Page 20 of Even Exchange

“Charlie, fix your hair.”

“Charlie, why did you get a B on your English test?”

“Charlie, smile, people are watching.”

Stepping out, I send a practiced smile her way.

“Hey,” she says, her manicured fingers gripping the handle of her Porsche Macan. “I thought you were in Miami?”

“Came home for the weekend,” I say, unsurprised she either forgot or simply doesn’t care.

“The twins will be thrilled.” She dons a politician’s smile, opening the car door. “I’m off to a ribbon cutting at the new Longwood Humane Society. See you after.”

“I was actually hoping we could get dinner.” The words tumble out. There’s a conversation I’d like to get over sooner rather than later. In a public place. With witnesses.

“Sorry, but Mayor’s duty calls,” she says, getting inside the car. “Rain check?” She blows me a kiss and closes her door before I’m able to respond.

I wave as she heads down the driveway. “Sure, rain check.”

I shove away the annoyance and remind myself of the main reason I came home in the first place.

After grabbing my cheer duffle from the backseat, I make my way to the house. The ornate front door creaks open, and I’m met with giggles, tiny feet padding through the halls, and background noise of the greatest children’s show of all time:Bluey. I swear they put some type of crack in it because even as a nineteen-year-old, I can’t stop watching it.

“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!” I shout.

“Lottie!” a high-pitched six-year-old squeals, rounding the corner and flying into my arms.

“Hey, Denny,” I say, spinning her in circles until her giggles fill every inch of the foyer.

“Patricia’s setting up painting in the playroom,” Denny tells me. “Want to join?”

“In a bit. I’ve got to shower and finish up some schoolwork that’s due Monday.”

“Who assigns homework over spring break?” Patricia, the live-in nanny, says, coming into view. Her smile is wide, and she pulls me in for a tight hug.How a mother should.My parents hired her after inheriting the estate, and I hope she never leaves.

“A monster, that’s who,” I say with a laugh. “Where’s Nash?”

“At Taekwondo,” Patricia tells me. “Your dad’s picking him up on the way home from the airport.”

“Dad’s coming home?” I ask, trying to contain my excitement.

“Yes, but he’ll be leaving tomorrow night,” Patricia says with a sad smile.

Typical.

His visits are usually quick and lacking in quality time. I suppose that’s the problem with having a dad who flies 747s for a living.

I thought my parents would slow down after inheriting the estate, but it only made them more distant.

Not only from each other, but from us as well.

Dad spends all his time working, and Mom spends her time, well, anywhere but here.

* * *

“Hiiiiiii-yah!” A tiny foot connects with my hip, sending me stumbling, and the cup of flour in my hand litters the entire counter.

And me.

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