Back into the lion’s den.
Even though my parents only lived twenty minutes outside downtown Cedar Falls, I rarely saw them, especially with my sister off to college.
Elaine Claymont built her life, especially since Dad’s bottling business exploded, around looking flawless. Socially. Emotionally. After she and my father’s affairs ruined their marriage, she proceeded to curate their reconciliation like a reality show highlight reel.
Charles Claymont was worse. Wealthy, calculating, and impossible to please, he’d always treated people like negotiations. He valued control, legacy, and the illusion of a perfect family. He got back together with my mother purely for pride and PR. Reconciliation photographs better than divorce.
Staying grounded was only successful because of the guys, Mr. Bennett, Mason’s dad, and growing up next to the O’Malleys. But I didn’t escape completely unscathed, and sometimes I worried my sister might not either.
Pulling into the circular driveway, I parked my truck beside the perfectly manicured landscaping and took a few deep breaths as I climbed the stairs. My nervous system already unregulated, it spiked the minute I opened the front door as my mother was just making her way through the foyer.
“I thought that was your truck.”
She’d never been particularly affectionate, but at some point during her and Dad’s climb up the social ladder, she began kissing everyone, me included, on both cheeks in greeting.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
A subtle dig that I never came home.
“I texted Dad earlier. He said he’d be here this morning.”
She waved a hand toward the back patio. “He’s outside with his coffee. But on the phone, I think. Probably sweet-talking some vineyard into doubling their order. Your father’s been bottling charm as long as he’s been bottling wine.”
I refrained from “If you say so,” not wanting an argument.
“How you doing?” I asked since I wouldn’t know. My mother contacted me as little as I did her. Once she gave up on turning me into her Ivy League golden boy and realized pushing only made me dig in deeper, I became more of an occasional update than a son.
“Well,” she said. “I was just heading out to meet Nancy. We’re planning a founders’ brunch for the Finger Lakes Historical Society.”
Sounded about right.
“Don’t let me stop you,” I said, striding toward the back doors. “Tell Nancy I said hello.”
When my mother didn’t respond, I stopped and turned. She was studying me, so I knew exactly what was coming. Bracing for it, I reminded myself why I was here. And why this torture trip was worth it.
“Nancy’s a new grandmother. Her son and his wife had twins. You remember her son? He’s running for attorney general, was a year ahead of you.”
Good for him.
I forced a smile. “I do. Tell her I said congratulations, in that case.”
Before she could sneak in the next comment which was very likely to start a fight, I summoned years of experience dealing with my mother and walked away. There was a time I’d have thought it was rude, but after some soul-searching—and talking to Mr. O’Malley about the whole situation—I now filed it under the self-preservation umbrella.
Dad was leaning against the patio railing, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, wearing one of those crisp button-downs that screamed casual money.
“Beck,” he said without looking up, like I was an expected delivery instead of his son. “You finally crawl out of whatever dive bar you’ve been hiding in?”
Here we go.
“Go grab yourself a coffee. I’ll be about five more minutes.”
I could easily sit down, ignore his directive out of spite for giving it, but that would have been as useless as trying to get my mind from replaying my kiss with Mae every hour of the day. So instead, I walked back through the exceptionally clean cream, like the rest of the house, living room, into the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of joe.
It was one of my father’s luxuries I didn’t mind. Single-origin Ethiopian beans brewed from a machine that cost more than my truck and poured like a European café.
Heading back outside, I waited for him to finish talking and focused on the coffee rather than the discussion that was about to take place. This was literally the one scenario I never wanted or expected to be in… asking my father for money.
Talk about a tail between your legs moment. Shoving my pride away, I took another sip.
