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Your father's really sick and wants to see you. Come over.
sixteen
Felicity
The next morning, I took an Uber to my parents' house. Their house was located in the fanciest upper-class neighborhood in Manhattan. Only rich people, celebrities, and politicians, lived in the area.
The mansion, with its three stories and tall white fences, took up more space than necessary. I grew up in this big house, feeling very small. My father was a rich man, and showing off his wealth was his forte.
Wearily, I approached the front door, sucking in a breath as I knocked twice. It only took a few seconds for the butler to open the door.
"Good morning, Miss Wiley," he said with a smile.
Jameson had worked for our family since I was six. He was a decent man and probably the best employee my parents ever hired. Most people complimented my mom for managing such a big house, but behind the scenes, Jameson was the brains.
"Good morning, Jameson," I replied with a smile, stepping into the house so he could lock the door behind me.
"It's nice to have you home again. Are you staying for lunch?" He always asked me this, and I always said no. This time, however, I was prepared to be civil, but that depended entirely on how this visit went.
"We'll see,” I said carefully.
"I'll tell the cook to prepare another plate just in case. Your parents are in the living room."
"Thank you."
I found my way to the living room, realizing I hadn't been there in over six months. It was easier to avoid my parents if I could. After all, I'd moved out for the sole reason of not having to see them every day.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the ridiculously spacious living room that my mother had decorated to her taste, was that Derick was nowhere to be found. I would've called and asked him if he had been summoned like I was, but he was not the presumed black sheep of the family, and I was still angry at him for taking Dad's side when he should've been on mine.
The second thing I noticed was that my father was holding a glass of some amber liquid that strangely resembled whiskey. Hadn't my mother said he was sick? Swallowing the thought, I moved forward. My parents were seated side by side on the Italian plush leather sofa Mom had imported from abroad, staring at the television that was just too big to enjoy anything on.
"Mom, Dad, good morning," I said, standing. Obviously, Dad being sick had been a ruse to get me to come home. What sick person drank alcohol at eleven thirty on a Sunday morning?
My mother's face lit up the second she saw me. "Fliss, dear. I haven't seen you in so long. Come give me a kiss."
She was right. It had been three weeks since we'd seen each other. I managed to put on a small smile, closing the distance between us to kiss her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Work's been crazy lately."
That seemed to be my excuse for pushing people away.
From my left, my dad snorted.
I ignored him, deciding there and then that I would not be staying for lunch. How sad. At least, I tried.
"Visit us more often, darling. We miss you around here," Mom cooed, grabbing my cheek.
Honestly, I loved my parents. They tended to be insufferable from time to time, but I'd learned to take them as they were. My mother was tolerable when she wasn't breathing down my neck to come work for the company alongside her husband, and she actually listened at times. But I was already grown by the time I realized she was only human.
She hadn't been around much when I was a child because she'd been too busy building her career and climbing the social ladder of New York's upper-class citizens. It had been a great front for her richer-than-Midas husband, but that meant Derick and I were alone most of the time as kids. We'd had a nanny, but it didn’t compare to having the time and affection of a parent.
It was no wonder as to why it was so easy for Jeremy to worm his way into my life.
"I'll try." It was the best I could do. Then I looked to my father, who had not bothered to spare me a glance since I had walked in. "Mom said you were sick and wanted to see me?"
"Uh, Fliss, dear—"
"Yes and no." Dad cut my mom off. "I'm not sick, but I did want to see you."
I straightened, moving to sit on the other sofa so I could face them.
