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“Are you prepared?”
My grip on the mug turns white-knuckled as I grit out, “Yes.”
Dad hums, appeased. All he cares about is that I make the grades for pre-med. We don’t have a father-son relationship. We don’t have any kind of relationship that’s salvageable as far as I’m concerned at this point.
I’ll have to be the one to cut the mangled thread holding the last shred of hope we could be a real family, but I’m not strong enough.
Blair enters the kitchen, slipping in with silent stealth. Maybe if she made more noise, my parents might speak to her.
“Want some coffee?”
Flashing a look at my dad, she nods. I want to sigh wearily. That’s not the fighting spirit I love. I pour her coffee and hand over the mug.
The atmosphere in the kitchen is brittle and hostile, my perpetual baseline of anger impossible to control when my parents are home.
“Um, Mr. Murphy?” Dad shows no sign of hearing Blair. She licks her lips. “Could you pass the sugar?”
It sits by Dad’s elbow. He nudges it in Blair’s direction with no response.
“Thanks,” Blair says after it’s clear he isn’t interested in conversation.
“Always a pleasure in the morning, aren’t you, old man?” I sneer.
“Energy wasted is energy not spent on important discoveries.”
Blair’s eyes bulge. The hot burn of embarrassment crawls up my spine.
You haven’t seen anything yet, angel. This isn’t the worst this cold-hearted fucker has ever said to me.
Rubbing my jaw, I scoff, stewing for the fight I’m itching to pick with him. “Yeah. It’s not efficient to talk to your son’s girlfriend or interact with your family. Forget about affection, total time waster.”
Blair’s head snaps to me. I raise my eyebrows as I sip from my coffee. Yeah, that’s right, my expression says. You’re my girl.
Dad isn’t ruffled by my jabs.
Mom walks in, dressed for work. Before they began traveling so much, they made a name for themselves in the medical field here in Ridgeview at a specialist clinic they started to treat various rare conditions. Through their clinic, my parents began to research experimental advancements in medicine and treatment that put them in high demand to speak and work around the country.
“Are we driving together or separate?” Mom grabs a granola bar from the pantry.
My teeth ache from how hard I clench my jaw.
“Separate.” Dad sips his coffee. “Make sure the tech understands the parameters of the clinical trial. I don’t want to explain it to him again.”
Mom hums and turns to me. “Good luck on your tests this week. Your father and I might be here until Friday, but most likely will be flying out to Seattle before then. We’re only in town to oversee the start of this trial before our next obligation.”
Obligation. What bullshit. I feel like I’m one of their fucking obligations and I’m their son.
“Whatever,” I mutter, turning away.
“One other thing, Devlin.” Mom taps on her phone and shows me her screen. It’s a monthly statement. “There’s been an abnormal spike in your spending account.”
Ice crystalizes in my stomach. “Why does it matter if you give me the expense account in the first place? It’s not like I’ve put that big of a dent in it.”
Mom purses her lips. “We just want to make sure you’re being responsible with your spending.”
This is ridiculous. I have thousands left in the account. They fill it up every month, giving me more than I can spend in that amount of time, even when I’m being frivolous.
Blair has turned to a statue across from me, hunching her shoulders to make herself smaller. It pisses me off that she feels she has to make herself unnoticeable.
