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I’m so sorry, my little angel.
3
Gwyneth
The glass of water slips from my hand and hits the sink with a loudcrash, splintering all over the surface.
The sound collides with the climax ofCar Radioby Twenty One Pilots that’s playing from Alexa.
I wince while I carefully grab the tiny pieces and throw them in the trash and simultaneously scroll through my phone.
Aside from the memes and mindless conversations in my group chat with my college friends, there’s nothing of importance. Though calling them friends is an exaggeration. Colleagues would be more appropriate.
Chris, Jenny, Alex and I all take pre-law at the same college, so we kind of flocked toward each other. It’s hard for me to consider anyone an actual friend, because most of the people I’ve met since I was in elementary school were either interested in my super successful father or our family drama, namely the drama between Dad and my step-grandma. It got worse in pre-law since everyone is gunning to snatch an internship at Weaver & Shaw.
The screening process of interns is so strict and thorough that I’m not sure if even I’ll get in. Dad made it clear that there would be no preferential treatment and if I wanted to intern at one of the best law firms in the world, I needed to prove my worth.
But not to him. Nate’s the one I’d have to impress, because he’s the managing partner of the New York branch. He also holds the key to Weaver & Shaw’s entry gate, and besides being a perfectionist, he’s also stern.
Everything about Nate is, whether it’s with work or in personal relationships.
I ignore the group chat and scroll to my contacts until I find the nameSusan.
Okay, so Dad definitely doesn’t know that I secretly got his stepmom’s number. Or maybe not so secretly, since I asked her for it when we bumped into each other at a restaurant.
I don’t know why I did it, and she must’ve been as surprised as I was, because she gave me that hawk-eyed stare that made me kind of squirm. Or maybe I knew exactly why I wanted the number. For something like today. I’m planning Dad’s birthday and I hope they somehow get along.
When Grandpa died, he left this house, which he bought when he married Dad’s biological mother, to Susan, and Dad was livid, like absolutely furious in a way I’ve never seen before. It didn’t matter that he’d inherited the shares Grandpa previously owned in Weaver & Shaw; the house was his number one priority. He went as far as proving that Grandpa was senile and not in a sound state of mind when he wrote his will. He won and the will became null and void. Then they had another long case about his inheriting the house because of the sentimental value it holds to him, and although Susan fought tooth and nail, she didn’t stand a chance. But she’s appealing now. Not only for the house, but also for shares of W&S. Her argument is that since the will is null and void, she should receive a percentage of them, if not all. Dad said she’ll never win, not in a million years.
I hate all their legal battles.
I don’t want Dad to keep fighting her in court until either of them dies. I know this might not be the most logical idea since she stole his mother’s place and drove her to suicide, but I do believe in making peace.
And most of all, I believe in making Dad less stressed, even if he still has to deal with a million other things.
I hit Call before I chicken out and lose my resolve. My forefinger swirls between the pieces of glass in the sink as I listen to the ringing of the phone.
Susan picks up and I pause moving my finger and stare through the window at the garden.
“Who is this?” she asks in her usual closed off, slightly snobby, slightly judgmental tone.
“It’s me. Gwen.”
There’s a long pause that almost extends to a minute. “What do you want?”
“It’ll be Dad’s birthday soon, and I’ve been wondering if you want to come.”
“The only thing I want for your father’s birthday is his death.”Beep.
I gulp, letting my hand holding the phone drop to my side.
Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect that. While I’d hoped there might be a way to bring them together, maybe that’s not possible, after all.
Does that mean I have to watch them go at each other’s throats for the rest of my life?
I stare at the flowers and trees outside as if they’ll provide an answer. Maybe it’s clearer than I actually thought and I just need to stop meddling in things that don’t concern me.
Or people who don’t pay attention to me.
