Unwrapping Daddy

by Lisa Lace

  “What are you doing here?” I repeat. I take a step over the threshold and cast my gaze to the top of the staircase, looking for my date. “I’m expecting someone.”

  TJ raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “TJ—Thomas Junior; Tom.”

  Tears prickle in my eyes. I raise a hand over my mouth. “Is this a prank?”

  “No, Zoe. It’s not a prank.”

  “Why have you been messaging me?”

  Tom looks as shocked as I do, but where I’m reacting with horror, he seems to find it funny, intriguing. “I didn’t know I was talking to this Zoe. It never even entered my mind that you could be Laura’s Zoe. I thought I was talking to a stranger.”

  “I’m not a stranger. I’m your sister’s best friend.” I narrow my eyes. “Did you really not guess it was me? You knew I had red hair and green eyes. Didn’t you put two and two together?”

  “The messages you were sending me didn’t exactly make me think of the dorky girl-next-door I used to know. Why didn’t you figure it out? You knew I was called Tom and that I worked in publishing.”

  “Because we always called you ‘TJ.’ Plus, Tom is about the most common name in America. You can’t blame me for thinking there might be more than one Tom working in publishing in New York.” I lift a hand to my forehead and shake my head. “This is a nightmare.”

  Tom laughs at my reaction and takes a step toward me. “Am I really that bad? How would you know? You haven’t spoken to me in years.”

  “And whose fault is that? You haven’t been back to Maine since Mike’s funeral.”

  His face darkens. He bows his head and speaks with regret. “His death was a tragedy.”

  “Laura needed you.”

  “I was there.”

  “You mean you paid for an expensive coffin? She needed more than that, TJ.”

  “Tom. Please. Nobody calls me TJ anymore.”

  “Yes, they do. You’re just not here to hear it.”

  “You’re being hostile.”

  “I’m in shock.”

  “I am, too, but let’s not forget what brought us here tonight.” He takes another step closer. His eyes catch mine. “We’ve been speaking for a long time.”

  I look down at the ground, my arms folded over my chest. The hair that I’d worked so hard to make shine shields my face. I shake my head. “This is too weird.”

  “Why is it weird?”

  “You’re Laura’s brother.”

  “You said. But you know what? I’m also the person you’ve been messaging for the last half a year. I don’t know about you, but I can’t let go of a spark like that so easily.”

  I swallow and slowly raise my eyes. I’ve never looked at Tom in this way before; the way someone looks at a person they desire. But he’s right. There’s a spark between us, as clear as day. It’s been burning for a long time.

  I step back. “You’d better come in.”

  Tom enters the apartment. I watch him as he takes a few steps down the hall. He’s wearing a pair of sandy chinos and a white shirt. A Rolex on his wrist catches the light. He places his hands in his pockets and looks around. His face gives nothing away.

  He’s handsome. When I’d been imagining the man of my dreams, I never realized I was picturing someone so close to TJ. Yet here he is, tall—but not too tall, dark, with captivating hazel eyes.

  I shut the door behind me and quickly twist the dimmer switch on the wall to brighten the light in the room. I nod towards the sofa.

  “Make yourself at home. I’m going to get changed.”

  He smiles. “Sure.”

  In my room, I’m filled with blind panic. Shit, Zoe, you’ve been sexting Laura’s brother. I sink down onto my bed and put my head in my hands. I know that the relationship I’ve had with Tom has been more than innocent flirting. I’ve told him things. We’ve connected.

  How can Tom be TJ?

  Tom is a sweet, kind, and caring intellectual. TJ is a spoiled brat with a superiority complex.

  I quickly get dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt and step back into the living room.

  Tom is holding the single rose in his hand. He smiles at me when I return, and places the flower back in its vase. “Looks like you went to a lot of effort for tonight.”

  “I’d been waiting to meet this man for a long time.”

  “You mean me.”

  “I still can’t quite get my head around the fact that you’re him. I mean, you’re TJ.”

  Tom winces. “I always hated that nickname.”

  “Why?”

  “Thomas Junior. It’s just a way of reminding me that I’m supposed to be my father’s double.”

  I scoff. “Don’t worry. You’re nothing like your father.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  I realize I’ve been harsher than I intended to be, and I try to backtrack. “I mean that you’ve taken different paths, that’s all.”

  “You mean my father’s an altruistic miracle-worker, and I’m a power-hungry tyrant?”

  Yes. “No.”

  Tom crosses one leg over the other and frowns at me. “Everyone wanted me to be a doctor, like him. And everybody’s pissed that I did better.”

  I sit down beside Tom, and it’s my turn to frown. “You think you did better than him? He’s saved hundreds of lives.”

  “And don’t we all know about it!” There’s contempt in his voice.

  “You should be proud of him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I read you just released a new fashion magazine.” I purposefully inject judgment into my voice in response to Tom’s disdain for his father’s profession. What have you done that’s so great?

  “We can’t all be surgeons.” He impersonates his father. “I held a child’s heart in my hand. I was the only thing keeping him alive. The very angels cried at my grace.”

  “Bitter, much?”

  “Tired of the comparison. No, I’m not a doctor. Yes, I make good money doing something that isn’t going to win me a Nobel Peace Prize. Get over it.”

  “You didn’t come across this angry in your messages.”

  “You didn’t come across this high-and-mighty.”

  I raise my eyebrows and let out a bitter laugh. “I’m high and mighty? It’s taken you four years to bother with us lowly commoners in Portland. You were far too busy and important to be there for your widowed sister when she needed you. And now I know that you were only here because you were chasing a girl anyway!” I shake my head. “That’s low, TJ.”

  He scowls. “It’s Tom. And you don’t know the first thing about me, Zoe. I’m not the same nobody I was back then. I’m a big deal.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’ve got an ego the size of a bus. You’re exactly the same person you were back then. You’ve always talked the talk, haven’t you?”

  Tom stands, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’ve had enough of this. I thought I was coming here to meet a woman I’d connected with. Not to be torn apart by some silly little girl who’s giving me attitude on someone else’s behalf.”

  “Get over yourself, TJ.”

  “Tom.”

  He scowls at me, then leaves. Just like that, the night of my life is over.

  I burst into tears and rush straight to my phone. I dial Laura’s number from memory and am still sobbing when she answers.

  “Zoe, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s TJ!”

  “TJ? What about him?”

  “He’s Tom.”

  “Of course, he is. Zoe. You’re being weird. What’s going on?”

  “I mean he’s my Tom. The man I’ve been speaking to online.”

  There’s a long silence. “Shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, you’re the friend he was going to see tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, Laura. I swear I didn’t know I was speaking to him.”

  “I know that, honey. Tell me what happened when you saw him.”

  I’m crying, my voice breaking with tears
. “I looked like an idiot! I was wearing a sexy outfit and everything. I open the door, and it’s TJ. He came in, and it turned into an argument, then…then…I pushed his buttons, and he walked out.”

  “What did you argue about?”

  “I laid into him about not visiting you after you lost Mike.”

  “Oh, Zoe.”

  “I couldn’t help it. I was so angry for you.”

  “You didn’t need to be. I’m not angry. It’s just how TJ is.”

  “I called him out for his ego. He said I was high and mighty. It was just an absolute disaster.”

  “I’m sorry, hon. I know how much this guy meant to you.” She pauses. “Jesus. I can’t believe it was him this whole time. You can’t stand TJ.”

  “But I loved Tom.”

  “That’s the door. I think TJ’s back. Leave it with me, Zoe. I’ll talk to him.”

  “And say what? Nothing can happen between us now.”

  “Never say never.”

  “Laura.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  Tom

  Laura comes striding up the hall. I’m surprised by how much she’s aged in the four years since I last saw her. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled blouse, makeup still on her face.

  After how long she’s been insisting I come visit, I’m expecting hugs and kisses. Instead, she points a warning finger in my direction. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  I slump. “You’ve spoken to Zoe.”

  “You bet I have. Jesus, TJ. And here I thought you’d actually come back to see the kids and me.”

  “That is why I’m here.”

  “If I didn’t think it was going to be another four years before I saw you again, I’d rip your head off.” She fixes me with a hard, angry stare. Then her posture softens. “As it is, I don’t want to spend what little time we have together arguing.” She steps toward me and wraps her arms around me.

  I hug her back. “I really do want to see you and the kids. Where are they anyway?”

  “Probably hiding. I’ve taught them not to talk to strangers.”

  “Hah. Very funny.”

  “They’re in the living room. Come on.” She leads me into the living room. The kids are now home from school.

  There’s Megan. She’s sprawled out on the sofa, doing something on her phone. I wouldn’t have recognized her if I saw her on the street. She’s grown from an energetic, grinning nine-year-old into a sulking teenage girl wearing leggings and an oversized sweater. She’s glued to the cellphone in her hand, barely registering that I’ve entered the room.

  Jack is on the floor watching TV. He’s kneeling in front of the screen, his little body lifting and slumping with excitement and swaying side to side as he follows the action in his show. He turns around when I enter, and a big grin sweeps across his face, showing a couple of missing baby teeth.

  Last time I saw him, his teeth were just coming in. Now those teeth are falling out, making way for his adult set. It hits home how much time has passed.

  I smile at the children. “Hi, guys. Remember me?”

  Megan flicks her eyes up. Her face a picture of disinterest, she shrugs. “Hey, TJ.”

  “It’s Uncle TJ,” Laura tells her.

  “Actually, it’s Uncle Tom.”

  “Uh-huh,” Megan responds, returning her gaze to the screen of her cell phone.

  I crouch beside Jack. “Hi, Jack. What are you watching?”

  Jack looks at me, and then up at Laura. He seems unsure of me, but when Laura encourages him with a nod, he smiles and speaks to me. “Batman.”

  “Batman, cool! He’s a billionaire, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I grin. “So am I.”

  Laura bats me on the shoulder. “TJ! Don’t tell the kids that.”

  “What?”

  “That you’re made of money. Jesus. That’s not how I raise them.”

  “It’s hardly a state secret.”

  “I don’t want them to know. Then every time I can’t afford something, they’ll be saying, ‘But Uncle TJ would buy it for me.’ I told you about this when you sent Jack that ridiculous remote-controlled boat.”

  “I thought you said he loved the boat?”

  “He did. Until he took it to the shore and it got swallowed up by a wave. Then he cried for weeks because he wanted a new one, and I don’t have the money to drop three grand on a toy.”

  “I would have bought him another one if you’d asked.”

  “I’d rather you recognize our lifestyle and try to fit in, okay?”

  “Fine. If that’s what you want. I won’t mention my billions.” I cast Jack a knowing sideways glance. “Or my Batcave.”

  His eyes light up.

  I turn to Megan. “How’s things at school, Megan?”

  She shrugs. “Fine.”

  “Done anything fun lately?”

  Megan drops her phone on the sofa with a dramatic sigh and finally gives me a proper look. “I tried to have fun last weekend, and Mom didn’t like it.”

  “She went out drinking with her friends and came home drunk.”

  “I see.” I grin at Megan. “Don’t worry. Your Mom and I used to get up to all sorts of nonsense ourselves at that age.”

  “TJ!” Laura exclaims. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” When we’re alone, she lays into me. “What are you thinking, telling Megan that?”

  “What? It’s true.”

  “It may be true, but it undermines me. Jesus, you’ve been here five minutes, and you’ve already made my life a million times harder. Can you at least try to think like an adult, for a change? Think about what a parent might do?”

  “‘Welcome home, Tom.’”

  “Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Maybe if you hadn’t taken so long to visit, you’d know how to act around them. Or at least know how I’d want you to act around them.”

  My shoulders slump. “I can leave if you want me to.”

  “Of course I don’t want you to leave.” Laura closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them, she smiles, then rests her hands on my upper arms. “I’m sorry. I know you’re making an effort to be here.”

  “You have me until New Year’s.”

  Her face brightens. “I know! I can’t believe it. I haven’t spent that much time with you since we were kids.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

  She scoffs. “Sure, you are.” She waves her hands. “I don’t care. You’re here. That’s all that matters. Let’s have a great Christmas.”

  Spending an evening with my family is strange. It’s been so long since I’ve been part of all that. My memories of family life are of persistent arguments with my parents, always having to apologize, and never quite living up to everyone’s expectations. I was glad to get away from it all and start a life where I didn’t have to answer to anyone. Where I never had to say I’m sorry.

  I’m quiet at dinner, and Laura notices. She casts me a curious smile, one eyebrow slightly raised, almost in amusement. “Out of your comfort zone, TJ?”

  I make a face. “Please don’t call me that.”

  “What’s wrong with TJ?”

  “I hate it.”

  “What do you go by now, then? ‘His Majesty’?”

  “Tom will do.”

  “How’s the food?”

  “Great.”

  “I bet it’s not up to whatever your private chef usually cooks.”

  “I don’t have a private chef.”

  “Well, I know for a fact that you don’t cook for yourself.”

  I offer a little shrug. “Takeout, mostly. Or whatever is in the office canteen. Client dinners out two or three times a week.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I sense her judgment. She twirls spaghetti around her fork with that knowing little smile still lingering on her face.

  Megan’s texting on her phone.

  “Meg, honey, put that away. We’re at the table.�
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  “It’s Justin.”

  “I don’t care if it’s the president of the United States. We’re eating.”

  Megan scowls and puts her phone away. I use the opportunity to try and win her over.

  “Which version do you have?”

  “An iPhone.”

  “Let me see.”

  Cautiously, she hands me her cell. I look it over, then hand it back. “It’s the old model.”

  “What have you got?”

  I pull out my top-of-the-line phone. “It’s got facial and voice recognition, slimline, platinum-plated. Highest resolution on any cell camera.”

  Megan reaches eagerly for the phone and turns it in her hands. Her expression twists into envy. “I didn’t even think these were on the market yet.”

  “It’s all about who you know.”

  Laura rolls her eyes. I think she wants to scold me—probably something about not flashing my cash around her kids—but she holds her tongue. I guess she’s just happy I’m talking to my niece.

  After telling Megan to put her phone away, Laura’s attention turns to Jack. He’s trying to eat his own spaghetti and has got more down his top than in his mouth. A third of his face is covered in tomato sauce, a little piece of onion hanging off his chin.

  She hands him a paper towel. “Wipe your mouth, sweetie.”

  I chuckle. “You’ve got your hands full here.”

  Laura shoots me an irritated glance. “Yes. I do.”

  She’s trying to make me feel guilty. “I noticed the house needs some repairs. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I do call you. All the time.”

  “No, I mean, why didn’t you ask me for some help?”

  She lets out a hollow laugh and shakes her head with disdain. “I don’t need your money, Tom. We’re hardly living in the gutters. This is what houses look like when people don’t have maids running around after them. Welcome to your average middle-class home.”

  “I wasn’t trying to criticize.”

  “No, you were trying to condescend.”

  “I was trying to help.” I shake my head and place my fork down, slouching in my chair. I can already remember why I left in the first place. All my best intentions have always been misinterpreted by my relatives. Every time I try to help, people search for the ulterior motive. They spent so long treating me like a jerk that I started to act like one.