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But for the first time ever, it no longer felt like home.
“Sir?” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll come around.”
Come around for what? I reached for the door handle to let myself out just as he rounded the back of the car and tried to open the door for me. Oh. Come around for that.
I bit back a smirk. There’d been a time in the not-too-distant past when I would have automatically waited for the driver to open my door and help me with my luggage. My mother had taught me the finer points of interacting with drivers, doormen, and help staff of all kinds, and I’d been brought up to know my place at the top of the food chain. Only now the idea I couldn’t do that stuff for myself was laughable.
I thanked the driver and grabbed my own bag, carrying it up the stairs and pressing the doorbell. My mother’s housekeeper let me in and led me to the formal living room, where my mother waited. She stood at my arrival and held out her hands toward me. The moment I drew near, however, her nose wrinkled, and she took a step back.
“My god, Richard, what is that awful stench?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “And what are you wearing?”
I looked down at myself. I’d showered that morning and put on my usual work clothes: jeans, a snap-button shirt that I’d adorned with tassels, and my Justins, which I’d made sure to brush off before boarding the plane.
“For the love of—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “The estate lawyers will be here any minute, and you smell like a barn. Go get yourself cleaned up and put on something appropriate.”
Hello to you too, Mom, I thought to myself. Sorry about your loss. Instead of saying anything, I turned and started up the stairs toward my room. Or rather, the room formerly known as mine. My mother had wasted little time before redecorating once I’d left for college. It had been through several iterations since: study, office, exercise studio, meditation retreat. Now, thankfully, it served as another guest room. I set my bag on the bed before stripping my clothes off and stepping into the shower.
I took my time getting ready. After the reception I’d gotten from my mother, I figured she could wait. Thankfully, after James and I had broken up, I’d moved some of my clothes here until I could find a new place, which meant I still had a couple of old suits in the closet. They were a few seasons out of date, but I made it work.
Once I was dressed, I stood for a moment in front of the mirror, taking myself in. My hair was a little longer than I usually wore it, but I’d styled it in a way to make it look rakishly intentional. My skin was tanner, but a little bit of highlight powder made my cheekbones pop more than usual.
Something still wasn’t right though. I might look like my old self, but I didn’t feel like it. I forced a smile. It looked fake. I tried again, but it wasn’t much better. I was losing my edge. I was the good-time guy. The guy who made things fun, who lifted moods with a perfectly timed quip or a bawdy joke.
But fuck, I didn’t feel like being that guy just then.
I shrugged on my jacket and wandered downstairs to face my mother and the hoard of estate attorneys. Before I even entered the formal parlor where they were gathering, I heard the annoying voice of my uncle Winthrop. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he was here. He’d worked for my father for the past decade and was probably hoping for some sort of payout from his will.
I took a breath and braced myself before entering the room. “There he is,” my mother said upon my arrival, giving me a once-over. She didn’t wrinkle her nose or outright retch at my appearance, so I must have been successful in washing the smell of the ranch off.
I bent to give my mother a kiss on the cheek. “How are you?”
She sighed. “Put out. I’d warned the man to take better care of himself, and he simply never listened. Now, here we are.”
Coming from a woman who considered a balanced meal to be a protein smoothie in the morning and several gin and tonics in the evening, this was rich. But I knew my mother would rather die than show something as low-brow as human emotion to strangers.
I glanced toward my uncle Winthrop, who didn’t even bother heaving himself up from his leather chair to say hello. Instead, he acknowledged my existence with a nod. “Nice of you to finally make it, Richard.”
