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Gross. Gross. Gross.
The thought of Lydia and Robert banging is perplexing. If she didn’t have three children, I’d swear Lydia Mitchell was far too prim and proper to ever be caught naked or in an unsavory position. And when would Dad have time?
“Jesus, Mom,” Emma shudders and makes a vomiting face even though she never stops swiping through her phone.
By the time we’re halfway through our gluten-free dinner meal even though no-one has celiac disease, the whole table is several coping mechanisms into the cognac and wine and the nitpicking has started. I can feel the argument coming like a train rolling down the tracks.
Emma’s hair is looking rooty and needs a touch-up. Cody needs to choose a wife already because he’ll do better at work if he appears to be a family man. And me? I’m throwing my whole life away chasing my naive dreams, running around to Europe like a “high school student on her gap year.”
“All your father means, Mallory,” mom says swirling the wine around in her glass so vigorously that some has already spilled onto the tablecloth but she doesn’t notice, “is that this social media thing was fun while you were young, but David isn’t going to wait around for you forever.”
“What does David have to do with my career?” I take the bait, fueled by liquid courage.
Aria starts to make some comment about David not deserving me at all if he can’t support me or be faithful while I’m gone, but Dad interrupts her as if she’s a ghost at the table and he can’t hear her. Aria has always been far beneath Robert and Lydia Mitchell.
“I wouldn’t call social media a career, dear,” Dad chortles.
And here we go again. Because the whole family, Cody and Emma included, work in the traditional print media corporation that Dad built, my stepping foot outside it into a new marketplace is a grave offense. A total waste of my journalism degree. An offense worthy of shunning their youngest child.
“Oh yeah? Tell me, Dad, what would you call it then?”
“Well, at this point, I’d call the whole stunt a disgrace,” he extolls without an ounce of hesitation.
“Dad, come on,” Cody tries to reason with him like he always does. But there is no reasoning with my parents. God knows I’ve tried over the past 26 years.
Still doesn’t stop me from arguing with them because I don’t need this crap. I’ve never needed any of their crap. I graduated from college and then refused to take one more penny of their support because it comes with strings attached, like all shitty gifts from shitty people.
“This is not a stunt,” I growl and slam my glass tumbler to the table, “this is my life!”
“Mallory, please, after the last public embarrassment working with that hoodlum basketball player don’t you think it’s time to stop this?” Mom’s eyes are glazed over but she’s dead serious. For months I had to hear about how her snooty friends at the club kept bringing up her poor misguided daughter and she never once defended me even though I had nothing to do with the debacle.
“Just wait Mom, I’m going to bring all the shame upon our name now. So much shame you’ll need a pitchfork to shovel it all. I have a much bigger platform now and by the time I wrap up this job I’ll be able to open my own firm and then shame will rain down from the heavens!” I realize I’m slurring my words and should probably quit with the cognac but fuck them.
“Your own firm!” Emma snorts and heckles me, “You’re drunk!”
“And you’re a bitch,” I seethe back at her. She’s said a dozen words to me all night and now she only throws gas on the dumpster fire.
“Enough!” Dad roars. “Mallory, enough is enough. You need to grow up. Your mother and I agree, this ends now. Or,” he pauses.
“Or what?” I challenge him. What else could they possibly do to me?
“Or we’ll have no choice but to disavow you, update the will and remove your inheritance,” he finishes.
Inheritance, is he serious? “That the best you have, Dad, huh? I was never going to see a penny of that anyway and I don’t want it!”
“I’ll take her share,” Emma smirks over her wine glass.
Cody has his head in his hands over the table, rubbing his temples.
“Alrighty then,” Aria stands and shoves her chair back, sending it toppling over sideways onto the floor. Lydia clutches her actual pearls. “This has been a lovely evening but I think we’ll bid you a fond adieu now,” she says in a faux French accent and tries to take a dramatic bow but only ends up drunk stumbling onto Cody.
I stand to join her and Cody walks us both
to the front door so he can call us a cab since neither of us are in any condition to be driving anywhere right now.
“Why do you put up with them, Cody, why?” I ask him as we stand outside trying not to fall over as we wait for a cab. Cody works for Dad too but he’s not like them, he never has been. He was my only salvation growing up in this gauche mint-colored house of horrors.
“Shit, I don’t know,” he scratches his head, “I just don’t have the energy to fight with them all the time. Always respected that you do, though.”
