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“The house is big enough it should be easy to avoid Mom if you want,” Connor says, reading my mind.
“It’s good to know we can still do that.”
“What? Read each other’s minds?”
“Yep,” I lay back down and yawn.
“Agreed. I’m going to let you go to bed though, you look exhausted. Think about this weekend. You can take the chopper.”
“I will. Goodnight, Con.”
“Night, Claire.”
I’m back asleep within seconds of hearing my front door close.
* * *
“Good God almighty!” Friday says with huge eyes. “This is where you grew up?”
“Yeah, until I got hauled off to Ireland.”
“Shit. I knew you were rich, but I was thinking vacation homes in Aspen and the Hamptons, not helicopters and a castle in the Berkshires. What does your family do again?”
“We started with oil, but we’re transitioning to renewables.” There’s the whole Russian mafia thing, too, but for obvious reasons, I won’t be disclosing that.
“The guy my parents wanted me to marry lived on an old plantation. It was grand and beautiful, but it has nothing on this.”
We start up the front steps when my dad’s house manager, Edward, steps out to greet us.
“Claire, lovely to have you this weekend.” He reaches out for my bag.
“Thank you, Edward. This is my friend, Friday. Friday, this is Edward, our house manager.”
“Hello.” She nods and lets him take her bag too.
“I have your room all set up, and I’m putting your friend in the room next to yours.”
“Perfect, thank you so much. I’m going to show Friday around the house and grounds.”
I lead her through the foyer and living room to the kitchen. Delores, our chef, doesn’t work on Thursdays or Fridays anymore. In all honesty, she should be retired by now, but she still lives in the employee wing and doesn’t mind cooking for us, so Dad has kept her employed.
By the time we get to the outdoor pool, Friday is looking at me through a totally different set of eyes. We decide to put on our swimsuits and spend the rest of the day floating around the pool and working on our tans. We’re standing at the edge of the pool when Dad comes out on the patio.
“Holy shit, that’s your dad, isn’t it? Do you need a stepmom? I’d happily fulfill that role.”
“Gross,” I laugh. The truth is, at one point I might have encouraged it, but I’m slowly, very slowly, thawing to my mom’s overtures.
Dad walks over to us, and I see my mom coming out behind him with a tray of drinks. “We thought we’d sit out here for a while with you,” Dad says as he reaches us. “Is that okay with you two?”
“Of course, Dad.”
“How was the flight up?”
“Amazin,’” Friday gushes, her accent becoming stronger. “It was my first time in a helicopter.”
“Great, I’m glad you enjoyed it and could make it up here with Claire this weekend.”
“We’re excited to watch both of you next weekend at the exhibition,” Mom says as she sets the tray down on one of the tables. She brings us both a glass of lemonade.
