Page 4 of Hoax and Kisses
It takes strength and stubbornness to keep from being sucked into the gloom of adult life.
And though I may possess those qualities in theory, they failed to rescue me from the vortex. And these days, the gloom of adult life is where I thrive.
Thirty-two years on this earth, and everything I know boils down to my nine-to-five (well, to seven or eight most of the time). Passion? None. Hobbies? Nonexistent. Relationships? Married to my job. Some say I have my shit together. I agree, if shit means my back is fucked from sitting behind a desk all day and I wear anti-fatigue glasses because my life revolves around my phone and my computer. If that’s the case, then yeah, I’m crushing this. Big time.
“It’s me!” I throw my keys on the small table in the foyer and ease the door closed behind me.
Gustav is already here, waiting for me. “Good evening, miss. Can I help you with your bags?”
“Yes, thank you.” I give him my purse, then my tote bag. “Is my dad here?”
He cracks a knowing smile that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle and nods. “In his usual spot.”
My lips quirk up, too. “Figured.”
I unbuckle the straps of my heels, slip my feet into comfier shoes, and follow Gustav through the maze that is my dad’s house.
When I was little, I would often get lost in this behemoth of a home. I never stayed with my dad for too long, only on odd weekends and for a week or two during the summer. Mom didn’t like leaving me here. Probably because she knew I’d spend most of the visit by myself. My dad worked all the time, and me being with him a few days a month didn’t change that. But I was never truly alone, because Gustav kept me company.
He helped me with my homework and taught me how to ride a bike, swim, and flip a pancake. And this gigantic, mostly empty house in West Vancouver was the perfect place to play hide-and-seek with him. A couple of rounds could stretch into hours. I’d always wander too deep, caught in the labyrinth of endless corridors.
When we get to the main room, my dad is sitting on a large cream-colored L-shaped couch, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowed as he pores over a document. The French doors are open, the soft summer breeze ruffling the hem of my dress and strands of his graying, slicked-back hair.
Oscar Marchiatto is a creature of habit. His schedule is meticulously planned out by his assistant. Not one second goes to waste. And at seven p.m. on the dot, he catches up on executive tasks he couldn’t get to throughout the day.
I round the back of the couch and pat his shoulder, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. “Hey, Dad.”
He glances up for a fraction of a second, then returns his attention to the document. “Hi, princess. How was work?”
“The usual. Putting out fires before they get a chance to start.” I sit on one end of the couch, eyeing the half-full bowl of what looks like stew on the coffee table. “We launched the new hotel chain today. You know, our affordable line?”
“I heard. Did it go smoothly?”
“Of course it did.” I can’t help the smug satisfaction that bubbles up inside me. “You know me. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
Dad looks up again, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know, princess. You learned from the best.”
I did. I spent years shadowing him, memorizing all aspects of the family business, drinking in information greedily, until I knew every facet of it like the back of my hand. I was relentless in my quest to become the perfect daughter. To deserve the status of heir to his empire. I let him shape me into his image so I’d be ready to take over once he retired.
He and I weren’t close when I was a kid. That changed, though, the moment he saw potential in me. I don’t exactly remember what I did that caught his attention, but I do remember the shift in his demeanor. Suddenly, I was worthy of his time, of his interest. No longer a useless child he didn’t know what to do with.
I don’t blame him for it. For tying my worth to my skills. For not showing up until he discovered a reason that served him. The world is full of greedy, selfish people, and my dad is no exception. When I came to terms with that truth, my life got so much easier.
“Lisa dropped off dinner again?” I nod at his plate.
“She says all the junk food I order will kill me,” Oscar grumbles. “As if it won’t be the job that ends me first. If she weren’t the only nice person in this damn neighborhood, I’d have told her to fuck off a long time ago.” He waves at the kitchen. “There’s some left if you want it.”
“Oh, perfect,” I say as I get up. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
In the kitchen, I grab a bowl from the cabinet and fill it with her homemade beef stew. “I like Lisa,” I call over my shoulder. “She keeps tabs on you when I can’t. And she’s not wrong. At your age, you gotta be careful with your cholesterol and blood pressure.”
He waves me off as I come back. “Bunch of nonsense. What difference does it make? I’ll die anyway. If I can’t enjoy the things that make me happy, shoot me now.”
“Don’t have to, old geezer.” I settle back on the couch. “The deep-fried chicken will take care of it for me.”
Mumbling, he goes back to reading, ignoring the TV playing softly in the background.
“What’s got you so focused over there?” I ask.
