Page 40 of The House Guest
“Are you keeping anything of your father’s?”
“Well, he’s left me an entire mess of a company. So I don’t feel like I need a Brooks Brothers shirt…or a set of cufflinks.” He stood and flipped through his dad’s clothes. “But I probably will keep a couple of things that remind me of him specifically. I’d been putting off coming in here, too. If I hadn’t noticed the light on in the room and the door slightly open, it might’ve been months before I ventured into this closet.”
I looked down at a pair of leather boots. “It’s eerie being among their things, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
“It makes you feel like they’re coming back,” I whispered.
Dorian ran his hand along his dad’s shirts. “I think I’m gonna follow your lead. Spare myself the misery of having to go through it all piece by piece.” He turned to me. “We should donate it all this week. I’ll have Benjamin hire someone to come in and take everything.” He paused. “And then I think you should use this space asan art room. Move into the main bedroom. That way you can have all your stuff in one area of the house.”
My eyes widened. “What?”Jesus.Was this the consolation prize for being turned down?
“The shelves in here can easily house your supplies, and it’ll be a better use for the space.”
Guilt washed over me as I looked at the shelves that currently held my aunt’s large shoe collection, unable to imagine canisters of paint and brushes replacing them. But it was hard to turn down the offer. The lighting in here was superb, and I could really use a space of my own to work.
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “This is the best bedroom in the house. It shouldn’t go to waste. Unless you’re not comfortable sleeping where they did. I’d understand that, too. I’ll have Benjamin order you all new linens.”
“That’s generous of you, but it’s not necessary. The linens are beautiful.”
“Nothing else will become of this space if you don’t want it.”
I didn’t have to think too hard. “Okay, then I’m gonna take you up on that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dorian took one of Remington’s shirts off the rack and stared down at it for a moment.
My emotions got the best of me as I blurted, “I hope they’re in a better place.”
He looked up at me. “Me, too.”
“I guesswe’rethe ones left to feel the pain, huh?”
“I haven’t let myself feel much of anything.” Dorian smiled sadly as he looked down at the shirt again. “I gavehim this for Christmas years back. I’m surprised he still had it. I remember being all proud that I’d picked it out because I knew it was his taste. When Dad opened the box, I remember him telling me what hereallywanted for Christmas was for me to get a four-point-oh.” Dorian shook his head. “I had a three-point-fucking-nine.”
“He was really a perfectionist, huh?”
“A brilliant man and a perfectionist when it came to himself or anything he considered an extension of himself, yeah.” He shook his head. “It was like he looked at me and saw all of his own imperfections amplified.”
“Well, I think a three-point-nine is pretty freaking great.”
“I thought so, too, until he rained on my parade. The next semester I had a four-point-oh though. Pleasing him was always my biggest motivator. Maybe because he was so hard to impress. Getting his approval always felt like a huge victory.”
He hung the shirt back on the rack and sat back with me on the ground. The nearness of his body was immediately all I could think about. I didn’t know how to feel anymore. On one hand, he’d closed the door on anything happening between us. On the other, he’d admitted he wanted to sleep with me. I really needed to detach from that glimmer of hope.
“Well, wherever your father is now, I’m certain he sees that the need for perfection was just the ego playing tricks.”
“You think he’s looking down with a differentattitude?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I can’t imagine anything that happens here on Earth carries any weight when you get to the next phase of existence—certainly not perfect grades or money. I feel like superficial things are just tricks to see if we can overcome temptation and realize that the only important things are the people we care about.”
“I wish I could believe that. I still feel so imprisoned by the need to ensure that he’d be happy with me. As if he has nothing better to do than continue judging me from the afterlife.”
I nodded. “Ingrained beliefs are pervasive. Wanting to please your father is one thing. Making yourself sick in the process or feeling like even your best isn’t good enough is a losing game, though.”
