Page 60 of Grift

I stare at the door, deciding whether to follow, when they start in giving me shit.

“You didn’t say it was that bad,” Rory says.

Callan shrugs. “Well, it’s obviously not good.”

“I don’t know, big brother. That seems to depend on how you define good. If I ended up married to a woman and looking at her the way Patrick here is making eyes at the missus…”

He doesn’t finish, because I’m on my feet again. “Watch it, Rory.”

A moment of surprise flares before he covers it with an easy grin. “Just teasing, buddy. Come on, watch the game. What do you think about the new – “

I don’t let him finish. Sitting here and taking good natured ribbing isn’t going to do anything for my mood. Time to take a quick walk.

“I’ll be back,” I say, stalking out the front door.

I don’t realize someone’s followed me until I hear her footsteps: Catriona.

Part of me thinks about picking up the pace and walking away. She’ll get the message. But that’s half the damned problem. Our family’s been giving Catriona the message of “don’t be an inconvenience” for as long as I can remember.

Not that I’d have realized that before Jessica. It’s the last thing I want to do but I wait. She seems to know what I want though and just sets off around the block at a decent pace. Catriona and I aren’t close.

“Bridget and I had a lot of fun at Dad’s party the other night,” she says cheerfully. “I made sure to post some really unflattering pictures of two of his most important friends on Insta. He left me a message this morning, basically losing his mind.”

Shit. I’d forgotten that party. “Thanks for doing that.”

“You know I’d never let him throw Birdie to the wolves.” She wouldn’t. People always assume Catriona is self-centered, but she’s a good sister. It’s easy to forget that.

“So how’s the married life? Jessica seems great,” her tone is too casual, but the flare of anger that explodes in my chest isn’t at her. I’m getting tired of trying to dodge my feelings.

“She is great.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Other than the obvious fact that our dirtbag of a father orchestrated the whole thing and I’m basically holding her hostage?” I don’t mean to open up to her. I don’t mean to open up to anyone. But especially not to my sister.

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s holding her hostage. She brought couscous,” she says reasonably.

“She picked up my dry cleaning.”

“And you hate that because anyone doing something nice for you must feel like a trap after all the time you’re spending with Dad,” she gives me a regretful smile when I look up in alarm. “Look, I get it. You guys didn’t have the best start. I don’t know all the details, but she seems great. Maybe don’t assume you have to throw everything away just because of circumstances.”

I’m not throwing anything away, I want to shout. I’m setting her free. I’m righting wrongs. It’s different.

One thing is clear from my sister’s frank look. Catriona is smarter than people give her credit for, including me. How many of my perceptions of her – as easy to dismiss because she spends a lot of time on how she looks or because she’s built a career as a social media persona – were actually shaped by my father? The family story has always been that Siobhan’s talented, Catriona’s shallow, and Bridget’s an angel. That mirrors my father’s dynamics with them exactly.

My own interactions definitely are colored by that. And it’s just now that I’m even realizing it, never mind questioning it.

Fuck. If I bought into that so readily, what subconscious bullshit impacts the way that I interact with Jessica or the way that I treat women? And how could I even wonder if I could be good enough for her, when I’m coming from such a fucked-up example.

Catriona’s watching me, and I see her face fall almost imperceptibly as she realizes I want to be left alone.

“Good talk, Patrick,” Catriona says, heading back to the house and leaving me to my thoughts. I appreciate that she let me off the hook. But I vow to be better, and to try to get to know her.

For now though, I’ve got other things to focus on. One more loop and I head back inside.

Dinner’s on the table, and Jessica sits next to me. When I pull out her chair and Rory grins at me, I think about tackling him at the table. But I don’t, because I know better. Impulses, self-control, and all that shit.

There’s too much food, which has been the case since Siobhan started dating Kieran. “He likes to eat,” she says defensively when Callan points it out. “Leftovers never go to waste.”

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