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He totters around the back to the passenger door, climbing up into a velvety black seat cover with an embroidered penguin. Buckling himself in, he lets out an unctuous whistle.
“I guess if you like SUV’s,” he says, reaching for my thigh. “Then a Bentley Bentayga will be quite the upgrade.”
A scoff falls from my lips, switching to reverse so I can turn out onto Hidden Valley Drive. “No no, Mumble comes with me,” I assert bluntly. “If you’re not willing to ship my baby across the blue seas with my belongings, then I guess it was nice knowing you,” I finish, emphatically waving.
“The fuck is a Mumble, kiddo?” He asks, appearing uncertain if he wants to hear the story of my car.
I clear my throat on our way out of The Ridges. “You know—Mumble—” I reply curtly. “The movie ‘Happy Feet’ about the penguin who liked to dance?”
Daddy Reid clicks his tongue. “Guess you’re gonna have to show me that one,” he replies, staring out the windshield to admire more rocky views of The Colorado Monument.
A few minutes of silence is cut short when I finally bring up the elephant in the room.Or van, I suppose.“This morning’s newspaper affected you far more than you’re leading on, huh?”
He winces audibly as his hand massages my thigh. The cracks in his reply validate my suspicions. “Not in the way you’re thinking,” he says with a short cough. “I disliked that dipshit very much,” he adds, retrieving his phone from a pocket. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the least bit guilty for what happened.”
One eye parts from the road ahead of me, as I take a quick gander at the blue text bubble which he apparently last sent to Wade several days ago. But I can’t read such a long message, without crashing Mumble on an incredibly winding road such as the upper heights of Broadway.
“I can’t read all that—you’ll have to read it aloud,” I affirm.
Reid inhales a deep breath before proceeding to divulge what he sent Wade. Very quickly do I now realize why he’s really upset over the situation. He’s not so much sad, as he is embarrassed about the last words sent to his ex. Wade died in the exact manner of Daddy’s final words to him. This might just prove that his heart is pure, even though he typed that message from a place of anger.
After a whole week getting to know therealReid Fairchild, I can easily write this off as letting out steam in the heat of the moment. I’d rather he display remorse about it, than to disregard the event altogether.That would make him the psychopath Carrie thought he’d turn out to be.
“Does that make me a terrible person?” He asks, grimacing. “Wishing death on Wade, then it happens to the very letter?”
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I raise his hand to my lips for a gentle kiss. “Daddy,” I reply fervently. “You’re gonna have to do far worse than that, before I slap the label of‘asshole’across that glistening forehead of yours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
REID
Spending the weekend with my boy’s lesbian moms has been quite the experience. He’s next to me on the couch of my private jet, scrolling through his phone or texting Carrie. One of the two. What I am sure about, his music is loud enough that I can hear it from an arm’s slap away. It’s fine, because many things unfolded this weekend. So much of which I haven’t as of yet been able to fully process.
Tuti can be on the kooky end from time to time, but it isn’t without a certain endearing charm. She cares for Kragen so much. And Candace has lightened up considerably since we first met at Kaka’ako Terrace, after the scare he brought me fainting in my hotel bathroom. Of course, a person’s prone to open up like a fucking tulip when a benefactor pays off the last half of their mortgage.
All in all, I’m more than thrilled that my boy had a terrific upbringing. It’s honestly the most a Daddy could hope for. Back home, Dr. Davis found his in dire straits. When we met, Wade was a struggling actor in Los Angeles. But his parents loved and supported him. And that too, made me happy.
On that note, those poor people are about to bury their child. I can’t imagine what it must feel like. To be fair, I’m not deeply affected by his accident. What has me unnerved are my last words to him came to fruition—as if I’m as psychic as Tuti Darling.
Perhaps I can offer to pay for his funeral costs.God damn it, Reid. Did you learn nothing from Sunday’s hands-on volunteer experience?Apparently my old habits of simply writing a check will take longer to break than I originally thought.
Before I dive into the craptastic realm of unanswered text messages and emails, I figure I’ll pour us both a stiff drink. The flight back to Honolulu is bound to take fucking forever. According to the screen on my cabin’s side dash showing our virtual flight path, we’re only halfway over Utah. And with the radar indicating extreme weather from here, extending halfway across the Pacific, six hours will easily turn into ten.
I wave my open palm in front of Kragen, now looking dazed out the circular window between us. “Ground control to Major Tom,” I chuckle, catching his attention. “Do you want a Hawaiian screwdriver?”
He removes one of his Air Pods with a contorted mouth. “Huh?”
The thought occurs to me that perhaps I shouldn’t encourage him to drink so casually as I do. The boy’s an absolute teetotaler, and I’d rather not deal with a tipsy Banana Boy for what I just figured would become a ten plus hour trip back home.
“Are you thirsty, little boy?” I reiterate. “Coke Zero or something?”
He nods in agreement. “I’ll take a C.Z.,” he replies, grinning. “Thanks, Daddy.”
When he expressed his fondness for Coke Zero versus Diet Coke, I immediately restocked my fridges with the fifteen ounce bottles. Apparently it tastes just like the classic, sugary variety. And His Royal Highness gets whatever he damn well pleases. I finish pouring myself a gin with pineapple juice, before retrieving a cold bottle of his soda.
A wink precedes my gesture, passing the boy his refreshment. “Here you are, my Banana Boy.”
Once I’ve resettled into a comfortable position, I can now tackle the amassing messages and emails which piled up over the course of forty-fucking-eight hours. Honestly, there are days where I wished father didn’t leave me his seats to the complete empire he and my grandfather built from the ground up. Sometimes I just wanna pull my hair out, even as the most inactive C.E.O. and Chairman in the world.
