“Rhyson is a musician. What’s wrong with musicians? And it’s none of Parker’s business who I have feelings for. Despite all your plotting and best efforts, I’m not marrying Parker. I don’t love him.”
“Even better.” A bitter smile twists the thin, painted red line of her lips. “If you don’t love him, Parker’s mistresses shouldn’t bother you.”
“Parker’s mistresses won’t bother me because I’m not marrying him.”
“Then what are you doing?” Mother narrows her eyes at the corners and her lips pinch in the center. “Parker isn’t the boy you grew up with, Bristol. Do not toy with him.”
“I’m not toying with him. I was very clear that I didn’t want a relationship. He refuses to listen, and this media maelstrom hasn’t helped. He’s in India on business.” I roll my eyes and take another sip of orange juice. “Very conveniently, he’s been so tied up he hasn’t returned my calls. Someone from his team confirmed the rumors about us. They wouldn’t have done that without his consent. He’s the one toying with me, manipulating me through the media. Not the other way around.”
“Of course he told them to confirm.” Mother takes a draw of her Bloody Mary. “Hmmm. That’s good. He probably tipped them off for the pictures in the first place. Men like him leave very little to chance, and he’s probably tired of waiting for you to marry him.”
The thought had occurred to me. For someone to be trailing us at every stage of the evening capturing those photos seems farfetched. The photos of him leaving my house the next morning and kissing me at Chelle’s definitely required a “tip” or inside track. I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Be very careful, Bristol. This thing with Marlon and his new girlfriend is the best thing that could happen,” Mother says. “If Parker suspects you have feelings for Marlon, that you might choose Marlon over him, he’ll find a way to crush him. Do you know that?”
“Yes, Mother. I know that. It won’t be a problem.” I meet her eyes with a sigh. “Like I said, I have it under control.”
“Oh, yes. The same way you had your brother’s career under control?” Mother’s eyes flash silver fire at me across the table. “And yet, instead of him playing with the Pops, as he should be, he’s starting some record label thing.”
“That was a misunderstanding,” I flash right back at her. “You chose to believe I was moving to LA to manipulate my brother for you, to get him back under your management, when actually, I moved here to help him pursue his dream. Not yours.”
We both fall silent as the server places our plates on the table.
“And that record label thing is my job,” I add when the server leaves. “One I’m very good at, by the way.”
“Well I guess you made do since you had no real talent to speak of.” Mother takes a bite of her eggs Benedict. “Lemonade from lemons, they say.”
The words I would fire back at her die on my lips. I can shake down crooked vendors and go toe to toe with the toughest people in one of the toughest industries, but my mother . . .
She always makes me feel inadequate. As if I failed her somehow being born less talented than my twin brother. Music connected the three of them, and I could never push my way into their circle. I was left out. Disconnected. That’s what surprised me with Grip. How connected we felt, and the closeness that wasn’t dependent on blood or even common interest. It came from how clearly we saw and accepted each other almost right away.
It’s rare and real and you just keep spitting on it.
“Did I tell you we’re managing Petra now?” Mother interrupts Grip’s voice reverberating in my head. There’s no trace of the hateful barb she just tossed at me left on her lips. Only a smile.
“No.” I look out to the harbor again. “How nice for you.”
“I still think it’s a shame she and Rhyson never resolved their issues,” Mother says, taking a delicate sip of her liquor.
“Issues?” I snort inelegantly. “She cheated on him, Mother, with one of his classmates.”
“It was high school, for God’s sake.” Mother sighs her exasperation. “People make mistakes when they’re young. Two piano prodigies. So young and in love. God, the classical world ate up their dueling piano tour. So much potential.”
I’m pretty sure Rhyson dodged a bullet with that one and has no regrets.
“Well, all is not lost.” I try to keep my smile from become smug. “Rhyson has Kai now, and their first baby is on the way. I think Rhyson is fine with how things worked out.”
She didn’t exactly approve of Kai for Rhyson, but he hasn’t considered our mother’s opinion in a very long time.
“Kai’s due soon.” I study my mother’s unreadable expression. “Have you guys talked about that in your sessions?”
My parents and brother are in family counseling, still trying to mend what was broken when Rhyson left.
“We’ve missed the last few sessions,” Mother admits, a hint of genuine sadness in her eyes. “Not that Rhyson would talk to me about my own grandchild.”
“He’ll come around.”
Maybe? One day?
Rhyson has made a great deal of progress with our father but remains at odds with our mother.
“Why does your father get a pass and I don’t?”
That’s a complicated answer that Rhyson will have to give her because I can’t.
“You’ll have to ask him that.” I shrug. “Maybe bring it up in your next session.”
“By the way, Dr. Ramirez suggested we bring you in,” Mother says casually.
I nearly drop my fork. They were supposed to bring me in “soon.” That was over a year ago, and I still haven’t been to one session. I’ve been waiting so long for this, to be heard. To have my say about how all the decisions they made affected me years ago. How I’m still affected by the civil war that splintered our family.
“When?” I keep my voice free of eagerness.
“Hopefully in the next week or so. Rhyson’s been busy with that record label.” Mother says it with such distaste I almost laugh. “And your father and I have taken on several new clients in addition to Petra.”
“Just keep me posted. I’ll adjust my schedule however I need—”
A hand on my shoulder cuts the sentence short. I look up to find my mother’s best friend since college standing over me, her blue eyes and blonde hair a beautiful, older echo of her son’s.
“Mrs. Parker.” I cover her hand on my shoulder with mine, forcing a smile to my lips. “So good to see you.”
“So formal?” The gentle rebuke in her eyes coaxes my lips into a genuine smile.
“Sorry, Aunt Betsy.” I kiss the cheek she offers before she takes a seat at our table.
“Betsy, hello, darling.” Mother sips her third Bloody Mary. “When did you arrive in LA?”
“I left you a message that I was flying in from New York last night.” She smiles at our server. “Mimosa, dear. Thank you.”
They don’t fool me. Like mother like son. I have a feeling Aunt Betsy and my mother have done some orchestrating of their own to make sure even with Parker in India, speculation about us remains high. I cast a quick glance around the floating restaurant, my eyes peeled for cameras and paparazzi.
Not giving a hint that I sniffed them out, I scoot aside to make more room for Aunt Betsy between my mother and me.
“Nothing to eat?” I ask.
“Trying to maintain my girlish figure.” Aunt Betsy winks. “Do what we have to do to keep our men, don’t we?”
If by “keep” she means watch helplessly as her husband screws half of the Upper East side, then I guess she’s doing everything she can. She and my mother didn’t exactly hit the lottery in the fidelity department. At least my father is discreet. I would never have known about his indiscretions had I not come home early that day.
It doesn’t take long for the conversation to circle around to what she and my mother have been planning since they compared ultrasounds almost thirty years ago: my “pending” nuptials to Parker.