Page 52 of From the Ashes

My irritation is starting to become anger. In that moment, it dawns on me that there might never come a point where my parents stop meddling in my life. They’re just going to keep doing their best to mold me however they want with little to no regard as to whatImight want.

Enough. I’m done being manipulated. The ache in my hip makes me feel like Zahir is almost here with me, helping me stand strong as I finally do something I should have done many years ago.

Grow a spine.

“I’m confused,” I say, my tone cheerful despite the simmering rage in my chest. “Is this a date or a job interview?”

My parents still as Portia raises an eyebrow and looks between us. Then my mom laughs, clearly flustered. “There’s no need to be vulgar, darling. We’re all here to have a nice meal and to get to know our guest a little better.”

“That’s funny,” I say with a chuckle. “Because I was under the impression that this was a meeting with anew client,Dad. I guess someone at the office got their wires crossed, huh?”

My father scoffs and sips his wine, not meeting my eyes. “Why are you younger generations so obsessed with labeling everything? Can’t lunch just be lunch?”

Something reckless is brewing within me and for the first time in my life, I’m not inclined to stop it. “I’m pretty sure it’s you guys who are obsessed with labels.”

“And what’s that’s supposed to mean?” my mom snips, struggling to hold on to her pretense of civility.

I shrug. “Status. Wealth. Race. Religion. Gender. Sexuality. Who a person’s family is and where they come from. Those things all add up to how much power you think someone has and therefore how much value they are to you.”

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” the server I didn’t see appear announces to the table. “I have your selection of entrees here.”

“Just put them down anywhere,” grunts my father impatiently.

“Thank you,” I say immediately, refusing to let him get away with taking his bullshit out on the staff. It’s not his guy’s fault we’re having a long overdue family breakdown at his place of work.

It’s not Portia’s, either. However, she seems to be taking the turn in conversation reasonably well. “Could we get another bottle of the sauvignon blanc?” she asks pleasantly as the server puts the last of our plates down from his large silver tray.

“Of course, ma’am,” the guy says, looking relieved to have a reason to make a swift escape.

“I think we should just move on from this little misunderstanding,” my mom says, her voice forcefully cheerful.

“I’d love to,” I say as Portia surreptitiously tops mine and her glasses up. “We can start with me making something very clear. I’m not interested in going into politics one tiny bit. I’m also not looking for a girlfriend right now. I’m so sorry, Portia, for any confusion my parents might have caused.”

She gives me a one-armed shrug and a smile. “The food here is excellent, the wine’s even better, and I’m enjoying your company. No need to apologize.”

“Colton, you’re being so rude,” my mom says tearfully, wringing her napkin in her hands. “You’ve only just met Portia. You can’t know if you two aren’t compatible. And it’s not like you’re making an effort to date anyone else!”

I lean forward, that recklessness brimming dangerously close to the surface. “How do you know I’m not already dating someone?”

“Because you’d tell me,” she manages to shriek while still keeping her voice down. Of course she still cares what strangers might think of her over her only child’s feelings.

“Would I?” I ask, genuinely curious. “When you set the bar so astronomically high? Who is ever going to pass your criteria?”

“Portia!” my mom cries, flinging a hand her way. My not-date pauses with an avocado hosomaki roll pinched expertly between her chopsticks.

“Lucky me,” she says brightly before popping the sushi into her mouth.

“Calm down,” my father says, his voice low. For a second, I’m a child again, fully aware of how much trouble I’m about to be in.

Then I snap back to reality and remember that I’m a grown ass man and other than his disapproval, there isn’t a damn thing I need to be afraid of. Neither my mother nor my father can do anything to hurt me other than say mean things.

And they’ve been doing that my whole life.

“Or what?” I ask him, taking another sip of wine. Portia’s right. It is very good. “You’ll fire me? You’ll disinherit me? I hate to break it to you, but I left New York filthy rich, and I’ve barely made a dent in those savings in the time I’ve been in Redwood Bay. And truth be told, if I have to sit through one more petty divorce mediation, I’m going to quit anyway.”

“This!” my mom hisses, her eyes blazing. “This is why I wanted to introduce you to a nice young lady! I thought someone elegant, ambitious, and sophisticated might set you back on track. It’s like I don’t even know you since moving back home.”

I laugh hollowly. “I hate to break it to you, Mom, butthisis the real me. The guy I’ve been hiding my whole life to try and please you guys. The other Colt is the one that never existed. And I can’tdo itanymore. I’m so sorry, I really am.”

---