Page 76 of To Go
“James,” father says sternly, “I’ve taught you better than to speak to your mother that way. Lunch should be ready right away, let’s move into the dining room.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Stella?” I’m appalled. She would come back here only to find us gone. Apparently, manners have left my parents since I last saw them.
“She’ll be fine,” my mother assures. “And if not, Charles will redirect her. Don’t you worry.” My mother’s hand is a vise on my wrist as she half-drags me to the dining room, despite her body weight being a third of mine. I’m fairly certain that years of suppressed rage and Botox have given her supernatural strength.
The table is ludicrously laden with festive dishes, far more food than four people could consume in a sitting.
I hope some of it is for the staff.I cringe as I take in the ostentatious show of wealth, remembering how Stella spent her day yesterday. I take my seat, the one I’ve been sitting at all my life, my father next to me at the head of the table with my mother on his other side. I try not to think about the chair next to me,the one where Stella will sit. The chair that was always Nessa’s, now empty.
Not empty.I remind myself.
I take in the table, the fine china, placed just so, the photo ready food, and oddly enough, a manila envelope at my father’s elbow.
Is he seriously going to be working through Christmas dinner?This is a new low for my work-obsessed, arrogant, avaricious father. My parents talk amongst themselves about people I know but don’t care about, while allowing the staff to pile their plates high with a Christmas feast, aside from my mother’s which seems to be catered to some sort of fad diet. I don’t really give a fuck. I politely decline, deciding to wait for Stella to arrive.
Never, since I’ve been alive, have I watched my parents allow a meal to be set before all guests are seated. It’s notable how poorly they’re treating Stella. I can’t figure out if it’s because of her background check, realizing that she’s not from a wealthy family, or if they just don’t like the idea of me being with anyone not on their pre-approved list of women with suitable breeding.
My father has said on multiple occasions, unfortunately, how much simpler his life would have been if he didn’t have a family. Without those obligations, he claims he would have been so much more successful in his career. Of course, I was fourteen when I first heard this, so I wasn’t exactly pumped to be told what a setback I was, and though I understand it now, it doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m sure he’s said much worse without Nessa or I around.
It would explain a lot.
“So, James, are you finally planning on taking your seat at the table in the new year?” My mother asks between sips of white wine. “What would people think of our selfish son if you weren’t at least preparing to take over? I don’t know how we’d recoverfrom the shame of it.” The venom in her voice doesn’t escape me. She is so good at giving the impression that I was only born to give my father an early retirement.
I’m about to get into it with them when Stella walks back in, quickly wiping her hands down the sides of her legs.
“Sorry, I got lost,” she mumbles. She is honest-to-god blushing. It’d be cute if it weren’t caused by my parents stressing her out this way.
“Don’t even worry, dear. I’m sure a space this large is a little out of your comfort zone, hmm?” Mom says it with a smile on her face, but it’s a creepy freaking smile. Stella’s eye twitches, though, as she takes her seat, carefully placing her napkin in her lap.
“So, dear, what do your parents do?” Mother asks with a wicked glint in her eye before Stella can finish plating her food.
“Oh, they don’t, actually…” Stella says, looking as though she’d be more comfortable at a gynecological examination performed by an ex-boyfriend.
“Unemployed, I see,” Mother says, looking skeptical, like she knows more than she’s letting on. Something about the way she says it doesn’t ring exactly truthful.
“My mother is dead, actually.” Stella looks ready to crack.
“You poor thing!” Mother exclaims with false sympathy. “I don’t know how a daughter can be without a mother, I really don’t. That must kill you.”
My blood boils at her words. How about how she treated Nessa? How about her own daughter who’s celebrating Christmas alone because of one aspect of who she is? My hands are shaking.
“It’s hard, but I think she would be proud of who I’ve become. My mother left me with all of the tools I needed to become a self-assured, happy woman.” I can see Stella’s spine straighten as she speaks. I’m so fucking proud of her.
“How nice for you,” Mother mutters, one brow popped over the rim of her wine glass. She turns to my father and asks about someone that nobody knows, and I see some of the tension leak from Stella. Lunch passes with us being mostly ignored, and I’m relieved.
But only for a moment.
“Before dessert, I would love to show Stella some of our artwork!” Mother says, clapping her hands together, supposedly delighted.
Stella looks horrified. “Umm, I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to take away from—"
“Nonsense!” Mother cuts her off, “We’ll leave the boys to talk shop for a few minutes, and I can show you some of our favourite pieces. A little girl talk, hmm?” Like a dog with a bone, she’s not going to let go of this. Stella meets my gaze briefly, and she must see something on my face. Her expression changes to one of polite interest as she stands.
“Thank you, Mrs. Finlay. That’s a kind offer.”
Mother ushers her out the door promptly, prattling on about the Toronto art scene.
Leaving me and Father alone for the first time in nearly five years.
