Eligible Ex-husband - Marie Johnston Page 0,70
hair appointment with her trusted stylist. It’s not a bad thing, but it says a lot about how Mother views life, and how she wants everyone to view her.
But seeing her with her grandchildren is a revelation. Not once has she been anything less than supportive and loving. I don’t know why her affections skipped a generation, but I won’t complain. Natalie’s parents are wonderful, but I won’t take for granted that mine can contribute a little something to my family.
However, their treatment of Natalie is a problem. It didn’t cause our divorce, but it’s not helping us.
“Like Patrick? Or Karsten?” Dad’s question yanks my attention back to him.
“Uh, no. Patrick lives in Hong Kong and Karsten retired early and moved to the Caymans. I heard he teaches diving.”
Dad scoffs and takes another drink, his chest puffing. “Retired before thirty? More like he couldn’t handle it.”
Since Karsten started dabbling in drugs in college and then used them to fuel his long hours on Wall Street, I think rehab and retirement is the best decision he made. “He realized he didn’t have to handle it.”
“Well.” Distaste turns Dad’s lips down. “He’s at the beck and call of his co-workers when they go on vacation in the Caymans and want to learn diving. Do you ever get a chance to row?”
“They call it kayaking here, Dad,” I joke.
He smiles, but his disgust of living the regular man life hasn’t left. “Not one crew you can row with?”
“I’ve heard they’re trying to bring the sport here, but I haven’t had time to look into it.” I don’t miss rowing. Liam rowed. Therefore, I was expected to row. His team won trophies. Mine didn’t. All that practice for a sport I wasn’t invested in means I don’t care to touch a paddle again.
“You’d have more time if you hired a proper team to work for you.”
“Like I said”—over and over—“I’m working on it.”
“Well.” That’s my father’s way of saying I’d love to beat the dead horse of how I think you should run your business, which happens to be exactly like Liam did but I’ll give you a pass and you should be thankful. “Are you busy enough to expand though?”
“Dad’s going to coach soccer,” Abby interjects from the other side of Natalie. I didn’t realize she was listening.
There’s that fatherly frown of disapproval. “I guess you’re not busy enough, eh, if you’ve got time to do stuff like that. Didn’t you coach in high school?”
It’s not an innocent question. It’s more code. This time for Don’t teens coach because the adults have important jobs to do?
“It’s important to me to be a part of my kids’ lives.”
Father lets out a non-committal grunt. They didn’t even go to my parent-teacher conferences unless they were mandatory.
“Is it time, dear?” That’s my mother’s code for I want to leave and you need to say it’s time to go so I never look like the bad guy.
Dad looks at his Rolex and winces, but I doubt he’s remorseful. “Sorry, we can’t stay longer, but we need to get back to the airport.”
Natalie packs the girls’ stuff as they lead their grandmother out the door. I smile at the sight of my prim mother in her designer dress getting led out by each hand.
I drop my gaze to Natalie and my smile dies. Her mouth is set in a firm line and she’s shoving crayons and notepads into her purse.
Father’s not done with me yet. “Did I tell you that Crenshaw’s daughter, remember the one you met when you were home sophomore year of college, moved back to Pennsylvania?” He chuckles. “She lives in the neighboring suburb. Small world. She runs a telecommunications company. The head of it. Pretty impressive for someone her age. I don’t think she’ll be quitting when she has kids, or retiring at thirty.”
My gaze darts back to Natalie. She stiffens but follows the same path to the exit as the girls and my mother.
“Good for her.” Retiring at thirty doesn’t sound bad to me. But there’s no way I’ll be in a position to kick back and quit. My company is at a critical growth level. I have several more years before I can take a back seat, or even get away to the Caymans and take diving lessons from Karsten.
My father continues informing me about Crenshaw’s daughter and her job as we walk out. Natalie’s standing by the passenger door of my car with her arms wrapped around herself. The girls are