closely at the painting. “Be my guest,” she slurred, returning to her champagne. As Allee strode over to examine the Degas (Man, did she know how to move in those heels!), my father made his grand entrance. My brief moment of levity came to an abrupt halt.
“Allee, I’d like you to meet my father, Ryan Madewell III.”
Allee pivoted around on her heels. She made eye contact with my father. Every ounce of color drained from her face. I seriously thought she might pass out.
My gaze darted back to my father. As blanched as her face was, his was reddened. The expression on his face was a mixture of shock and disdain. How could he be so judgmental so quickly? Wearing his classic uniform, a rich black cashmere blazer and tan slacks, he stiffly met her halfway.
“So, we at last formally meet, Miss—”
“Adair,” Allee stuttered. She hesitantly offered him her hand. It was trembling.
He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Allee didn’t move a muscle.
“Let’s eat, shall we?” said my father, his voice as frigid as a glacier.
We adjourned to the formal dining room. Tonight’s meal was Cornish hens à l’orange. I think Allee may have enjoyed the French dish, had the tension in the air not been so thick. A knife couldn’t cut through it.
Throughout the meal, my father’s eyes alternately clashed with Allee’s and mine. She barely touched her dinner. I didn’t eat much either. Whenever I looked at Allee, she looked away from me. She hadn’t regained her color.
“Are you okay, baby?” I asked her, wishing I could take her in my arms. Unfortunately, she was seated across from me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t feel well.” She excused herself from the table, asking Maria for the location of the nearest bathroom.
My mother, on her God-knows-what-number glass of champagne, was oblivious to the strained atmosphere and blabbered on about her recent philanthropic endeavors and the latest society gossip. Among her coterie of friends, she had gained the nickname “Loose Lips Eleanor” whenever she drank too much. By the end of dinner, we knew the dirt on every Botoxed socialite in New York. She even made a cutting remark about my sister and her pregnancy. My father’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth pressed into an angry line. “That lesbian sister of yours is not fit to be a mother,” he growled.
I cringed. He was not fit to be a father.
Before coffee and dessert were served, my father coldly asked to see me in his study. He took his scotch with him. Fuming inside, I followed him.
He sat down behind his antique desk and looked me straight in the eye.
“Son, I’m going to get straight to the point. I want you stop seeing that low-life tramp.”
My blood curdled. How dare he call her that? He spent all of one minute talking to her. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“Don’t talk about her like that, sir.”
“I’m your father and I can say what I want. She is not worthy of the Madewell name.”
“Well, I think she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to marry her.” The words shot of my mouth like bullets.
A fury fell over my father like I’d never seen. His face hardened, and his fists clenched until they turned white.
“Son, if you marry that woman, I will destroy your life. Starting by firing you from your job.”
I met my father’s fiery gaze head on. “No need, Father. I quit.”
I stormed out of his office, without looking back to see his expression, and stomped back to the dining room. Fortunately, Allee was returning at the same time. She still looked terribly pale. Faint, in fact.
I grabbed her by the arm. “Baby, let’s get the fuck out of this hellhole.”
“Darling, so soon?” slurred my mother in her drunken stupor. Maria, clearing the table, looked my way with compassion.
Introducing Allee to my sicko parents was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Maybe we just should have eloped. And maybe that’s just what we were going to do.
I cradled Allee
“Allee, I’d like you to meet my father, Ryan Madewell III.”
Allee pivoted around on her heels. She made eye contact with my father. Every ounce of color drained from her face. I seriously thought she might pass out.
My gaze darted back to my father. As blanched as her face was, his was reddened. The expression on his face was a mixture of shock and disdain. How could he be so judgmental so quickly? Wearing his classic uniform, a rich black cashmere blazer and tan slacks, he stiffly met her halfway.
“So, we at last formally meet, Miss—”
“Adair,” Allee stuttered. She hesitantly offered him her hand. It was trembling.
He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Allee didn’t move a muscle.
“Let’s eat, shall we?” said my father, his voice as frigid as a glacier.
We adjourned to the formal dining room. Tonight’s meal was Cornish hens à l’orange. I think Allee may have enjoyed the French dish, had the tension in the air not been so thick. A knife couldn’t cut through it.
Throughout the meal, my father’s eyes alternately clashed with Allee’s and mine. She barely touched her dinner. I didn’t eat much either. Whenever I looked at Allee, she looked away from me. She hadn’t regained her color.
“Are you okay, baby?” I asked her, wishing I could take her in my arms. Unfortunately, she was seated across from me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t feel well.” She excused herself from the table, asking Maria for the location of the nearest bathroom.
My mother, on her God-knows-what-number glass of champagne, was oblivious to the strained atmosphere and blabbered on about her recent philanthropic endeavors and the latest society gossip. Among her coterie of friends, she had gained the nickname “Loose Lips Eleanor” whenever she drank too much. By the end of dinner, we knew the dirt on every Botoxed socialite in New York. She even made a cutting remark about my sister and her pregnancy. My father’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth pressed into an angry line. “That lesbian sister of yours is not fit to be a mother,” he growled.
I cringed. He was not fit to be a father.
Before coffee and dessert were served, my father coldly asked to see me in his study. He took his scotch with him. Fuming inside, I followed him.
He sat down behind his antique desk and looked me straight in the eye.
“Son, I’m going to get straight to the point. I want you stop seeing that low-life tramp.”
My blood curdled. How dare he call her that? He spent all of one minute talking to her. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“Don’t talk about her like that, sir.”
“I’m your father and I can say what I want. She is not worthy of the Madewell name.”
“Well, I think she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to marry her.” The words shot of my mouth like bullets.
A fury fell over my father like I’d never seen. His face hardened, and his fists clenched until they turned white.
“Son, if you marry that woman, I will destroy your life. Starting by firing you from your job.”
I met my father’s fiery gaze head on. “No need, Father. I quit.”
I stormed out of his office, without looking back to see his expression, and stomped back to the dining room. Fortunately, Allee was returning at the same time. She still looked terribly pale. Faint, in fact.
I grabbed her by the arm. “Baby, let’s get the fuck out of this hellhole.”
“Darling, so soon?” slurred my mother in her drunken stupor. Maria, clearing the table, looked my way with compassion.
Introducing Allee to my sicko parents was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Maybe we just should have eloped. And maybe that’s just what we were going to do.
I cradled Allee
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