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It’s not until I look at myself in the mirror and my reflection blurs in front of me that I realize the woman in the picture is me.
TEN
REMINGTON
December…
Lancaster United is halfway through a new merger, and my parents are throwing a dinner party for the—wait for it—blendingof our two families. Excuse me while I puke. It’s not a takeover. Not my department buying the remnants of a failing business. But a merger with big-time players with stock shares and a seat on the governing board of the company I’m supposed to own one day.
Adam Newcomb is the owner of 247 Payment Systems, and they do…something. I don’t know. Ask Deb. She could tell you. For this particular investment, I just sign where they tell me to. I literally could not care at this point. All I know is that I’m stuck nursing a glass of wine until Michele—Adam’s wife—arrives, and we can pop the champagne so I can go home and drink in private.
I’m not even pretending to pay attention anymore.
When the doorbell rings and I hear my parents’ housekeeper tell whoever it is to come in, I almost sag into my seat. I start to, as a matter of fact, the wine having gone to my head, but my mother shoots me a dirty look from across the massive table, and I pull my shoulders back and sit up straighter instead.
I do slump when a man rounds the corner into the dining room instead of Adam’s wife. This night is never going to end.
Now my pops sends me a nasty glare.
Yeah, yeah. I’m a disappointment. Tell me something I don’t already know.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” the newcomer says, slipping off his scarf and draping it across the chair beside Adam, the seat reserved for his wife. He places his hands on Adam’s shoulders, and Adam tips his chin to the side to give the newcomer his cheek. The new guy drops a kiss onto his skin before pulling out the chair beside Adam and lowering himself inside it.
“Everyone, this is Michele. Michele, this is…” he starts with the introductions, going around the table as members of our executive board and the privileged few from higher management give Adam’snotwife a warm welcome.
Nausea boils in my stomach, and my fingers lose their feeling when Michele—not a wife—looks adoringly at Adam.
I throw back the rest of my glass, then reach for the bottle closest to me to fill it to the top. Eyes widen at my brazen behavior, but no one tries to cut me off. I’m a Lancaster, after all. What I say goes.
“I thought you said you were married,” I interrupt rudely, not caring at all about my lack of manners.
Adam gives me a bemused look, and my father shoots daggers from his eyes. Michele, smiling warmly at our VP of Finance, lets his expression fall into something wary and displeased.
“I am,” Adam says with a gentle voice and a smile. “Michele is my husband. We met in France, almost fifteen years ago. We have been together ever since.”
“You’re gay?” I ask him flatly. Obviously, he’s gay. But there’s a fuzz between my ears. For some reason I can’t fathom, I’m having difficulty reconciling that fact with what I know about my father and his aversion to homosexuality.
Michele—French for Michael—immediately bristles, rising from his chair to defend or leave, I don’t know. But Adam makes a soothing noise, patting his husband’s hand.
His white husband.
Adam is black. Very black. Skin as dark as the deepest ocean, Julia would adore to paint him, black.
AndMicheleis blond and pale and about as white as you can get. Another point against them.
“Yes. I am. Quite openly and happily. Is that a problem for you?”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“No. Not at all. Welcome to the family.” I take several more swallows of my wine, the beverage dribbling down my chin before I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “How about you, Pops? Is that a problem for you? Did you know that he was gay when you invited him tojoin our family?” I ask in a mocking tone.
My father recovers quickly, giving Adam an apologetic glance while probably wishing my death by a thousand papercuts.
“Excuse my son,” he says apologetically, smiling that ‘kids will be kids’ sort of smile. “He’sobviously,” he emphasizes, giving me another look that screamsget your shit together,“had too much to drink.”
I slam my hand down on the table, rattling glassware and causing my parents’ guests to jump.
“No, I haven’t. And answer the question! Did you know that he was gay?!”
