by Olivia Chase
I don’t even know how to handle this shit.
We go through course after course. A tiny appetizer I eat in one bite. Soup. Salad. There are five hundred motherfucking forks set in front of me that I’m supposed to pick from for each serving. I’m certain Charles is doing this to fuck with me and prove I’m not one of them.
I don’t care.
I just grab whatever the fuck I want to eat each round. I don’t even bother to see if it’s right or wrong. Does it matter? It’s silverware. If it does the job, who cares?
Kendra is opposite of me, with her father between us at the end of the table. When we get a serving of sherbet after our salad, I can’t help but laugh.
“My dad would have beaten my ass if I’d ruined dinner by eating ice cream before my meal,” I muse.
Charles snorts. “It’s weird, I know. But it actually serves as a good palate cleanser. It has a purpose.”
I eye him. “Rich people are interesting.”
Kendra laughs at that. “Yeah. I admit, I never understood that either. It always felt like a treat to get ice cream before the main meal.”
The meat is delivered, a steak that’s so tender I don’t even need to use my knife to cut it. I gotta hand it to them, their chef is a fucking genius. I inhale the food. And the side dishes are exquisite too. I’ve never had mashed potatoes that were so amazing. It’s ridiculous how good their cook is.
I am sated on delicious food when Charles declares, “Let’s retire to the den for cocktails, shall we?”
I suppress a chortle. I totally saw this happening. “More scotch, Charles?”
Kendra sighs. “Daddy is nothing if not predictable.”
The three of us to go this den, a room with lush fabrics and rows of books packed into the shelves on the wall. There’s even a small fire crackling in the massive stone fireplace. Not big enough to sweat us out of there; the flame doesn’t overwhelm the room with heat.
Charles gets a box off the mantle and opens it, pulling out a cigar. He cuts the tip and lights it, puffing deeply.
Kendra pulls a face. Clearly she’s not a fan of cigars. But the soft scent pulls me in. Butch used to splurge on fine cigars back in the day, and I have weirdly fond memories of hanging out with him as he smoked on the back patio, chatting with neighbors while my brothers and I sat around and listened.
I worshiped him, revered him, back then. Wanted to emulate him. Wanted him to enfold me in his family.
“Montecristo?” I said, giving a nod at what he’s smoking. “Good, solid brand with a nice flavor.”
He pauses. “You like cigars?”
I roll my eyes. “I might be from the ‘hood, but I’ve had a good cigar or two in my day.”
Charles digs into his box and tosses me one, plus the cigar cutter. “Here. Have one, then.” He walks over to the bar and pours me a fresh scotch. “The drink goes really well with this brand.”
Kendra eyes me as I cut the tip and light the cigar evenly. Charles gives me a nod of approval. “You really like that stuff?” she says with a laugh. “Who knew?”
Something her dad and I can bond over.
“I have some Cuban cigars I haven’t busted out yet,” Charles says to me. He clinks his drink glass against mine, and we sip, take puffs of our cigars. It’s fine and delicious, and I savor the flavor in my mouth. He’s right; it does pair well with the scotch.
“You saving them for your funeral?” I tease. “You should smoke them before you get too senile to appreciate them.”
Kendra gasps, but Charles laughs so hard he almost snorts, and he slaps me on the shoulder. Clearly, he’s feeling the alcohol and it’s relaxing him—getting that stick out of his ass for a few minutes. “You got sass, Axel.”
The rest of the night passes smoothly. We talk about cigars we like, and I discuss my preference of fine bourbon to him—our argument over scotch vs bourbon is heated, but fun. Kendra chimes in with her opinions, and I have fun teasing her about just repeating what her dad says.
After I say my goodbyes, shaking his hand and leaving him for the night, Kendra leads me out the door.
“That went…really well,” she says breathily. Her eyes are warm as she looks at me. “Thank you for coming over. It means a lot to me.”
“Thanks for having me.” I hop on my bike and lean toward her, letting my lips caress hers. I want to drink from her, take more than I should. But I don’t want to overstep. Not when I made good progress with her father.
It shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t, but it does.
I wanted to impress him, make him like me. And I feel like he did.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, sweetness,” I whisper against her mouth, and then I head home. My heart is light, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
Kendra
It’s hard to fall sleep. I lie in bed, thinking about how Axel feels when he’s here in my bed with me. I so wanted to ask him to stay with me tonight, because watching him hold his own against my dad was so incredibly sexy, I just ached to pounce on him. But he was respecting my father by leaving, not sleeping with me, and I appreciated that. Says a lot about his character.
I flip onto my side and fluff my pillow with a fist. I can’t stop thinking about Axel. And now that I know my father likes him, it makes it even harder to not desire him. I knew if Daddy took time to get to know Axel, he’d see in him the things that I do—a smart, clever man who has big goals.
Yeah, his goals are different than ours, but that doesn’t make them any less important or interesting. Or valid.
It took days for me to work up the nerve to ask Daddy to meet him. Hell, it took a while for me to get over being mad at my father for what he said to me the other day. But once we talked, he apologized for being so abrasive about his opinion. The fact that he was willing to meet Axel on more equal ground made me feel heartened.
And he gave it a genuine chance. Yes, things were stilted and a bit cold between them at first. But the two men warmed to each other quicker than I expected, and the conversation flowed naturally. I wasn’t even a part of the discussion for a good chunk, which was fine. I liked seeing them bond. It made me feel like I have a real chance with Axel, and Daddy would be okay with it.
What is going to happen between us? I allow myself to fantasize about what we could be. I want more of him, and I want him to crave more of me. Does he feel like I do? I’m so tempted to text him right now, to see if he’s thinking about me too, but I order myself not to. I just saw him. I don’t need to come across as desperate or creepy.
I finally manage to get to sleep. When I wake in the morning, the sky is cloud-covered, and the room is darker than usual. I sleepily stretch and get ready. It’s Saturday, and I don’t have any responsibilities, so I slept in until nine.
I pad my way to the dining room table, where my dad is eating breakfast and sipping his coffee. Bettina smiles at me and tells me she’ll have my food plated in a moment. I tell her no rush, sipping on my orange juice.
“Sleep well?” my father asks me, folding the newspaper and placing it in front of his plate. He bestows a smile on me.
“I guess,” I say. Bettina slips the plate of food in front of me, and I thank her and dig in. God, I’m suddenly starving. The crispy bacon is cooked to perfection, and I want to eat it all.
“So. Axel.” He eyes me knowingly.
“Yes.” My face burns and I try to act casual. “He’s cool, right?”
“You were right.” He gives me a conceding nod. “I did like him. He’s an interesting man, and I enjoyed getting to know him last night.”
I flush from the praise, as if he’s talking about me. But I feel personally vested in how he feels about Axel. “Isn’t he?”
Daddy sighs and rests his hands in his lap, his eyes growing serious. My lightness starts to fade as I see how he’s looking at me. Like I’m about to get a lecture. “I like him, yes…but not as the man for you.”
My stomach flips, and I put my fork down.
“What?”
“Look.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I could easily see myself being friends with Axel. But there’s a difference between a ‘buddy’ and the kind of man I want to see end up with my beautiful, special little girl.”
I can’t speak. My throat is clenched, and I feel stupid and frustrated at his words, despite how he’s trying to phrase things gently. Here I thought last night’s dinner made progress between all of us. But it didn’t. My daddy still sees a separation. He doesn’t see Axel as being worthy of me.
“Axel isn’t that guy for you,” he continues, “and he never will be. Sorry, sweetie.” He must see the confusion and hurt in my eyes, because he adds, “That said, I’m interested in helping him with his art. From the pictures you’ve shown me and seeing how he’s been successful in business already to a limited extent, I think he has real potential. I’m intrigued.”
It’s offered as an olive branch. But I still feel flat. Not quite comforted. I stare down at my plate, emotions roiling through me.
“Kendra.” His voice is sharp, pulling my attention back to him. “I know you’re disappointed. But I need to be honest about how I feel. You deserve that much respect. I don’t see him as a long-term kind of man for you.”
“I heard you the first time you said it, Daddy.” My words are lifeless. I pick at my eggs, which suddenly hold no appeal. I hate that I care so much about what my father thinks. It shouldn’t matter. I’m an adult. But I still want his approval, his support.
After my mother wrote me off when they divorced and I moved in with him, he’s been my rock, my sole support system. He navigated me through my rocky teen years, when I was anxious and too shy to make friends. He helped me apply to the best colleges and supported me when I wanted to live on campus to get the full experience.
And when I graduated, he hired me on to work at his company.
I owe my father a lot. But it still stings that the man I’m falling for will never quite live up to me in my dad’s eyes.
I sigh and get up from the table, carrying my plate with me. “I should go.”
“Kendra.” His voice is weary, as if we’ve had this discussion a million times. The sound sets my nerves on edge. “You needn’t be petulant.”
“I’m allowed to feel how I want,” I say quietly.
He sighs. “I am just telling you the truth. I’m trying to help you.”
“Yeah. I know. You always are, Daddy, no matter how your words might make someone feel.” I leave the dining room before he can reply, and I take my plate to the kitchen. Then I go to my room and text one of my old college friends, Michelle, whom I haven’t seen in a while. She’s been asking me to get together for a while, but I’ve been blowing her off because of hanging with Axel in my spare time.
Let’s have a cocktail tonight, I write to her. Are you free?
She replies with a row of smiley faces. It’s on. Foley’s? Seven?
Hell yes. See you there. I’ll even take an Uber so I can throw back some drinks guilt-free without worrying about driving.
I spend my day getting shit done—paying bills, buying a couple of new dress clothes that are desperately needed, dropping off dry cleaning. I swing by the office and work a couple of hours. Then I get ready and head to Foley’s Sports Bar.
Michelle is waiting for me in the lobby, and we hug. She’s just as I remember, her bold blond hair slicked smooth, dress slim-fit to her thin figure. “I need a cocktail right now,” she proclaims.
We take seats at the bar and order two margaritas, which are on special today. When they are delivered to us, we clink glasses. I take a long gulp of mine, hoping it can help me feel better. Because deep down, I’m still depressed about the conversation this morning with my father. I don’t want to be. I don’t want his feelings to have such a stranglehold on me. It shouldn’t matter.
“So tell me everything that’s happened since we graduated,” I order Michelle. “You seeing anyone?”
We spend a good twenty minutes laughing about the last date she went on, which was set up by a coworker. Apparently the guy was supposed to be decent, but from the moment she arrived at the soup place for their lunch date, he was pawing on her and trying to get in her pants. Not to mention he showed up drunk as hell for their date, smelling like alcohol. At one in the afternoon. Classy.
“What did you do?” I ask her, wheezing as I laugh from her description of how Mr. Octopus wouldn’t stop trying to fondle her.
“I finally just got up and went to the bathroom, then left out the back entrance. I didn’t say anything to him, just ran off to my car and drove away.”
I gasped. “You didn’t.”
“I did. He was heinous. Who shows up drunk for lunch? A douche, that’s who.” She laughs. “Twenty minutes later, he texted me to see where I was. Didn’t even bother to respond. I blocked his number so he couldn’t reach me anymore.”
“You have iron balls,” I tell her. “I would have stuck it out trying to make it work, even though I would have been miserable the whole time.”
She shrugs. “After a bunch of shitty dates, you stop caring and trying to make a good impression. It’s cold but true.” She looks at me. “So are you seeing anyone?”
Argh. I give a noncommittal shrug.
But she gives me a knowing eye. My casualness didn’t fool her. “Ooh, girl, this sounds like a story. Tell me.”
Before I know it, I find myself spilling the beans to Michelle about Axel, how we met, my undeniable attraction to him, both sexual and emotional…and how my father disapproves, despite liking him as a “buddy.”
Michelle stays quiet, sipping her drink as I talk and talk.
When I’m done, I exhale hard, then chug my margarita. The bite of tequila slides down my throat. This is what I needed. Yes.
“So. Are you seeking support,” she asks me, “or are you asking what I think?”
I eye her over my glass. “I already have a feeling I know what you think.”
“Honey.” She reaches over and touches my forearm, resting in my lap. “You know I love you. And I can hear how much you dig this guy. Fuck, I can see it in your eyes as you talk about him.” She pauses. “Sounds like he’s hot…but I’m guessing not a stick-to-it kind of man.”
“That’s not true,” I protest.
“How do you know?” The question is sharp, but sincere. “Has he said he wants to date you exclusively? That he wants to be your boyfriend?”
I shift in my seat and take a drag from my drink. “Well. No. Not exactly.”
“Kendra. You have a big heart, and you love people for who they are. You see everyone’s greatest potential. Which is an amazing quality and one of the many reasons I love you to death.” Michelle waves the bartender over, and he prepares fresh margaritas for us. “But that doesn’t mean everyone will actually reach their potential. Your dad is looking out for your best interests. This guy sounds fun. Enjoy your time with him, if that is what makes you happy. Just protect your heart, okay?”
I want to be mad at her for taking Daddy’s side. But I can see what she’s saying and why. She hasn’t met Axel before—she’s just going off my description. Maybe I didn’t explain things as good as I could have.
“I can read your face,” Michelle says with a laugh. “You wanna say that I don’t know him the way you do, right? That your father doesn’t either?”
I flush from the comment, frowning. Sip at my fresh margarita. “I’m not just some silly girl,” I finally say.
“Oh, sweetie. Of course not.” She leans over and hugs me. “I wasn’t implying that. Just that we all sometimes fall for the guy who’s wrong for us. It happens. Even if he isn’t the happily-ever-after type of man, it doesn’t mean he has no value for us. We just have to be aware of what that value is and not expect more.”
After a moment of silence, I change the topic to something more neutral, how people we graduated are doing so far post-grad. Michelle lets the subject of Axel go, and things get smoother
.
I can’t help but be weighed down by what she said though. Am I just a cliché for having feelings for him? The guy who’s clearly not good for me, according to everyone around me?
I want to believe we’re more, we’re different. Even if my father or Michelle think it’s insane to believe so. I don’t care.
My heart is already involved. It can’t back out now, not when I could stand to lose so much. Despite my efforts, I have feelings for Axel. And now all I can do is hope he’s starting to feel the same for me too.
Sunday evening, I stretch out on the couch and change the channel to HBO, flipping through movies to see what I want to watch. Daddy went out to dinner to meet with some people who are interested in investing in the mall project.
My phone buzzes. I look down and can’t help the smile on my face when I see a new message from Axel.
Tell me something I don’t know about you.
That’s been our game for the last week or so—sharing things with each other that go beyond the surface. I’ve learned some interesting facts about him. Axel hates mayonnaise. He’s allergic to bees, and he has a scar on his knee from running into a tree as a kid.
I’ve also shared things about me that I haven’t thought about in years. How I used to make my own paper dolls. How I hate chardonnay, and when snooty company is over at our house, I only pretend to drink it, because it sucks.
That deep down, I resent my mom for leaving me behind after I decided to live with my dad, and I often feel lonely.
I stare at the screen and think about what to write. I don’t know if I want to work for my father forever, I finally type. I’m grateful that he offered me a job, but I also feel a sense of obligation because of it. And I never can quite forget that I only got the position because of being his daughter. I want to stand on my own two feet.
There’s a pause. Then Axel replies. I understand this. I quit working at the restaurant because I was tired of being a pawn for my brother. At Fugitives, I was never going to grow. I was always going to be just the help. But I have bigger aspirations.
