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“Oh look, you got the name right this time.” I fold my arms across my chest, chuckling in amusement.
“Yes, well I can still read.” She points to the far wall of the office where the company logo is displayed, and shrugs.
So, she wants a divorce. About fucking time I'd say. But as much as I love Mother I'm not about to fight her battles especially when it involves going head-to-head with Brendan Farrington. That is something I just don't see myself doing for her, or anyone. Ever.
In spite of my humor, she can already sense that my answer is a big fat no."Say you'll at least give it a thought,"
“Mother, I hear all you’ve said. And you are right on all points. But I don’t need to think about it."
I spear her with a hard look, "I don’t want Apex. I’m happy right where I am. Besides keeping the Farrington name, I want nothing else to do with it.”
Agnes sighs in exasperation. “You know Jordan, your father didn’t build this company, he inherited it. So you’ve got as much right over it as he does. So he blackmailed and manipulated you all those years ago. Are you then going to throw all your toys out of the stroller? Give up your inheritance because your father is an asshole?”
“How long are you going to retreat and avoid him because he hurt you? He hurt me too, and this is me fighting back. He’s hurt Merry and in time she will fight back.”
I look up sharply. "What the hell?"
“No, not in the way you’re thinking. In the Brendan Farrington special way—with deceit and manipulation.”
I breathe a little easier.
“Jordan, when are you going to fight back?”
The talk of fighting triggers a still-fresh memory of those excruciating months during my final deployment at the Kandahar army base in Afghanistan. I remember the incessant gunfire and explosions. The thick dust and acrid smoke. The adrenaline and heartwrenching anxiety. But most of all, the good friends I made… and lost. I shake it off.
“Look, Mother, I’m not that man anymore. I have zero desire to fight. Right now, I just want peace and quiet.”
Her eyes take on a soft warmth, and I know she gets me. More gently I say, “When you find that person who’s ready to play ball and you need my vote, rest assured you’ve got it. Beyond that… well, that’s all I can promise.”
She looks pensive, almost dejected for a moment. “I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that. For now." Then she brightens up, "Actually the real reason I came—”
“Oh wow, there’s another reason! Mother, I’m working here—”
“Shush Jordan. I only wanted to see if you're free to take me to Magda’s garden party this weekend. I need to RSVP today so I want your response ASAP.
“Here we go. And this is where you tell me there’s a girl you want me to meet.”
“Hold on. As it happens in fact, there is. What’s so bad about that? You don’t seem capable of reeling them in, you only catch, let them dangle for two seconds, and throw them back. God knows your good looks have made you lazy. You should have taken the Farrington brows, then you’d appreciate the real struggle.”
“Mother, you sound just like Grandmother.”
Grandma Svensson never fails to hit the mark with her quirky metaphors. She'd been the first to give me the birds and bees talk when I was six and Mother was pregnant with Merry. When I became ridiculously tall for an eleven-year-old, it was the Ugly Duckling story.
By the time she visited us during my freshman high school year and kept commenting on how she bets all the girls are giving me eyes, I knew the safe-sex talk was imminent. I avoided her like the plague in those few days, worried that whatever story she came up with this time might actually put me off sex for life.
“I sound like my own mother? Shock. The apple never falls far. And you might want to note Jordan I should like to be a grandma soon enough too."
I don't even bother to respond to that.
"Anyway, what do I tell Magda?”
“Hang on.” I check my calendar quickly. “Did you say weekend?" She nods.
"Actually, it’s a no. I’m otherwise engaged.” She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow as if to say 'so what?'
"I can't cancel. It's an exhibition and I'm one of the featured artists." Anonymous but Mother doesn't need to know that.
"Oh, I see. "That's wonderful Jordan. You're finally letting the world see your phenomenal talent. It's a shame though. You would really like Cher."
