Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Eighteen

Liam

The minuteI set foot into the kitchen of my childhood home, my face is peppered with kisses.

“Oh my boy. I missed you, I missed you!” My tiny, cotton-haired grandmother holds my face in her hands and kisses me some more.

“Hi, Yaya. Missed you too,” I mumble, trying to untangle myself from her surprisingly strong arms. For a petite, little thing, she sure is frisky.

I follow her into the dining room where Mom is already setting the table.

“Liam! You’re here!” My mother exclaims when I give her a peck on the cheek.

I pull out a chair for Yaya and help her lower into her seat. “As if I have a choice,” I snark as I sit opposite my father who’s flipping through today’s newspaper.

If I don’t make a point to come home once a week for dinner, my very traditional family gets antsy. My mother and Yaya have a habit of showing up unannounced at my penthouse with a spread of food, if I don't get my ass over here to share a meal with the clan. I’ve found out the hard way more than once.

“Anthony and Andrew aren’t here?” I ask grabbing the financial section of the newspaper as soon as dad sets it down.

Mom’s lips go flat at the mention of the twins. “Your brothers got home about an hour ago and passed out somewhere,” my dad offers without lifting his eyes from the table.

“They should stay wherever they are,” Yaya mutters bitterly. “They’re hungover and they smell like piss.” She cups my cheek again. “You were always my favorite anyway. Let’s eat.” She grabs a plate and starts serving up food for me.

“I’ll deal with them after dinner,” I promise my grandmother with a wink. “Let’s eat.”

My younger brothers are giant pains in my ass who’ve always been babied by our parents, while I got all the strictest rules and punishments. But they’re my brothers and no one gets to give them shit but me.

Yayachatters away about the goings-on at the community center as we each dig into our lamb roast and garlic potatoes. It’s nice to have a homecooked meal every once in a while. My plate is half empty before questions start coming my way.

“How’s work going, honey? You’ve been too busy,” Mom comments, clucking her tongue.

“Yes, yes. Too busy, and too skinny.” Yaya plops three more heaping spoonfuls onto my plate.

“Looks like I’ll be heading home ten pounds heavier tonight.” I grin, my attention focused on diligently slicing through my lamb.

“So, tell me. Tell me how’s work,” Mom insists, watching me from across the table.

I wipe my mouth with my cloth napkin. “Work is good. Challenging as always. But good.”

I tell my family about the big hotelier deal on the horizon and the implications it will have for the Sin Valley district. I can’t help the excitement I feel as I reveal to them that the Varner Resorts deal will be the tipping point that finally puts us on the map. I also share the additional development plans I’ll transition to as soon as the new resort is constructed.

I conveniently brush aside all the Eliza drama, omitting to tell my family that the success of the whole deal is contingent upon me being able to coax my ex-employee into being my bride. I’ll conquer Eliza. I have to. And when I do, everything else will fall into place.

“That’s wonderful, Liam. That sounds exciting. We’re so proud of you,” Mom gushes.

“That’s my boy,” Yaya says. “Always making me so proud.”

But if I’m waiting for my Dad to display some sort of enthusiasm, it’s clear from his expression that I’m not about to get that from him.

He emits a huff from the other end of the dining table. When I glance toward him, I find the man looking less than impressed. Why am I not surprised?

“What?” I grunt audibly, my shoulders stiffening as I prepare for a confrontation with the man.

Dad’s steak knife pauses midway through the meat on his plate. “I didn’t say anything.”

“And that’s exactly the problem,” I mutter into my water glass. “I’m out here, bringing to life the plans you let fall through all those years ago, and I don’t even get a word of encouragement from you?”

“I don’t need you to keep fighting my battles for me, Liam.” His tone is tired, though still laced in irritation. “I went to war against Rocco. I lost. I moved on. You should, too.”

The resentment that bubbles up inside me is familiar. I remember the suffering this family went through when Dad raised the white flag to Rocco. I remember the foreclosure notices on the house. I remember the worried, hushed conversations between him and Mom. I remember my father having to humble himself and go to Yaya for loans.

My Dad gave up on his dream and it almost ruined our family. I can’t respect that.

I clench a fist on the table. “Well, maybe you moved on too easily.”

He lifts a salt and pepper eyebrow. “And that means?”

“You may be fine with giving up your dreams, but I’m not okay with it. I’m not willing to accept defeat.”

“Well, frankly, they were my dreams, Liam, and giving up on them was my prerogative.” He inhales deeply. “I came to my senses. I realized that I was wasting my time on a bad idea. I moved on. And now I’m the villain?”

“How can you sit there and insist that Sin Valley was a bad idea? Have you not seen what I’ve done with the town? My work here has made me a billionaire, Dad!”

He leans across the table. “Is money all that matters, Liam? Because, yes, you may be a billionaire—according to the Forbes list—but in every other area of your life, you’re virtually bankrupt.”

I don’t know why those words stab me the way they do. Maybe because deep down, I fear that they’re true.

I have more to say on the matter, and I can tell my father does, too, but Yaya interjects to change the topic. “Enough of this business talk at the dinner table.” She smacks her palm on the table. “Let’s just enjoy our meal as a family.”

“Sorry, Yaya. I’ve lost my appetite.” I stand and slam down my napkin.

“Your approach to life sucks, son,” Dad calls after me. “Finding love is worth the risk. It’s worth the time and energy. Ten years from now, you’re going to regret wasting all this time on work. Work won’t keep you warm at night. Not the way the right woman can.” He reaches for Mom’s hand and squeezes.

I groan. “You’re kind of naive for an old man, Pops.”

He replies bitterly. “You own a spacious mansion on the far side of town, yet you spend every night in that damn hotel room of yours because it’s close to your office. What kind of life is that?”

I’m starting to realize that the reason I don’t go to my house is because that big, echoey building only reminds me of how damn alone I am. But I don’t bother share that with my parents.

Mom leans over, tapping my arm. “Your father is right, honey. We just want you to experience the kind of happiness that you only get from a deep human connection…”

A deep human connection? Is she kidding me? I’m so uninterested in a deep human connection that it’s laughable. I have goals. I can’t afford the distraction of a woman in my life.

So I don’t know why Eliza’s face flashes across my mind at that precise moment. I push the thought away.

Love makes you weak. Vulnerable. Distracted. And I promised myself that I would never get distracted.

I aim my glare at the family table. “Thanks but I’ll pass.”