by K. A. Linde
“Why the long faces?” he asked as he popped the trunk to get his clubs.
“We’ve been waiting for ten minutes,” Jordan said briskly. “Where were you?”
“Lost track of time. What’s the big deal?” The same Wright family smile was on his face. The one that so matched our own.
“Early is on time. On time is late,” he quoted a phrase our father had used since we were kids.
He smiled. “You’re right. Look at you. Old enough now to teach the teacher. I’m sorry for my tardiness. I’ll work on it if it upsets you that much.”
I looked at Jordan. We’d agreed that we would golf first. Talk to him afterward, but how the fuck were we supposed to do that? Jordan was already jumping down his throat, and I couldn’t stay silent forever.
Our dad finally dropped the smile. He snapped the trunk closed and stepped toward us. “What’s all this about? I haven’t seen these looks from both of you in a long time. I thought we were making headway. Going to have a good afternoon. Maybe fireworks later.”
“Maybe,” Jordan agreed.
“We could have,” I snapped.
Jordan narrowed his eyes in my direction. A silent reminder to keep it together. But fuck it. He might have mastered his temper, but this was beyond anything I’d ever dealt with, and we didn’t need to master anything in this situation.
“What?” my dad asked. His voice shifted from nurturing father figure to business professional in a matter of seconds. He could see the writing on the wall. He’d always been canny, even when we didn’t like it. “Tell me.”
Jordan looked to me, and I shrugged.
“This was your idea.”
He sighed. “We got an email about you.”
“About me? From whom?”
I watched him closely as I said, “Weston Wright.”
He blinked. He’d heard that name before. I could see it on his face.
“You know who that is?”
“I’ve heard the name,” he said carefully. “What did he say?”
“He said that he was our brother,” Jordan said. “And that you were his father. That he lived in Seattle and was twenty-two. He claimed to not know that we existed, but that we were family.”
I waited for him to deny it, to be outraged. To do all the things I expected from him. That I’d waited for with his normal bullshit. But instead, he sighed and seemed to shrink in on himself.
“I was afraid this was going to happen.”
“It’s true?” I gasped.
“No,” he said earnestly. “It’s not true. But I do know of Weston Wright.”
“You do?” Jordan asked.
“Let’s back up the story. Three years ago, right after you two moved here, I got a similar email from the young man. He claimed that I was his father. That I’d known his mother twenty-two years ago, and unbeknownst to me, I’d fathered a child.” He ran a hand back through his hair, his face distraught. “I took the email seriously. How could I not?”
“Of course,” Jordan said.
“Why would he think you were his dad?”
“I knew his mother,” he said with a shrug. “He’d found old pictures of us together and assumed that I must be his dad.”
I narrowed my eyes. “But you aren’t?”
“Let me explain,” he said, holding his hand out. “I took it as a credible reality that I might have another son. After all, around that time, I’d been separated from your mother. I’d had a few relationships. Though…nothing had ever come of it. Certainly not children.”
I shuddered at that thought.
“Anyway, I reached out to his mother. She was incredibly embarrassed that Weston had contacted me. We’d known each other, and when we compared dates, it hadn’t been anywhere close to the time that he was conceived.”
“How close?” Jordan asked.
“A year difference,” our father said. He leaned back against Jordan’s truck and wiped a hand down his face. “From his mother, I found out that Wright wasn’t even his last name. He had the same last name as his mother. She didn’t know who the father was, and this wasn’t the first time that Weston had spoken to a man she’d dated at the time.”
“And what was her last name?” Jordan asked.
“Smith.”
I sighed. Great. What a common name. No wonder they hadn’t found a musician Weston Wright if his real name was Weston Smith. How many more of those were there?
“So, why is he messaging us now?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah. Didn’t you tell him?”
“I did,” he said. “We both did. I thought that he understood the circumstances. I handled it then, and I’ll handle it now.”
“How?” I asked.
“I’ll talk to him again. I’ll contact his mother.” He straightened, as if realizing the purpose of all of this. “I can’t have him interfering in our lives like this. It isn’t fair to either of you or me.”
“Or Mom,” Jordan asked.
Our father’s eyes rounded. “You told your mother?”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Of course we did. She was the one who insisted we talk to you before speaking to Weston.”
“She must hate me. I thought we were just…” He trailed off.
It made my insides squirm to think that they might reconcile.
“To her credit, she never believed it,” I offered. “She said that you would have told her if you’d known while you were married.”
“Of course I would have told her,” he insisted vehemently. “Can you imagine keeping a secret like that from your mom?”
Jordan and I shrugged at the same time. As if, yes, we could imagine keeping things from Mom. And we’d learned how to lie from our dad. That was for damn sure.
But…this…this felt like the truth. I didn’t know if it was because I had so desperately wanted there to be an answer to this horrible question, but it all fit together. Our father was a good liar, but he hadn’t been surprised by our question of him. He hadn’t shied away from it at all. There hadn’t been a moment of hesitation. He was good, but he wasn’t that good. Not when we were in on his tricks.
“How do we know this is all true?” I finally asked.
“Well, I’d appreciate some trust,” my dad said.
Jordan managed only a half-laugh. “Do you still have the original emails?”
He scrunched up his features. “Maybe. He sent it to the business email, and everything from that was dumped after I was…let go. I transferred a lot over. I can go through my emails and see if I can get it for you. But you could always respond to Weston and see what he says.” My dad shrugged. “I don’t know what he would say. I doubt he’d admit that he’d already reached out to me and it hadn’t gone his way.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you see?” our dad asked. He winced before saying, “Being my son comes with privilege. I was the head of the Vancouver company. I had money to spare. I had access.”
Jordan nodded. “Did he ask for money?”
“No,” our dad said. “I think he actually believed he was my son.”
“Then, why?”
Our dad hung his head. “I gave his mother money. She was…on hard times. We were friends at the time and reconnected for a while when I was in a dark place after you all left. He might have…discovered that I’d done that.”
“Jesus, Dad,” Jordan growled.
I shook my head. There it was. There it always was. The caveat.
“I try to put on a brave face for you both, but I was a mess,” he said solemnly. “What do you want me to say? I’d lost the company, my wife, my kids. I’d lost everything I’d ever cared about. I hate to say it, but I wanted Weston to be my son.”
I balked. “What?”
“It would have been a chance for me to start over.” He sounded so desperate that my heart actually hurt for him. A feeling I’d never thought I’d have again. “You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t see me. Everything was gone. What else did I have? So, I want
ed this new life. It wasn’t real though. It’s why when Jordan called me, I hopped on the chance. I’d do anything to make this right with you. To have my real family back. I’ve made mistakes. I know I have, but I’m not the man I was, and I mean that.”
I could see that he did. That he really truly did.
Even Jordan’s face released the tension, the doubt. This was our dad, laid bare for us. The crumbled, destroyed shell of a person he’d been. He’d reaped what he’d sown, but for how long? Forever? Did he deserve an eternity of those dark days without us?
“Why don’t…why don’t we just play the round?” Jordan suggested. “Figure it out after that.”
A glimmer of light returned to our dad’s eyes. “You still want to golf?”
“Why don’t we take it a day at a time?”
“Julian?” he asked me.
I swallowed and looked into the beast of my youth. And I realized he was just like all the rest of us. He’d fucked up. He’d owned up to it. Maybe we all deserved another chance here.
“I agree. Let’s play.”
30
Jennifer
“Funnel cake, honey?” my mom asked.
“Yes, please.”
We walked around downtown, where food trucks had taken up most of the LHUCA area. I’d been up here this morning in one of the studios, working with another portrait appointment and then a couple who wanted carnival-themed engagement shots. The portrait session had taken everything out of me—in the best way. I felt like the session was a focal point. Like I was almost done with the first round. Almost ready to show the world what I’d been working on.
I had one more shoot tonight that I was beyond excited for. Though it was a secret. I hadn’t even told Julian. Thinking about it was actually a nice distraction from Julian dealing with his dad. No matter that my anxiety was being managed, I took on other people’s anxiety as my own. I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t know how to control that. But I’d felt off all week, waiting to find out what the hell Owen Wright was going to say.
We’re going to play the full round. Don’t think I’ll make the festival.
You’re still on for fireworks, yes? Fireworks are required.
Yep. I’ll be there.
What did your dad say anyway? Is Weston your brother?
I’ll tell you about it later. My turn to golf.
I grumbled in frustration. Come on, Julian. Give me something!
“Everything all right?” my mom asked as she came back with a giant funnel cake topped with a mountain of powdered sugar.
“Yep. Julian’s just texting me. He’s out golfing with his dad.”
“Sounds riveting,” my dad said with a laugh.
He’d thrown his back out while playing golf when I was a kid and never picked up clubs again. Could hardly blame him.
“I wish that they could have come to the festival with us,” my mom said.
“Me too.”
Especially since the last time Julian had been around my parents, we’d been fake dating, and now, we were real dating. Not that they knew, but still. I’d lied, and I wanted them to see the truth.
“And your work?” Dad asked. “How did your shoots go this morning?”
My mom wrinkled her nose and pulled out her own phone.
“Great,” I said enthusiastically to overcome my mom’s behavior. “I’m almost done with my first set of portraits. Almost ready to showcase them.”
“Really?” my dad asked. “How would that work?”
I opened my mouth to explain, but Mom cut in, “Have either of you gotten texts back from Chester?”
I sighed. Of course, a change in subject to my brother. “Nope. I texted him over an hour ago and nothing.”
“I’m going to try to call him one more time,” she said and then stepped away from us to call my brother.
I sighed. “Why is she always like that about my career?”
My dad slung an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not about you. We’re both proud of you.”
“She isn’t proud of my work.”
“It’s only fear. We worked so hard to get to where we are. She doesn’t want to see you have to go through what we did to get ahead. She thinks pharmacy would be safer than photography.”
“But I’m talented at this. I love it. Why can’t she be happy about that?”
My dad shrugged. “Fear makes people act in funny ways, kiddo. She still loves you. She just doesn’t know how to express her fear in any other way.”
I hung my head. I knew what he meant, but it didn’t make it any easier. I’d been making a living as a photographer for almost four years now, and my mom never acknowledged it as any level of success. She only seemed to like Julian because it brought me some stability. She had an aversion to Wrights, as if they hadn’t earned their own work either. They’d been handed a company someone else had built. It was ridiculous. But I didn’t know how to fix it, and it felt demoralizing. If only I could stand up to her and tell her how much it hurt me. My therapist had been working with me for years to get over my childhood trauma, but apparently, I was still stuck in the same cycle.
“No luck,” my mom said, coming back to us. “Do you think that you could run by his place on the way home, Jennifer? I don’t know if he’s hurt or something. He never misses something like this.”
Yep. My perfect brother. Must be injured instead of bailing on family time.
“Sure,” I said. Because what else was I going to do? “You’re still meeting me for fireworks tonight, right?”
“Yes, honey. Find out if Chester is coming. And Julian, too.”
“I’ll ask Chess. Julian already agreed,” I told her. “We’re going to be with the entire Wright brood. Everyone will be there.”
“Well, we will have our own section,” my mom said defensively.
“Of course.” No point in arguing. “I’m going to check on Sutton, too.”
It was the five-year anniversary of her husband Maverick passing. She had a whole new, wonderful life now, but the day still hurt in inexplicable ways. She’d opted out of all celebrations in the past, but this was the first year that she’d agreed to bring Jason and Madison to fireworks. I’d all but begged her to attend, and she’d finally acquiesced for the kids.
“Poor thing,” my mom said. She hadn’t liked Sutton, but she still sympathized with her losing her husband.
I smiled wanly at them and then said my good-byes. I sent off a bunch of texts to Sutton to check on her. I hadn’t heard from Julian again. He must still be out on the golf course. Then I headed over to Chester’s house to make sure he wasn’t hurt, as per my mother.
Well, Chester’s car was parked in the driveway. So, he had to be home. Another car was parked next to it that I didn’t recognize. Must have a friend over, or maybe he was seeing someone and wasn’t ready to tell anyone. Either way, it was annoying that he couldn’t at least answer his texts.
I banged on the front door and then crossed my arms to wait for him. I didn’t have to wait long before the door pulled inward.
A smiling Peter Medina answered in nothing but a pair of boxers. “Jennifer,” he said. “I thought you were the pizza.”
My eyes rounded. “I…am not pizza. I came to check on Chester. He’s not answering his phone, and he was supposed to meet us at the Fourth of July festival.”
“Chess, your sister is here,” Peter said.
The way he wrapped my brother’s name around his lips was almost…sensual. Not to mention that he just called him Chess, the nickname that no one was allowed to use. Peter…whose long-term boyfriend had left him. Peter, who we’d had Chester talk to because he’d gone through something similar. Peter, who was definitely, a hundred percent gay. And he was at my brother’s house…in his boxers.
Peter pushed the door wider, and Chester appeared then. At least he was fully clothed.
But then, as if I had any room to doubt, Peter leaned forward and kissed Chester on the cheek. “Good luck.”
“Uh…hi,” I said.
Chester’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled the door closed behind him as he stepped outside. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, Mom sent me because you didn’t answer her calls. And since when did you start dating Peter?”
Chester shrugged. “Why? What does it matter?”
Suddenly, everything that had happened over graduation weekend seemed to make sense. The fights with Margaret, the half-naked ex-brothel bar, the guy inviting him into the bathtub. My brother was…gay?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “I didn’t realize that you were…”
He arched an eyebrow. A question hanging between us.
“Gay,” he offered.
“Well, yeah. I didn’t know.”
“I’m actually pan,” he said with a shrug. “I was out in Austin. Margaret knew. I wanted to explore my sexuality and, we decided we weren’t right for each other.”
“Okay,” I said. “Are you out here?”
“No. Lubbock is…less forgiving for people like me. I don’t know that I’m ready for that. I haven’t told our parents.”
“All right. I won’t tell them,” I said without hesitation.
He blinked. “Thanks.”
“Are you and Peter…together? Are you happy?”
He smiled—a rare, completely unguarded smile. “I like him. We’ve been spending a lot of time together. But we’re not a couple. We’re not there yet.”
“I’m glad that you’re happy.”
“I thought you’d be weird about this.”
I laughed. “Why? I like Peter. I live with his sister.”
“Yeah, but…”
I shrugged. “Love is love.”
Then to my surprise, my brother stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. I stiffened in shock, and then when my body loosened, I returned the hug. I hadn’t hugged my brother since we were kids.
“Thanks, Jen.”
“Anytime.”
