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I realize how little he knows about my life, and for a second it makes me sad. I wish we were closer. It would be nice to have someone feel like family the way other people have family.
“Internship. I’m working for these two PR ladies who run their business out of their shared home. It’s a real scene, believe me,” I say.
Braden waves his hand at me and bunches his face.
“I will take your word for it. Did they turn you into a smoker? You know you can get that stuff in bubblegum scent now instead of Marlboro, right?”
I sneer, then pull my shirt collar to my nose and inhale to discover he’s right.
“They’re a bit seventies, as is literally everything in their place. Unfortunately, so is most of the material they produce,” I admit. I feel good about the direction I’m taking things for them, though. I hope they’ll get into it, or at least let me run with it.
“You know, that stuff is in again. With a twist, of course. But there’s a lot you can do with that seventies’ vibe,” he says. I love that he’s taking an actual interest, and I beam at his response.
“Maybe when I finish this pitch I’ll run it by you because that isexactlythe thing I’m going for.” I lift my bag to my lap and hug it, glancing at the notepads and folders. This is something my parents wouldn’t understand. I don’t think my mom has ever held a paper and pen in her hands that wasn’t a checkbook, and my father hasn’t been one doing real work for years—decades. He delegates. And he barks orders. What I’m doing is real, and it feels good.
“Hey, you know I don’t like to get into things between you and your mom and dad and all, but—”
“Please say Mom is not trying to get to me through you?” It wouldn’t be the first time my mother has wormed her way back into my graces using Braden as bait.
He grips the wheel and purses one side of his lips, glancing at me with a wry, guilty look. When he doesn’t follow it up with an explanation, or even a message from my mom, I start to get worried.
“Braden?” I prompt.
He looks back to the roadway, resting his elbow on the window ledge and rubbing his palm over his chin. Something’s wrong.
“Dad had a stroke. It’s been about six days, and he’s going to be okay. But he’s going to need a lot of rehab, and my timeline at the businesses definitely got sped up.”
“What? I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand. I was with him days ago. He was fine! I mean, he was a complete asshole and I wished to the world that I’d never need to speak to him again, but still—”
“Yeah, right after you had that breakfast meeting, which I promise I was not involved with, by the way.” Braden holds up a hand in a scout’s honor swear, and I push it down immediately because I know he wasn’t involved. There’s only one man who operates that way, and he’s apparently in a hospital recovering from a stroke.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I protest.
“Your mom told me she was handling it, even though I offered. She said she called you, but you kept hanging up.” He grimaces and I sigh, fluttering my eyelids in disgusted disbelief.
“She set me up and I was pissed, but seriously . . . she could have left a message,” I grumble. This is so typical of her, using something like this to spin a pity party she can tell everyone else. I can hear her in my head now:Oh, and my daughter, Morgan—she hung up on me!
“I’m no one to talk because Libby can be a real pill, too,” Braden says, referencing his mother. “But your mom has a real flare for the drama. You know the more times you hang up the more times she will call and not leave a message.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s to the point now that she’s doing it in front of her society friends to show off how unfeeling and awful her daughter is. Damn it!” I sulk into my seat and bite at my thumbnail, wanting to crunch my front teeth down hard enough to break a finger. “You know what? Next time she calls I’m going to answer and act all sweet, and if I find out she has me on speaker phone, I’m going to call her out in front of her friends.”
“Way to focus on the big picture, Morgan.” Braden has always been good at pulling me back from the edge with his special brand of sarcasm. I’m still fired up with anger, but I take a breath at his comment and center myself on the real point like he said. My dad is in the hospital recovering from a stroke. Braden is taking on more of the work.
“Sorry,” I apologize, my tone still a little begrudging.
Braden reaches forward and turns the music up a few notches, knowing I’m not quite ready to be rational. He’s intuitive that way, and he’s probably also doing it a bit for himself, so he doesn’t let his temper get the best of him. His relationship with our dad is much better than mine. I have no doubt he feels differently about things, and my reaction is admittedly a little insensitive.
“Should I go see him?” I finally blurt out when we have less than two blocks to go from campus.
Braden straightens his left arm against the wheel and leans into the center console as he sighs.
“I think that’s up to you, honestly. And I’m not being passive aggressive about it, I promise. He’s going to be okay. I don’t think this was one of those personality-altering moments where after six months of rehab he’s going to come back and suddenly want to look into philanthropy.”
We both laugh.
“But this knocked him out of the game for a bit, Morgan. And he’s your dad, so it sort of depends on you and how you want to shape that relationship moving forward.”
Braden pulls up to the circle drive at the front of campus and shifts into park. I unbuckle and shift to stare at him, a little in awe.
