Things We Didn't Say_ A Novel - Kristina Riggle [10]
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Just having a busy day. This press conference messed up my morning, then I got handed a feature on holiday shopping, and frankly I’d rather chew broken glass then quote mall managers about their stupid sales. And now Dylan—” I slam the door on that, not wanting to show him a chink in my parental armor. Dylan will turn up and be grounded and Dad doesn’t need the gory details. “Dylan is being sullen.”
“Not unlike someone else I know,” he says, stirring the cherry around in his drink with a plastic sword.
“He didn’t used to clam up so much.”
“Maybe it’s your new family arrangement?”
“Don’t blame this on Casey.”
“Not saying it’s her fault, Mike. But you have to consider what in his environment changed.”
“Form a hypothesis and test it? Run a study with a control group? He’s not a lab experiment.”
My dad sighs and stares out the window. “Windy out today,” he comments as a piece of trash careens down the sidewalk.
Our sandwiches arrive. Turkey, no mayo, side of fresh fruit, for both of us. Very heart-healthy from Dr. Henry. Usually I order this myself, but today I wanted a Reuben and greasy fries.
He waits until I have a giant mouthful of turkey to start in on my job.
“Sorry to hear you’re having such a rough day. My offer still stands, you know.”
I choke down my bite of sandwich and match his gaze. “If I want to pursue grad school, I’ll pay for it myself.”
“With what?” That smile again, at the worst of moments.
“I’m doing fine.”
“Hmmm.” He dabs at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
With that one hmmm, he skewers my whole life, from my career choice to my disastrous marriage and the troubles between me and Casey he doesn’t even know about, yet somehow he does. I haven’t followed his advice, and as such he assumes my life is a train wreck.
The sickening thing is, he’s more right than wrong.
“How’s Mom?”
“Fine. Started a book club. Still swimming at the Y. This weekend she started winterizing the garden. How’s young Casey?”
“Fine. Getting plenty of work, so that’s good.”
“Good to hear. She should keep herself busy while the kids are at school.”
“She does. As I just said, she’s got plenty of work coming in.”
“Even in this economy? People still need computer programs, I guess. Well, good for her. And still plenty of time to help around the house.”
“She works hard in her job. She’s brilliant at it, in fact. She’s a great girl.”
“I didn’t say otherwise, Michael.”
I’m aware of the defensive edge in my voice, the paranoia even, that he’s hinting anything negative about Casey, like that she doesn’t really work. She’s always on her computer, or on the phone to clients, or e-mailing pitches to new potential clients for Web development. We talked about her getting a full-time job, but she said she likes it at home. Less distracting than being in an office.
My dad switches to water now that his Manhattan is gone. Always in control, even of his vices, which are few and carefully chosen.
Considering my life with Mallory, I have to admire this about him.
I tuck back into my sandwich, and the rest of the lunch is spent largely in silence, except for my dad fielding a call on his cell phone. He makes arrangements to return the call, and I know it’s a reporter. Kate, or someone from television.
The waiter puts the check diplomatically in the middle of the table. I don’t even bother to grab for it, knowing he would win, and in the course of winning the bill, manage to denigrate once again my career choice.
He strides off to his SUV as I stand outside the restaurant in the biting wind, looking at my phone, noting with some surprise that Casey hasn’t called to say that Dylan turned up. I swallow hard and clench my fist as I jam my phone back into my coat pocket.
I really will ground him for the whole year. I swear I will.
Chapter 3
Casey
I tap my pen on the kitchen counter as I wait for Marcy to answer her phone. Maybe Dylan is off making mischief as Michael believes, and maybe it’s with his best friend.
As she answers, I hear a din of loud conversation.
“It’s