Page 29 of Seeing Grayscale

“Hi sweetie,” she coos and kisses my cheek.

I take off my coat, hang it over the back of the chair and sit. “Sorry, I’m late. Hit a bit of traffic.”

“It’s alright—”

“It isn’t. Don’t coddle him, Candy.”

Her name isn’t Candy—Candice Lauren, actually, but my dad has called her Candy my entire life.

She gives me a look that saysignore himand starts dishing me out. It makes her happy to feel like a doting parent, even if she left me, but I don’t stop her. This is how she makes up for those five years she didn’t live with us when I was a teen.

While I wait for her to finish, I glance at my dad.

We look nothing alike. My hair is dark brown like my mom's, and his is almost platinum blond. Those silver streaks arepractically unnoticeable. His nose is long and prominent, and mine isn’t. He has brown eyes, and mine are hazel. Whereas he's more lanky, I’m broad. When I was little, I wondered if he wasn't my dad. What if I was adopted, and my real one was somewhere out there, unaware that I even existed? But then my mom left, and he was all I had. I realized what a stupid kid I was.

“Are you not eating, Ed?”

“I will later,” he promises, but he never does.

Mom clicks her tongue before making her plate and delicately starts eating. Like a bird, she plucks a single sliced carrot and pops it in her mouth. I follow suit, cutting into the tough, overcooked meat. Clearing his throat, my dad shuts his laptop, leveling me with his stare. I know I shouldn't, but having his eyes on me sends a small flutter of hope. He isn'ttooupset with me.

I haven’t fucked it all up…yet.

“How is the community?” he asks casually, but there is an edge to the question.

My thoughts immediately turn to the man I’m hiding in our summer house. “Unexpected,” I say easily, but my skin crawls. “It’s a real eye-opener seeing how many are without, how many struggle.” I stab at my roast, refraining from itching my skin.Lying always has this effect on me, but I can't stop now—not when so much is at stake.

“Poverty doesn’t make up the whole of the state, Hunter.”

“But most of it,” I counter before taking a bite.God, it’s like leather.

“Is that right?” A sip of his drink.

“It is. We could be doing more—shouldbe doing more.”

My mom glances between the two of us. “Wasn’t that the point of this little experiment, Ed?”

“Experiment?” I ask, confused. I'm too hung up on the fact my dad isexperimentingwith me to consider my mom technically spoke up when she shouldn't have.

Sighing, he leans back in his chair, brown eyes on me. “I’m not sure this part of our legacy is meant for you. You are weak boned, and soft. Sitting behind a desk, running numbers, and dealing with things other than the law suits you better. But I’m being pushed to make a decision. You have the pedigree and schooling to put you in my seat once I take over as senator.However, I sent you out to learn about the community, and you didn't. Instead, I discovered that not only have you strayed away from the very people who would be voting for you, but you decided to go shopping at a Walmart two hours away. That story almost floated right through, Hunter. I had to cash in several favors to get it pulled.”

I’m still chewing, still confused.

“What were you doing?”

“You want me to run for governor?” I ask once I swallow, shocked. “Dad, I'm twenty-nine! That’s never happened—won’t happen.” Being a politician was always endgame in his eyes. It's what he's built me to be, and I don't want to disappoint him, but I'm under immense pressure.

Being honest is the right move here. I'll never get elected, at least not legally.

“I can make it happen.” He is deathly calm. “The question is, do Iwantto.”

My hands start to sweat, so I discreetly take the napkin on my lap and wipe them. “Idon’t want that,” I insist. “I’ve told you.”

Aside from knowing we are bound by blood, my dad’s silent rage would be a glaringly obvious indicator we are related. It's a trait I inherited directly from him. So, while he fumes over my honesty, I fume over not being good enough for him to respect it.

Seeing where this conversation is going, my mom asks, “Can we leave work out of the dining room, please?”

He ignores her completely. “I’d rather haveyouin my seat than that prick O’Connell. Between the two of us, we could make changes.”

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