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2
Austin
“Here you are, Mr. Richards,” a waitress walks over, handing my father a second glass of his preferred mixed drink—gin and tonic.
He haphazardly waves her off, taking the glass from her. I eat another onion ring, giving the waitress a soft smile in appreciation. I know he won’t acknowledge her.
It’s a nice restaurant—complete with a hanging chandelier, an ornate fountain that waits near the hostess’ spot, and classical music playing through the speaker system—one I’m accustomed to visiting when meeting my dad. A high-scale place that serves sandwiches and burgers. I could definitely get a tastier burger downtown at Charley’s, but the rich like to spend wads of cash on simple burgers to remind themselves how much better off they are than others.
“How’s university going?” he asks, setting his drink down, continuing to scroll along his phone. Aside from eyeing his glass, his vision hasn’t broken from his cellphone.
“Yeah, it’s good,” I answer. He doesn’t lift his eyes. I decide it’s time for one of my patented “check to see how much your dad is really paying attention to you” tests. “I thought college was going to be tough, especially the first week. But my English professor is an alien from Neptune. The language barrier might be a problem, but they have tutors who specialize in Klingon.”
He grunts. “That’s odd. Never heard of that language,” he replies, now typing something into his phone.
I roll my eyes and chuckle. I’m over the days where I get frustrated or hurt by him not paying attention. Now it’s just disappointedly humorous. “Yeah, Professor Kirk was fluent in it. I don’t know about Doctor Skywalker. Different lineage, I guess.”
His gaze finally lifts, eyeing me. An annoyed stare morphs over him. “Austin, that’s enough.”
“Oh, you are paying attention.” I roll my eyes, taking a bite of another onion ring.
“Austin, you’re eighteen and in college now. You’re not a little kid in high school anymore. Be a man and act professionally.”
“Act professionally? Dad, I’m here on our weekly lunch for you to check up on me as if it’s an office meeting called by the supervisor. I don’t know how much more professional this father/son relationship can get.”
“Oh, good.” He gives me an annoyed smirk. One I’ve seen a hundred times before. “You’re finally realizing what’s most important. Business.”
“You never let me forget. Business above all. Even family.”
“Family only serves one purpose, Austin. I thought I’d taught you that by now.”
“Jesus, Dad. Glad to know you thought of Mom as nothing more than breeding grounds. How’s your fourth marriage going, anyway? You produce any new studs lately?”
“Watch your mouth.” His words are sharp and direct.
The silence drifts between us, and I have to take a deep breath. Okay, I may have overstepped my bounds on that last comment, but it’s far from being a false claim.
I have five siblings. I’m an only child from my biological parents—that of my mother and this gem of a human being sitting in front of me—but my first stepmom gave him a son and a daughter. My second stepmom, his third marriage, had two daughters. He married his fourth wife three years ago, and last year she gave birth to a baby boy. Oh, she’s twenty-three, and he’s sixty-two.
Gross! I shouldn’t have thought of that while I’m eating.
Anyway, Jimmy Richards is my dad, and as you can tell, we have the kind of relationship that’s only seen in movies about wicked stepparents. Only he’s not a stepparent, and this isn’t a movie.
I know he’s waiting for me to talk first. It’s a challenge. When I say totally honest, albeit rude things to him, he’ll lay the challenge down. Sometimes I accept, and other times I walk away. But given the new dynamic of our relationship, I know I have to say it.
“Sorry,” I finally spit out. He lifts a brow, then returns to checking his phone. “What has you so busy, anyway?”
“We’ve almost signed a new artist, but it’s … touchy. It’s not a normal contract, but I want to make sure we do everything in our power that they eventually sign with Rich Records for the long haul.” He lifts his gaze from his phone, this time his face softening a bit. “I’d really like you to stop by the studio more than what you’ve been doing.”
“Dad, I don’t really have the time. I’m taking a full course load, so it’s already challenging to get to the studio the days that I’m there as it is.”
It’s both true and not. I am taking a full course load, and my time is being juggled around right now, especially as I’m trying to adjust to life in college. Even with all of that, I could probably make time if I wanted to. But I don’t.
“Austin, you remember our deal, right?”
I’m about to take a bite of another onion ring when I drop the side dish. I stare back at him with the same apathetic glare that sometimes seems permanently attached to his face. “Of course I remember. You never let me forget.”
Setting his phone down, he smiles. It’s not a friendly expression, though. It’s a show of force. Smiling at me like he knows who’s boss and making sure I know it, too.
