12
Lukas
I zipped my laptop bag and stuffed some paperwork in the side pouch. I checked the time and winced. I was going to be late. My mother would never let me live it down. I got sidetracked explaining a particular talking point to a student. When I got going, I tended to ramble. I was already an old man.
I grabbed my keys and headed for my car. I was still avoiding the office. Eventually, I would see her. I just wasn’t quite ready to run into her. I headed over to my parents’ house. It was my youngest sister’s birthday. My family was all about getting together for every occasion.
I turned on the AC of my Mercedes. It was a cool day, but the suit was making me feel warm. I headed up the freeway. My parents lived in a small three-bedroom house in Lakeside. I’d helped them purchase it a couple years ago. I did all the loan applications and made sure they got the best rate. I wanted them closer to me, and as much as I loved Texas, I fell in love with Virginia. I knew they would too. My siblings followed suit and the Constantino clan was now in Virginia.
These family parties were something my mom loved. When Mom wanted to throw a party, we found a way to be there. These were the things that made her happy. We had never had much of anything, but we always had each other. Christmas mornings in our house were more about tradition and being together than the gifts.
We weren’t wealthy. We weren’t even middle class. My parents struggled, but oddly enough, we never realized how poor we were until we were older and understood how things worked. I knew when I was young I wanted something different. I didn’t want to be poor. I didn’t want to make what could basically be called hot-dog soup for dinner every night. We didn’t lack for food, but we had just enough to stay alive. Cookies were a mega treat. I wanted more. I wanted to go on vacation and eat at a nice restaurant when I felt like it.
I would never look down on my family for their poverty, but I wanted to do better. The better I did for myself, the more I could help out my parents. They didn’t really have a retirement plan. I helped out here and there without making it seem like I was helping out. My father was a proud man and would not appreciate what he called a handout.
No one knew about my family. Everyone, even Brad, assumed I came from a middle class or wealthy family. Everyone knew I was from Texas, but they didn’t know I wasn’t the son of an oil baron or a wealthy rancher. I never tried to correct them.
I parked my car in front of the house. I was the last one to arrive, judging by the other cars already parked alongside the street. I grabbed the bag from the backseat and made sure to take my laptop bag inside with me. It wasn’t necessarily a dangerous neighborhood, but my life was on that laptop. If someone got a wild hair and decided to break into the most expensive car on the street, I didn’t want them to get my laptop.
I knocked once on the door and walked in. The house was alive with my nieces and nephews and siblings with their spouses. I was the oldest of four and the only one childless and spouseless. “Uncle Lukas!” the oldest of the nephews exclaimed.
“Hey, buddy,” I said and rubbed his head. “You grew again. What are you, like twenty-two now?”
“I’m nine,” he said.
“Oh, that’s right. Where’s your mom?”
“They’re all out back. Grandpa is barbecuing hot dogs.”
“All right,” I said. I put my laptop in the spare room and headed outside.
It was chilly, but that never stopped my parents from grilling. It was a southern thing. I knew Mom would have made her famous potato salad. “You made it!” Mom said and immediately came to me.
I gave her a hug. “How are you doing, Mom?”
“You know I’m always good when I’ve got my family,” she said with a warm smile. “Sit down and I’ll get you a beer.”
I saw my brother Lincoln sitting at one of the small plastic tables. Mom had thrifted her way to a backyard full of mismatched patio furniture to accommodate the large family gatherings.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Before I sat down, I gave my sister a hug. “Happy Birthday,” I said.
“Thanks. Thanks for coming. I know you’re busy trying to be the most successful man in the world.”
“Damn straight,” I said. “Where’s Leslie?”
“She ran to the store to get more beer for her husband,” she said with a sneer. “Apparently he didn’t like the beer Mom bought.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
“He’s in a mood, which is why my husband is sitting in the family room with him and watching some game or something,” she said dismissively.
“And that explains why Lincoln is out here.” I laughed.
“Yep. It’ll be fine. He’ll get some food and his beer, and all will be well.”
“If not, I’ll kick his ass,” I said. “He doesn’t get to ruin your birthday or Mom’s party.”
She patted my arm. “Yes, big brother. Go sit down and stay out of trouble. No drama tonight. It’s my birthday.”
“I left your gift on the table.”
“Is it a Ferrari?” she teased.
“Yep,” I said and walked away.
I sat down at the table with Lincoln. Mom delivered me a beer a moment later. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Lori told you about asswipe?” he asked as he drank the cheap beer Mom bought.
“Yep.”
“You know it’s only a matter of time before we have to bury him,” he said casually.
I laughed. “He’ll come around. He always does. Leslie will say it’s work. He’s stressed out.”
“You need to give him some of that financial wisdom,” he said. “He’d be a lot less stressed out.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” my little brother said. Although little was a relative term. He was a year younger than I was but maybe an inch shorter. “They’re trying to buy a house but they’re struggling I guess.”
I sipped my beer. It wasn’t the craft beer I usually enjoyed, but I grew up on cheap beer. It was like a little piece of my old life. “I’ll talk to Leslie,” I said.
“Good. What else have you been up to? We’re in the same city and I rarely see you.”
“I’m still working my ass off,” I told him. “I’m trying to get tenure.”
“You’ve been on that track for a year,” he said.
“It’s not something that happens overnight,” I said.
“Dating anyone yet?” he asked. “If you don’t find a woman soon, Mom is going to buy you a mail-order bride.”
“You guys are popping out kids fast enough to keep her busy,” I said.
“How are you still single?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Dating anyone?” he pushed.
“Nope.”
He shook his head. “You have to get out there and start doing something or you are going to die alone.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Appreciate the uplifting speech.”
“I just don’t want you to be alone,” he said. “Life is good when you can share it with someone.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” I told him. “Mara is a great woman. You got lucky. Really lucky. She’s way too good for you.”
He laughed. “I know, but I still got her. You know how I got her?”
“You got her drunk and took her to Vegas,” I recapped.
He scowled at me. “She wasn’t drunk when she agreed to marry me.”
“You eloped in Vegas,” I reminded him. “You sent me pictures after the wedding. You were both hammered.”
He laughed. “We were drunk after the wedding. That was ten years ago, and she still loves me. Two kids, two dogs, and a house that should probably just be condemned, and she still loves me.”
“You must have something on her,” I teased. “And, for your information, I did go out the other night.”
“Bullshit. Going out to a fancy restaurant by yourself doesn’t count.”
I was easily the most
successful in the family. I had money and a solid job. But I still felt like I wasn’t quite up to their standards. They were married and settled, and I was still bumbling around. I hated to lose. I hated not being the best. I was Type A and could not sit back and just let shit go. I felt like I had to prove I was good enough. That I was doing great.
“It was a mixer at school,” I said.
He groaned. “You hung out with a bunch of senior citizens. Unless you’re shopping for a new mommy, that’s not exactly the place to find single ladies. Wait, scratch that. Single women in your age group. I’m sure there are probably plenty of single women, but they’re probably widowed.”
“Very funny. Professors aren’t like they used to be thirty years ago. There are a lot of us younger ones. It isn’t all old people.”
“Fine. You went to a mixer. Don’t you get bored? Don’t you want a woman? Don’t you want regular sex?”
“Who says I don’t have regular sex?” I shot back.
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s written all over your face.”
He was full of shit. “That’s where you are wrong.”
“Did you sit around and drink scotch and talk about the stock market?” he teased.
“I sang karaoke,” I said.
He choked on his beer. “Liar.”
“I did,” I nodded, “several times.”
“Why?” he asked aghast. “What made you think that was a good idea?”
“One of the other professors convinced me to do it. I will admit I had a few drinks.”
“Shit, you’d have to have more than a few,” he said. “You never do anything like that.”
“Because you think I don’t have fun. I do.”
“Who is this professor?” he asked. “Did he blackmail you?”
“She didn’t blackmail me,” I said. “She convinced me to give it a shot.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Please tell me this she is under fifty.”
“She is under fifty.”
“Tell me more about this mystery woman.”
“It’s not really a mystery,” I said nonchalantly. “She’s an art teacher. We happened to meet before the mixer because my office is temporarily located across from her office. At the mixer, my friend tried to hit on her. She blew him off, which I thought was funny. We got to talking and drinking, and before I knew it, I was singing on stage.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”
“I hope like hell there aren’t any pictures,” I said. For the first time since that night, I realized someone very well could have videoed our little performance. That was not the kind of thing I wanted to witness sober.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “Let’s go out and do karaoke. You bring your art lady and prove it. Mara would love a night out away from the kids.”
“No. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“Because it didn’t happen,” he said with a sigh. “I knew it. You don’t have the balls to do karaoke. I don’t care how drunk you claim to have been.”
I knew what he was doing. He was purposely goading me. He knew I couldn’t resist a challenge. It was the oldest trick in the handbook of brotherly love. Tease the shit out of your brother until he did what you wanted.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll ask her, but no guarantees she’ll go.”
He shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll just have to prove it by yourself.”
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
He grinned. “Yes, you do. Until I see it, I don’t believe it. I will continue to give you shit about your consummate bachelor status and give you hell about being the most boring human being on the planet until you prove otherwise.”
“You’re such a dick,” I grumbled under my breath.
“The usual bet?” he asked casually.
“You’re on,” I answered.
13
River
It couldn’t be avoided. I had to go into my office. I figured if I went early enough, I could avoid the risk of running into Lukas.
I was being a coward, acting like one of the students, but I couldn’t help it. I carried my coffee as I walked across the campus that was still covered with a layer of dew. I kept to the sidewalk. I did not want to get my suede boots wet. I found myself picking my outfits for work a little more carefully this week. Today, I was wearing a pair of warm suede boots with a brown skirt and a cream sweater. I felt very fall-ish.
If I did happen to run into Lukas, I wanted to look good. It was hard to beat the outfit Gwen put together for me, but I wanted to at least try to impress him. When he saw me, I wanted him to think sexy. I wanted him to want me again. Not that he could have me, but I wanted him to want me.
I pulled open the door to the arts building and immediately felt at home with the smell of paint and old paper. I didn’t know why it smelled like old paper, but it did. My heeled boots clopped across the floor as I made my way down the silent hall. I rounded the corner and nearly walked straight into Dean Miller.
My heart dropped.
Oh shit.
Someone told. Someone knew. Lukas? No. He wouldn’t have said anything. Did someone take a video and show the dean? We had been a little flirty at the mixer. Someone probably ran straight to him like a little snitch.
“Dean Miller,” I said with a smile.
“Ah, there you are, River. I came by hoping to catch you.”
I was busted. “Well, you’ve caught me,” I said with a forced smile.
“Can we talk?”
Fuck. “Sure,” I said and unlocked my door and gestured for him to go inside. “What can I do for you, Dean?”
He closed the door and sighed. “Why can’t you just call me dad?”
“Because you’re the dean,” I reminded him.
“I’m your father first,” he said.
“You’re my father but we are in my office at my job. Therefore, you are Dean Miller.”
I put my things down on my desk. I was afraid to look directly at him. This was the one person on the planet that could tell almost immediately if I was lying. It was a little unfair that my boss had the secret weapon of the parent lie detector. Not that I lied to him all that often, but this was kind of important.
“It wouldn’t kill you to admit I’m your father,” he said with disgust. “You make me think you’re embarrassed to be associated with me.”
“Not at all, but I told you when I’m at work, our relationship is professional.”
He sighed and took a seat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the corner of my small office. “No one is around,” he said.
“But if I get used to calling you dad at work, I’ll slip,” I said.
“It’s not like the board doesn’t know,” he reminded me.
Which was exactly why I had to follow all the rules. I couldn’t afford to screw up. It wouldn’t just be my reputation I put at risk. We would both be looked at with scrutiny if word of my impropriety got out. I preferred to leave him out of it if I could. I had to. Not just because he was the dean, but the last thing I wanted to advertise was my sex life to my father.
Gross.
“You know how I feel about nepotism,” I told him. “I’m already looked at a little harder because of my age. I know how some of my fellow teachers feel about me. They all had friends they thought should have gotten my job. If they found out you were my father, they would insist I only got the job because you are my dad.”
“We both know that isn’t true,” he said.
“We do, but no one else will believe it.”
He shook his head. “You have always insisted on doing things your way, which by the way is the hard way. You purposely go against me just to irritate me. You’ve always been a stubborn child.”
Five years ago, that would have hurt my feelings. Today, not so much. I was used to his constant criticism of everything I did. He believed he knew best about everything. It was inconceivable for me to have my own ideas and opinions. He
was a very dominating man, and for the better part of my life, I gave in to what he thought was the best choice for my life. I was done doing that.
“I know, Dad,” I said with disgust. “I’m just like my mother.”
“Your mother was always very strong-willed,” he said. “It didn’t work out so well for her.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “You can’t blame her for getting sick and dying.”
“She should have listened to me,” he spat. “If she would have gone to the doctor earlier—”
I stopped him. We had this same argument at least ten times a year. “She would have known sooner she was going to die. She went out on her own terms. You can’t blame her for wanting to enjoy the last of the time she had. She didn’t want to waste it.”
“She could have lived another six months, maybe a year,” he said.
“And she would have been miserable and bedridden,” I whispered. “She didn’t want that.”
He shook his head. “Such a waste.”
It prickled my nerves to hear him talk like that about her. I knew my dad always expected to have a son. He wanted a child who was more like him. Better than him. My sights were never high enough for him.
“Dad, she wasn’t a waste. She loved you. She loved me. She didn’t want to put us through any more misery than necessary. I don’t blame her a bit. I think she was courageous.”
“And is that why you insist on using her name instead of mine?” he asked. “Is she worthy and I’m not?”
I rolled my eyes. “Did you seriously come here this morning to have this argument again?” I asked with frustration. “I want to gain success on my own merit. I don’t want to ride your coattails. I don’t want people to look at me and see the dean’s daughter and make assumptions about who I am or what I am. I want to be me. You got to forge your own path. Don’t fault me for wanting to do the same.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge me,” he complained.
“We know the truth and that’s all that matters,” I said gently. “You can be proud of me and I can be proud of you. We don’t need the acceptance or disapproval of anyone else. You agreed to this. You said you understood why I used her last name. You can’t change your mind now.”
Our Little Secret Page 8
