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“I’m sorry?” It came out as a question, and he laughed - it wasn’t happy, it never really was anymore.
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, boy.”
“What happened?” Paula’s voice was quiet, but its softness set me at ease in the tense room, and I finally looked at her. When I bit my lips, I winced - the top one was split open.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” they both said, one more spiteful than the other.
“It was a joke.” His eyebrows shot up further, and I continued. “Not the, uh,” I swallowed, “fight, or whatever. He made a joke.”
“About?”
I stalled, trying to decide whether to tell the truth, or spin something. But spinning has always been Frannie’s speciality, not mine.
“Mom.”
Paula’s eyes widened from across the room, and she gave Dad a look that clearly saidgo easy on him. But in true Chris Westfall form, he does the opposite of going easy.
“Will, you don’t even remember your mom.” Paula sucked in a breath, and I waited a beat before stepping forward.
“That doesn’t mean people get to make jokes about her.” Wordlessly, my stepmom stood up, striding across the room and coming to stand on Dad’s side. She reached a hand out, touching his upper arm as he continued.
“You’ve got to get this in check, son.” His voice was strained again. “If you’re going to run this company one day, you can’t have a criminal record longer than your arm.”
I winced.
If you’re going to run this company one day.
There it was.
Fitzwilliam Westfall, family embarrassment, age 12.
“We’re worried about you,” Paula said, and her eyes shone in a way that twisted my gut.
It’d always been like this. Dad’s brash, quick to conclusions attitude and firm belief that emotions were best kept locked deep, deep inside, countered by Paula’s attempt to temper him into something kind of resembling a human being.
I don’t know how she puts up with it.
“I think it’s time we start seriously talking about Geneva.” His voice was harsh, but before he could continue, there’s the sound of footsteps from behind me, and tiny arms wrapped around me.
“No!” Freddy held onto me for what feels like dear life, and I tensed.
This was really who Geneva would mess up. Being sent to Dad’s elitist boarding school halfway across the world would suck, yeah, but without me here to bear the brunt of his crap, this one, right here, would get it.
The expectations. The pedestal. The anger.
“You can’t go,” Freddy cried, and gripped tighter, his little green eyes welling, and I saw Paula crouch next to dad, holding out her arms to my brother. He shook his head against me. “I don’t want Will to go. I need him here. He needs to help me tie my cleats!” A lump formed in my throat.
“Someone else will help you tie your cleats, Fred.” Dad was dismissive, but he looked down at Paula, who held her hands out again. Freddy glanced up at me, his tears spilling over, and I squeezed his arm, nodding my head toward Paula. He took it as a sign to run to his mother, and that lump got bigger when she lifted him up into her arms, despite him being almost her size, and carried him toward the door.
Before she exited, she turned to look at both of us, and I watched her. She and Frannie looked so alike sometimes - her hair was a lot darker than any of us, but it still has that red shine to it that shows she’s a Westfall. She and Dad had that same light skin, while mine has always made me stand out from the rest of my family.
I hated it. I hated feeling like an outsider in my own house. Because however much I look like the man in front of me, there’s pieces of my mom that he can’t pretend aren’t there.
“We both love your mom, Will,” Paula said, her voice shaking. Present tense. Love. Like she was still here.
I supposed Paula could have loved Mom - I wasn’t really sure, have never really pried about it. I’ve seen a picture of the two of them together, just in passing in an old box of photos while trying to find something for a class project.
