by Hazel Parker
My father glared at me, but I only saw it for a few seconds. I’d made my point and I’d done what I came to do. I turned around and left.
Was it shitty that this was what my father and I had? It wasn’t great. I wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t wish for a normal father-daughter relationship.
But I had to accept it for what it was. And right now, it was going to make me CEO of the company and a happy wife.
Chapter 13: Brad
I managed to avoid having to confront my mother for a few days, using having to catch up on work as an excuse.
But when Friday evening came, I knew I had no choice. My mother demanded to know what had happened in Vegas that had made me stay an extra three days. I’d already assured her that Uncle Gio had nothing to do with it, but she seemed especially on edge. I think anything related to Las Vegas caused her to get anxious, but then again, fucking everything with my love life seemed to these days.
I took an Uber to their apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. My mother wanted to live close to me, but I liked to keep my distance. I’d done so a lot since my father had died. I didn’t really enjoy the constant reminder that he’d been murdered and that we didn’t have any further clue who had done it in the years since.
The Uber pulled up to my mother’s apartment, I got out, and I buzzed my way up to her place. When I walked inside, it was like I’d been set up for an intervention.
My mother sat at the kitchen island, her arms crossed. She looked at me with the stern appearance of a woman who had told her son he was in big trouble when he came home from school. That would have been wonderful two decades ago.
Now, it was fuckin exasperating.
“What am I, fourteen and in trouble?” I said. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’m eager to hear what happened in Vegas,” my mother said. “And don’t tell me that what happened there, stayed there.”
“I’ll get to it,” I said. “Mom, did your situation—”
“It’s being taken care of, Brad,” she said in a tone that suggested she would not say anything further. “Tell me what happened in Vegas.”
And then her eyes lit up as they looked down. I knew what she was looking at—the ring on my finger. She may have been annoying and anxious and expecting more of me than I cared to give, but she was not fucking stupid.
“I got married.”
“What?”
“Let me explain, OK?” I said with a sigh. “There’s a woman named Megan Adams. We’ve been dating for some time now, but because her father is the owner and CEO of a rival waste management company, we kept it on the downlow. We didn’t want people to think that we were dating for some sort of business motive or something like that. I just wanted us to develop love healthy enough that when the time came, it would feel right.”
Love.
That’s a bit strong, don’t you think?
“Anyway, we were in Vegas and talking about it, and we’d had a bit to drink, but nothing crazy. We just both felt like there was no reason to wait any longer, and while we’re still planning a ceremony at some point, we just wanted to bite the bullet and do it. So, we went to a chapel and got married. And we spent three days on the Pegasus, had a great time, and now we’re just going to figure out life together.”
Silence fell over the room.
“I’m not apologizing for this; I care about her and she’s my wife. We are having a wedding later so we can appease you and the rest of the family, and—"
“You’re kidding, right,” my mother said. “You got married in Las Vegas? Do you know how repugnant and atrocious that sounds?”
“I know, it’s not the greatest love story ever told, but I’m not interested in telling a story; I’m interested in having a marriage. And as crazy as it may seem, we just felt like it was time. We would have done it if it was in Vegas, Seattle, New York, or Madrid.”
“Can you get it annulled?” my mother asked.
What the fuck, Mom?
“What?” I said with a laugh, half to make sure it didn’t seem like I had thought of the same thing myself only days before. “Why the hell would I marry someone I’ve had an interest in for years and then suddenly decide to annul it?”
“You really think that you can marry the daughter of a rival business owner and have there be no ulterior motives?” Mom said. “Brad, you may love her, but don’t be an idiot.”
“Mom!” I said, but she kept pushing right forward like she was giving a speech, not having a conversation.
“The point is, she is playing you like a fiddle. Did she say what would happen to the two companies if you got married?”
I shrugged.
“I mean, a buyout or a merger has always made sense. We’re already the two biggest entities in town, and—”
“And what would Megan get out of it?”
The hesitation in my voice said it all.
“She would get something more out of it if you two were married, wouldn’t she?” Mom said.
I knew my mother to be anxious. I did not know her to be so combative and probing as she was now.
“It’s pretty important, actually. Brad, your father and I worked hard to raise you so you could have good things happen to you. And while we can’t control who you marry and what you do with your love life, I think it’s a real mistake to trust your happiness to someone who has a motive that isn’t tied to your well-being or your love.”
Whatever you do, don’t tell them she becomes CEO because of this. Do not do that.
“Look, I get that and I appreciate it, but I genuinely don’t care if she gets something out of it. We’re married, so if she gets something, then I get something. That’s how marriage works, right? Two become one, that whole sort of thing? We become one happy couple who benefits from each other’s success.”
“And what’s to stop her from using you for her own means and then divorcing you in a few years?” Mom said. “Do you have a prenup?”
I bit my lip. Why did my mother care? I was pretty sure she’d never signed a prenup. And it wasn’t like my grandparents ever had anything—not that I knew my grandfather in the first place.
“Oh, Christ. Brad, this is our family business. Your father built this with his blood, sweat, and tears and now you’ve gone and thrown it away. You need to trust us. All three of us are telling you that you are getting played.”
That couldn’t be true. That wasn’t true. Megan would have cracked or shown something in private moments.
But…
Well…
How the fuck could I explain the whole marriage-in-Vegas thing? I couldn’t. If I could recall whose idea it was to get married, hers or mine, maybe this would make more sense. But right now, I only had a ton of gut decisions and thoughts to go off of, and no one seemed to win out one way or the other.
That alone was troubling. It should have seemed obvious that we were legitimate. The fact that it was even a question was troubling, to say the least.
“At the very least, you should talk to Ricci and see if he can get an annulment drafted,” my mother said. “You can always decide later that it wasn’t legitimate, but the last thing I want is for you to think it’s no big deal now, only to have to scramble down the road when you realize she was playing you.”
“She wasn’t playing me!” I said, growing terse. “We have known each other for years now. Years!”
“And you think that precludes her from playing you?”
I cussed under my breath.
“I’m going to the porch,” I said. “Don’t follow me. You’re pissing me off right now.”
“Better pissed off with the truth than to be happy with a lie.”
“Shut the…”
I cut myself off. My mother was one of the few people I didn’t want to cuss out. But damn if she was coming real fucking close.
“You watch your mouth, son.”
I ignored her, knowing full well I’d punch a wall or something else if I kept listening t
o the bullshit.
But there was just one problem.
What if it wasn’t bullshit?
What if Megan had gotten me drunk, had been sweet with me, had gone on the boat with me all so she could become CEO of her company?
I’d thought that the tense car ride over, where she seemed like she was scared for her life, would have revealed the truth. And in some respects, why would I doubt that? She was on the verge of tears. She feared for her life. It would take an unflappable professional to not crack under that circumstance, and even that was questionable.
But…
She could have also just been saying whatever she thought she needed to say to live. She could have just been saying what she thought I wanted to hear. And if that was the case…
If there was one thing in life that fucking pissed me off, it was being played. And the way my mother had just laid everything out, it sure seemed like I’d gotten fucking played.
Fuck! This was so fucking shitty. Why was I suddenly starting to doubt myself?
And why did it hurt so much? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I prided myself on looking at situations objectively and without emotion. But considering the possibility that Megan had played me…
It hurt. It really fucking hurt.
But I refused to allow anyone to see that. If my mother asked, I’d simply say I’d thought about it and made a rational decision. Pain wasn’t something for the world, even my mother, to see; it was something for me to annoyingly deal with from time to time.
I’d never let pain stop me in my life before, and I wasn’t about to start now. I opened the door to see my mother still staring at me, silently judging me for making a relationship choice that I thought I’d done correctly. I couldn’t wait to see what mistakes she fucking made in the rest of her life.
“I’m calling Ricci,” I said. “I think it’s at least worth having it on hand.”
“Do it now,” my mother said.
“I’m sorry? You’re going to tell me what to do?”
“I just think you’re more likely to do it if you do it here,” Mom said. “You run off, you might change your mind.”
“This is bullshit.”
“Brad,” my mother warned, but I hadn’t cussed her out, just cussed in her presence.
I ignored her admonishments for my language, unlocked my phone, and called the family lawyer. This time, he answered on the third ring.
“Brad?” he said. “I guess you got things settled with the woman?”
“No. In fact, I want to get the annulment papers.”
I heard silence on the other end of the line for a second. Maybe Ricci had figured that since I hadn’t said anything for a few days, I wouldn’t want a divorce. Unlike my mother, he understood.
But I had to sell him on the fact that this was my idea and my fucking idea alone.
“Do you have your wife with you?”
“No, but she doesn’t know yet I want to end it. Long story, but I can get to her. I still want to get started what we can.”
“All right, understood. Firm’s closing shop for the day, but we’ll have that over to you first thing tomorrow.”
“Get it done today,” I said.
“Brad, I can do some work, but the courts are closed here now. I can’t overturn the entire judicial system of Nevada to make up for your mistake.”
He had a point. Although that didn’t preclude me from being pissed at him.
“Fine. Do it tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to thank him for something I still wasn’t sure was a good idea. I didn’t want to say “good” because it sure as shit wasn’t that. I hung up right after and glared at my mother.
“I hope you’re happy.”
“No, why would I be?” she said. “You think we like seeing you in this position? I think it’s the best choice, though.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m so glad that as CEO of a large company and a thirty-two-year-old man, I get to have my mother tell me what my best choices are,” I said. “Maybe I’ll do you a favor and, I don’t know, stay the fuck out of your relationship decisions.”
“Brad!”
I was officially losing control. And I did not give a single fuck about it. My mother knew damn well that what she was doing was pissing me off, and if I had to deal with her harping, she had to deal with my foul mouth.
“Stop it, Mom,” I said. “I know you don’t like my swearing, but you’ll forgive me if I’m a little frustrated with going from thinking I’d found my forever to finding my temporary.”
My forever. I really just said that.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And what the fuck do I really want?
I whirled around and stormed out before she could realize what I had actually said. I could scarcely believe I’d said it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, most especially with the legal case proceeding.
My mind went blank as I stepped into the hallway and out to the streets of New York City, but once I finally got there, I detached a bit. My mother was a tough cookie, and she didn’t sugar coat anything, but as a result, she had never steered me wrong. Moments with far lesser stakes than this had similar processes—I would yell at her for telling me something, and within a couple of weeks, I would begrudgingly admit she was right.
But nothing was guaranteed, and I had a strong fucking feeling she was wrong here. Especially since my family history doesn’t exactly have a long line of happily-ever-afters.
My phone rang. Thinking it was my mother, I steeled myself to have a tense, curt call. It was the only person worse than her right now.
Megan herself.
I couldn’t ignore this. Even if I declined the call, she’d just try again in half an hour. I could not ghost my way into a divorce. I just had to suck it up. And tell her the truth.
“What?” I said when I answered.
“Brad? Hey, how are you?”
“Fine.”
A silence came.
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine, Megan.”
You’re not telling her the truth.
“Brad, we may have only been married, what, four days now? Point is, I’ve known you for far longer than that and I know when something is bothering you. I—”
“I spoke with my family. It did not go well. I need time to think.”
“Time?”
Unspoken was “time away from me?” But it didn’t need to be said out loud for her to understand.
“Can we meet to talk about this?”
“No.”
“Brad—”
“I need time to think, Megan. I can’t think in the presence of other people. Don’t fucking push me.”
“But—”
“Call me later, Megan. Later.”
I hung up. That call went about as disastrously as it could have. I’d told her the truth in the most literal sense of the word, but I’d done so in such a shitty way. And I’d told her to call me later? What kind of a fucking asshole was I?
Well, I’d always known I was an asshole. But what kind of a shithead was I? Assholes just told the truth without regard for tact. Shitheads didn’t handle the truth properly at all, whether dishing it or taking it.
I was reduced to shaking my head in the middle of the New York streets. I could only wish I had made a move when I was sober. At least then, we would have just banged it out and walked away. Life would have been so simple.
Unfortunately, for whatever reason, being a Nimico meant life was rarely, if ever, simple.
Chapter 14: Megan
What the hell was that all about?
I looked at the phone, showing only my background and not the call with Brad. It couldn’t because he’d just hung up on me. But…he had.
My husband had just ended the call abruptly.
This wasn’t how marriage was supposed to go. Sure, Brad had a temper and a quick trigger, but that didn’t compel him to act like an ass to me. Espec
ially after the last three days on Pegasus…
Was that all bullshit? Was he just playing a part to fuck me a dozen times to make up for lost time?
No, no way. I knew he always liked me, but legally marrying me and not fighting like fuck to overturn that was not something that someone like Brad would do. Maybe someone more desperate would have done that, but Brad was rich, handsome, and connected. He probably had half of the bachelorettes in Manhattan in his phone.
And yet, all the same, here I was, suddenly feeling very alone.
I went home and got under the covers. It was too early to go to bed, but I was too hurt and too confused to do anything about it. At least in my dreams, maybe I would get a Brad that didn’t want to cut me off so abruptly.
* * *
I woke up the next morning unable to remember my dreams. It was probably for the best. If I’d had a dream about Brad rejecting me or something worse, I would have been in an even worse mood this morning.
I showered quickly, put on the first work outfit I saw, and made my way to the office. I checked my phone multiple times, hoping for something from Brad. Nothing. I kept thinking the reception on my phone had to be broken, but I knew the truth. He’d said it when he said he needed space.
As soon as I got to my desk, I had a request to go see my father. I bit my lip. I had enough with Brad not giving me the time of day. did I now really need to add my father to the docket?
Nevertheless, I made my way to the elevator, went up to the third floor, and walked down the hall. I knocked on my father’s door twice, waited for a couple of seconds, and then entered.
Today, my father was at his desk, wearing his reading glasses and staring at a piece of paper. He looked up at me, and I saw something I hadn’t seen him do in forever.
He smiled.
It wasn’t the kind of smile that most fathers had for their daughters. This was more subdued, almost a smirk, like he was lording over the fact that he had won when I hadn’t.
“Hi, Megan,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m good…” I said, my voice trailing off in nervousness.
