Page 131 of If You Claim Me
The doorbell chimes.
“They’re here. Don’t start a fight before we even get to cocktails.” She kisses me on the cheek and threads her arm through mine.
“That’s a very tall order.”
“But isn’t there real satisfaction in having your father come to the house you live in?”
“Mm...” I bring her hand to my lips. “You have a point, Dredful menace.”
I can only imagine the feelings he must have about the fact that my wife, who he bullied, called a whore to her face, and whose job he put on the line, has invited him to the house he believes he deserves.
“Ahhh! Dred, we’ve missed you!” My sisters envelop her in a hug while my parents hang back, my brothers-in-law behind them, looking awkward.
“I’ve missed you, too!” Mildred says with genuine affection.
Mildred turns her bright smile on my parents, and instead of waiting for the customary air kisses from my mother, she pulls her in for a hug. I wish I could bottle Mother’s shock.
Mildred links arms with my sisters and ushers them into the living room where Meems is waiting. I want to sit next to my wife, but my sisters flank her before I can get there.
Drinks are served and appetizers set out. My mother sips her martini, looking awkward and out of place in the Victorian-era chair she’s claimed as hers.
“You’ve already started traveling, haven’t you?” Isabelle asks.
“Yeah, the official season is underway,” I say. None of my family watches hockey.
“Will you travel with Connor?” my mother asks Mildred.
She shakes her head. “No. I have work.”
“Of course you do.” Mother turns to me. “How is…work for you?”
I clear my throat. I’m shocked that she’s asking about hockey. “It’s been a solid start to the season.”
“That’s good.” Mother turns to Portia. “Oh! You should show Meems your concept drawings for the living room makeover!”
So I guess we’re done with that…
Julian and Bryson excuse themselves to the billiard room. Then Mother takes a call that she’s been “waiting for all day.” Portia and Isabelle want to see what Meems has done to the guesthouse, and that leaves me alone with my father.
“Your wife has certainly made herself comfortable here,” he says flatly.
“Well, it is her home, so I suppose that makes sense.” I swirl my scotch in my glass. “Mildred told me about your visit to the library.”
A hint of a smile curves his mouth. “It’s been weeks. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to bring it up.”
“It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have on the phone, where you could hang up.”
“You could have come to me sooner, asked me to reinstate the funding in person. Although you do tend to meet problems with violence.”
“The only fights I get into are on the ice.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” He inspects his nails. “Such a waste of education. I should have sent Portia to Harvard instead of you.”
“You owe my wife an apology.”
“Why, when everything I said was true?” He stares down his nose at me, sighing with frustration. “Your problem, Connor, is that you never fall in line. You constantly make things harder than they need to be. I thought your career would finally be the end of it, but I misjudged your commitment to making this family look bad.”
“Watch yourself, Father. You’re inmy house, and Mildred ismy wife.”
