as blissfully happy as he and my mom appear, even though I wonder if they truly are.

Watching my parents’ marriage from within gave me a glimpse of one way life could look in the future. And it works for them, but I know I’m meant for something different. The truth is, my mother’s demeanor always made me think she regretted playing the part she did in their life. I always wondered if she wanted more for herself, especially after I started seeing my father’s controlling ways, which made me wonder if he was controlling her too.

Anyway, I remember running into Charlotte one night at the park back home, and we said some not-so-nice things to each other. I was seething from the argument with my father earlier when I told him I’d be going to college in California. To say he was upset would be an understatement. But for the first time, I felt like I had some kind of control over what I was going to do in my life, the decisions that I was making felt like my own and not driven by someone else’s wishes.

Our entire childhood though—the competition, nasty words, and drive to outdo the other—it was all caused by my dad pushing his superiority onto me. And now, knowing that with each day that passes I want to keep doing whatever it is that we’re doing, eventually, I’m going to have to tell her. I just don’t know how.

“It’s not your job to understand it,” I say, going back to our conversation and standing up to him as best as I can through the phone.

“Yeah, but you know this won’t last, right? Her mother says she’s married to her job. Is that what you want? A woman that puts her career first?”

“Look, I can’t talk about this right now. I’m expecting company,” I say as I glance at the clock on the microwave. “Was there a point to this call?”

My father sighs. “I guess I just wanted to check up on you. Your mother talks to you all the time, but it feels like we never talk, so...” Yeah, because every time we get on the phone, this is what happens.

“Well, life is good. Work is good. I’m actually up for a promotion.” And hopefully securing it will get him off my back a little, show him this direction I chose for my life wasn’t a waste.

“As you should be. You know I was worried you were throwing away your potential on this advertising route, but at least you seem to be doing okay. Although, you could have been running things already if you had stayed home and worked for me.” Fuck, why can’t he just be proud of me? Why does it have to always feel like it’s not enough? “Anyone with the last name Shaw should be on top.”

“Yup, doing okay. I guess I’ll see you and mom in Hawaii in a few weeks, right?”

“Oh, yeah. That trip should be a good time. It’s been years since we’ve been, although Cal and Savannah aren’t staying at my favorite resort, but whatever. It isn’t my party.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He’s so fucking judgmental. “I’m sure everything will be fine and we’ll all have a good time. I’ll see you then, Dad.”

“Looking forward to it, son.” He ends the call and all I can do is stare down at the phone, wondering how in the hell I’m going to get him to see things from my side for a change, especially when it comes to Charlotte.

I wonder how I even got to this place—thirty and still feeling cut by my father’s words, still fighting the chains I feel around my wrists with being who I want to be and making my parents proud at the same time. My mother, bless her soul, always makes me feel loved. She listens, offers advice when I need it, and I never feel like I ever have to be anyone other than who I am with her.

But my dad—I feel like there’s only so much more I can take from him until I’m about to crack. It had been a while since he’d made me feel this way, but I knew once he found out about Charlotte and me, his temper and disappointment would come back with a vengeance.

I wonder if I should talk to Charlotte about it, especially since I know she deals with similar shit with her mom. It’s almost like all these years we were battling the same demons but took out our frustration on each other instead. Time apart gave me the space to live my life without her and my parents around, but now it’s all coming to a head—and part of me is grateful that I at least have her on my side this time.

Like my mind conjured her presence, I hear the buzzer for my apartment ring out, so I go over to the button to let her up. And when I hear her knock on my door a few moments later, I waste no time opening it up so I can see her gorgeous face.

In a grey skirt and black blouse, Charlotte stands there in heels with her purse and one other bag slung over her shoulder and her hair fastened back in a low bun. It appears she came straight from work, and the urge I have to strip her out of her clothes becomes relentless.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly as if she were running here, but she still has an enthusiastic smile on her face.

“Hey. Do you need some water?” I ask her as she walks through my door and sets her purse and bag on the floor.

“Yes, please. That would be great.”

“Did you run here or something?” Making my way to my kitchen, I reach for a glass and begin filling it up from the dispenser on the fridge while I watch her.

“No, but I was walking pretty fast. I didn’t want to be late.” She takes the glass from me as I hold it out to her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Char. But there was no need to rush. Although, I am really fucking happy to see you.”

She smiles after she drinks half of the liquid, placing the glass down on the counter, and then closes the distance between us, reaching up to wrap her arms around my shoulders as my hands find her waist. “I’m happy to see you too.”

Taking that as an invitation, I lean down to kiss her, and she meets me halfway. Just having her here in my arms, with our lips pressed together, takes away some of the anxiety I’m feeling after the phone call with my dad.

Charlotte moans as I reach down and grab her ass, pulling her closer so she can feel what she’s doing to me. But as our tongues tangle, I remember that the food will be here any moment, so this can’t go much further just yet.

“The food will be here soon,” I mumble against her lips.

“Oh, good. I’m starving.” I release her reluctantly, and then she goes back over to her bags. “Do you mind if I change? I brought some extra clothes.”

“Of course. You know where the bathroom is.”