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Or maybe it’s just how she is. Sage, like her name, calming, like the aroma of the plant she’s named after. When I think about it, her name has many layers, much like she does.
“Tristan, dear, you’ve arrived.” My mother smiles her politically correct smile—her lips turn up, and all but her eyes hold a hint of assessment—and stands. She goes to kiss me on the cheek, but it’s more of an air kiss.
I’m not sure when she became this impassive woman. It happened progressively. One day the hugs were more distant, the smiles less genuine. Then, she became the version of herself standing before me. The image of class and manners but so cold I always feel like I should be wearing a parka around her.
“Hi, Mom. You remember Sage.” I know she does. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already called Chamber Prep and asked about her.
“Of course. It’s nice to see you again.” She tilts her head and smiles.
“You, too. Thank you for having me again.” Sage is the picture-perfect girlfriend—polite, educated, and kind.
“Dad,” I look over at him.
He’s standing beside my mom, letting her speak.
“Hello, son.” He shakes my hand. “Sage, wonderful to see you.”
“Please, take a seat. Would you like a cocktail?” My mom signals to the couch.
We sit on the loveseat while my parents take their seats again. My mom’s on the couch, and my dad is in the armchair.
I look at Sage with a smile. “A soda?”
A part of me wants to tease her and ask if she wants sparkling water, but I hold back so that she doesn’t get embarrassed.
“Yes, please.” She nods at me, taking a deep breath. She may be trying to calm me, but I can see the nerves rolling off her like heatwaves on steaming asphalt.
“Oh, we have a delicious cocktail you should try.” My mom looks at her.
“Thank you, but I don’t drink alcohol.” Sage presses her lips together.
I hate that she sounds apologetic.
“Oh, well, Mary can make you one without the alcohol. It’d make a great mocktail.” My mom’s insistence is surprising.
“Sure, that would be great. Thanks.” Sage nods.
“Tristan, what can I get you?” My dad stands, grabbing a lowball glass and the whisky decanter. It’s a family piece that belonged to my grandfather, who left it to my dad. One day my brother or I will probably inherit it. Or not, considering the way our relationships have been lately.
“I’ll have a scotch as well.”
“We didn’t have much time to talk when you came for my birthday. I’m glad to have you here tonight.” My mom continues to smile at us.
I look at her with careful observation, trying to get a read on her. I can’t tell if she’s being sincere. Although, ever since my brother broke away from the family business, my parents have tried to hold me a little tighter. Despite the fact that I left town—and their lives, for the most part—years ago.
They’ve called and sent messages asking about my life and plans for the future. Ever since Hudson cut ties with my parents and left Remington Agency, my dad has been trying to talk me into working for him. With him.
Real estate isn’t for me. Neither is working alongside my father. He and I both know I would never be his equal. Hudson followed the cookie-cutter life they wanted for him and was still treated like an employee when it counted.
Suddenly, their youngest son is worthy of their attention. It’s a strange feeling. Maybe because I’ve been away for so long, doing my own thing. All I want from them is my trust fund, but they’re making it difficult. Maybe it’s their way of keeping some kind of hold on me since I left town.
Whatever the reason, it’s not bringing us together but driving a greater wedge between us. That’s not how love and family work.
Mary comes with a tray holding two glasses. She hands one to Sage and the other to my mom. My mom holds up her glass.
“Cheers.”
We all follow suit before taking a drink.
