on her phone and winces. “I should call Megan.”
I frown. “The lawyer?”
“Yeah. She invited me to a movie with her friends, but with everything going on today…” She shrugs. “I don't think I should go. She’ll probably be all worried about Margaret too, come to think of it.”
I nod. “Maybe tomorrow. We should have a better fix on the situation with Margaret by then anyway.”
Her mouth curves into a gentle smile. “Maybe.”
She reaches out and touches my arm briefly, then turns and heads out of the ballroom. I stare after her, unable to think about anything but what she asked me earlier.
I want you to be my first. I know you’ll do it right.
Olivia was right about that. I would do it right, if I fucked her at all.
Sighing, I fold the copy of my birth certificate up and start down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aiden
Later, I dream of the past. I dream of two years ago, when I first found out my mom was sick… and the first time I found myself aroused by Olivia.
Draining the dregs from my lukewarm can of PBR, I crush it and throw it in the recycling. I’m up in my room at the house I’ve rented for the week with some Navy buddies, drinking and rereading the letter over and over again. Although I’m out of the Navy I still have plenty of friends in active service. They called to say they would be in my hometown, so I came back here from Seattle to party. I could’ve stayed with my tyrant of a father and my saint of a mother while I was in town but I didn’t.
I didn’t even call them.
I don't want to get drawn into their dysfunction on the few days my friends have here in the US. That’s also part of the reason that I didn’t read the letter until just now. I got it two weeks ago, but I pocketed it, intending to read it later.
Later is now, I guess, since I just remembered that I had it.
Wub-dub. Wub-wub-dub.
The music from downstairs is loud as fuck, but I can’t hear it. All I can hear is the blood rushing inside my own head as I read the letter again.
Son,
Your mom was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The prognosis is good. Be a good little boy and fucking call her sometime so she stops whining to me about it.
That’s all. It’s typed up with no signature. I crinkle the letter into a ball, imagining the poor secretary at my dad’s law practice who probably had to type that up and send it to me in Japan.
What kind of father lets his son know that his mother is sick that way?
My father, that’s who. A hard-drinking, secretary-fucking, always-working tyrant who managed be the sort that beat his wife and still excelled at corporate law.
I sneer. It’s a good thing for my father’s pool of secretarial mistresses to get a glimpse at who they are fucking. On second thought, I don't feel bad at all for them.
Indeed, I just continue to feel bad for my browbeaten mother.
Chucking the letter onto my bed with a big burp, I consider what I should do next. My eyes shift to the window. It’s dark out, which means my mother is likely already in bed. She keeps the hours of a farmer, rising early like my father and going to bed long before he gets home.
I’ll call her tomorrow, I guess. Or drive out to see her, if I can borrow a car.
Tonight, I think I’ll drink a fuck ton more. After all, I am the resident bad boy. Hard to be the irresponsible party god if I don’t have a veritable river of booze flowing through my body.
There is a heap of empty beer cans beside my bed already, but I’m all but out. I’ll have to brave the party downstairs to get some more alcohol.
A knock comes on my door as I move to open it. Swinging it open, I find Grayson right outside. He looks good, suntanned and fit, his hair cropped close to fit the Navy guidelines.
“Gray!” I say, surprised. “I thought I left you on the west coast at the National Park Service base camp.”
I step forward and pull him into a one-armed hug. Grayson gives me a half-smile.
“I’m here to see Olivia. She apparently heard that you’re hanging out here this weekend. She wanted to come see you.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “We should have co-ordinated