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“Fine. A client needs my attention, though. I need to head downtown after lunch, and it’s highly confidential. I can’t have you tagging along to this one.”
I sigh and eat my fry, knowing exactly what he’s up to. Building his walls to keep me from getting too close.
One step forward. Two steps back.
Georgie
SUNDAY MORNING, BRUNCH
“I didn’t hear you come in, sweetie. You’re early.” My dad kisses the top of my head before going to the sideboard and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Used to be we couldn’t get you here before noon.”
“Been getting up earlier these days,” I say, forcing a smile as I roll my champagne flute back and forth between my palms.
“Oh yeah? Any particular reason?” My dad sits in his usual spot at the head of the table and studies me.
Yup. A grumpy lawyer gets up at the crack of dawn every morning, and it seems to be the only way I can see him, though I’m not even sure why I want to.
I haven’t seen or heard from Andrew since we parted ways on Friday after lunch. On one hand, I’m not that surprised, because although my schedule doesn’t change much from weekdays to weekends, he’s never shown up for the usual five A.M. showdown on Saturdays or Sundays.
I guess somehow I thought yesterday might be different, though. I’m a little embarrassed to say that after staying up way too late watching Outlander at Marley’s place, I dragged myself home at 4:45, then hung out in the lobby way too long hoping he might make an appearance.
He didn’t.
And you know, I wish I could tell you that I got the hint. That I just quietly decided to bide my time until our inevitable Monday morning meeting. But nope.
Remember how he left me his phone number on the flower card?
Yeah, well, I texted him.
I texted him!
I never text guys first, not unless I have something witty and clever, and this was not one of those texts.
I said, and I quote: Hi.
I groan out loud, just thinking about it, and my dad gives me a weird look. “Want to talk about it?”
I take a sip of the mimosa. “Not so much.”
He shrugs and opens his paper.
“Where’s Mom?”
“On the phone with the London manager,” he says, not glancing up. “Or maybe Paris. Tokyo. I forget.”
Forget, or don’t care?
“So how are things with you guys?” I blurt out.
That has him looking up. “Meaning, like, is my blood pressure back down, and did she finally schedule the mammogram you’ve been bugging her about?”
“No. I mean, well, yeah, that. But, like…how are you guys? Together?”
My dad precisely folds his paper before setting it aside and studying me over the cup of his coffee. “What’s going on, sweetie?”
“Nothing. I just…I don’t know, I feel like you guys are so disconnected. I feel like I’m only ever talking to each of you individually, never as a couple.”
“Yes, well, we’re both busy. Our schedules don’t always overlap.”
