Page 7

Chapter Seven

Gabriel

When Storm said he would be here “tomorrow afternoon,” I should have asked for a precise time. I didn’t, and that was my fault. I also didn’t get his number, so I can’t call him to find out when he will arrive, and he didn’t put it on the application.

The drive to my parents’ house is a little over an hour. Dinner is in two. Storm isn’t here.

Sure, I still have some buffer time, but according to my parents, if you’re on time, you’re late. They’re only satisfied if you’re at least fifteen minutes early, but of course no more than thirty because that’s rude. However, dinner is served at five, so that means you need to be there at 4:30, which then means you need to be there at 4:15. It’s a whole thing and trying to explain it to people has them looking at me like I’m sprouting leaves from my ears.

My parents and I don’t see eye to eye on most things, and they take every opportunity to tell me how displeased they are with how I’m living my life. This is just my life and how our relationship goes. If my brothers did something wrong, they’d do the same to them. Just so happens I’m the only one who does wrong out of the four of us. The odds were not in my favor when my parents’ DNA was pairing.

I send Storm another email, hoping he’ll answer this one. The last four have gone unanswered, but maybe they went to spam. Or maybe he has bad service and they haven’t gone through. Or maybe he’s still sleeping because he said he isn’t a morning person—even if it’s late afternoon. I should have told him what time to be here. What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. Well, I was, but about other things. I was preoccupied and so it slipped my mind to make sure he was here at a certain time so I could leave on time. Now, I can’t decide which is worse: stay here to wait for him and arrive late to dinner, or leave for dinner and hope Storm doesn’t touch my things while I’m gone.

What if he snoops through my room? What if he touches my bed? Or my underwear? What if he smells them?

I should have moved. Getting rid of the house for something smaller, something I can afford, would have been so much easier than dealing with a roommate. An apartment would be affordable. But there are other people who live in those buildings. People who make noise and smell weird and may not clean or take out their trash regularly. They could have dogs who sneak out of their apartments and somehow make it to mine. No, there are too many variables when living in an apartment building.

This is insane. Why did I think I could handle any of this? Living with Tara was hard enough, and it was only suggested we do so because my mother knows how I am. They wanted us to be traditional, and in some ways we were, but we shared this house to get used to living together before we were legally bound together. Of course, Tara had her own room and didn’t come into mine. I only went into hers to clean and put her clothes away. That’s the room that Storm will have.

I glance at the clock. I’m officially late. Panic surges through me, and my brain goes blank. I can’t decide what to do, which will be worse. My heart rate skyrockets, sending my breathing into an erratic mess. It feels like my heart is going to break through my rib cage, it’s pounding so hard.

Think, Gabriel. Think.

I can handle Storm looking through my things. If he wants my underwear, he can have them. If I think he touched them, I’ll wash them. Worst case, I’ll buy new ones. But being late for dinner? No. That can’t happen. Not again. Not after the warning phone call the other day.

I scribble out a note for Storm that I intend to hang on my front door for him. It has my number, if he wants to call, but also an apology for not being here and a request that he does not go through my underwear. Grabbing my things, I hurry out the door, just to slam into something hard, causing my jaw to snap shut—right onto my tongue. I groan, stumbling back into the house, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue.

“Ah, fuck,” someone says.

I shake out of it, opening my eyes and see Storm standing there—barely. All I see in my head is the ticking clock, that’s somehow manifested right in front of my eyes. Time’s moving and I’m more late. The anxiety nearly has me choking. The taste of blood in my mouth doubles, but I ignore it and shove the note against his chest and hurry down the steps.

“Where are you going?” he shouts.

I get into my car and speed out of the driveway, then race down the street.

“It’s a good thing this is only a family dinner, Gabriel. Had there been company, I’d be so embarrassed.”

“Sorry, Mother,” I say as I hurry to keep up with her. Getting to the dining room from the front door is like going through a maze. The long, tall hallways with unnecessary portraits on the walls and statues on fancy end tables all look the same.

“Everyone else is already here. We were waiting for you.”

It’s not even five o’clock yet. Dinner isn’t served until five. I didn’t hold anyone up from eating. And even if I was late, it wouldn’t kill them to eat before me. I don’t understand why this is such an issue. Why does she still invite me?

“Sorry,” I mutter again.

“I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult for you to be on time. I mean, seriously, Gabriel? How do you live your life? How have you not gotten fired from your job? No wonder Tara left you at the altar.”

I falter, tripping up, but pause when my mother stops to look at me, raising a perfectly shaped dark eyebrow.

“Did you forget how to walk?” she snipes.

“No, Mother.” I shake my head.

She makes a displeased sound in her throat, turns, then keeps walking with her head held high. Her golden brown hair is pulled tightly back into a low bun, not a single hair out of place. Sighing, I move after her and we continue toward the dining room.

My father is at the head of the table, while my brothers and their wives take up the sides. Opposite my father is open for my mother. Then there’s the spot that’s crammed in at the corner of the table, left open for me. Anyone with eyes could see how out of place it is.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Gabriel,” Sterling, my youngest brother, says with a cocky smirk.

“Glad to be here,” I answer, taking my seat.

“What held you up this time?” William asks. He’s the second youngest, and the most blunt.

“Just lost track of time.”

It’s the best answer I can give. If I admit I was waiting for a roommate, there will be a million things to say about that.

If you had a better job, you wouldn’t need a roommate.

Why didn’t you ask him to get there sooner?

Why are you sharing a home with a stranger?

Why can’t he be on time?

Why do you let people affect you so much?

The list goes on and on, and so it’s easier just to put the blame on me. They expect my failure, so it’s believable.

“Perhaps you should get a watch,” my father adds, reaching for his glass of red wine.

“I will look into that,” I say, tugging down my sleeve to cover the watch I’m wearing. It pairs with my phone and works just fine, but it isn’t the newest one, and therefore, isn’t good enough for them.

“Maybe we can get you one for Christmas, Gabriel,” my oldest brother, Winston, says. He’s a junior and thinks that gives him special privileges. It’s just a name and I’ve said that many times, not that it matters to him.

“If that’s what you want,” I answer.

“Enough talking about Gabriel,” my mother says, shaking her hand and grabbing her glass of wine with the other. “Tell me more about Celeste.”

Celeste is Winston’s oldest daughter. She’s away at boarding school with my other nieces and nephews. I always said if I had a child, I wouldn’t send them away to boarding school, even if it would be expected from my parents and my family. Tara sided with them. I think it’s absurd. What’s the point of having kids if you aren’t going to raise them? Though, growing up with my parents, maybe I would have been better off had I been sent to a boarding school. Instead, they had nannies raise us. I’m not sure why they didn’t send us away. They certainly had enough money. Maybe it just wasn’t what all their friends were doing at the time.

The school that my nieces and nephews attend is relatively new, and my father golfs with the headmaster. I’m sure they’re all getting the best education and perfect lessons on how to act better than everyone else. What better way to do that than have them hang out with the most pretentious people you can find?

Chantelle, Winston’s wife, answers my mother. “She has earned top marks in all her classes and received an award for excellence in debate. They want her to take on the role of coordinator for the debate team.”

My mother gasps, smiling in delight. “Even at such a young age?”

“Yes!” Chantelle says with a bright smile. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“My, she is going to make an excellent lawyer one day,” my mother says.

“We couldn’t be more proud,” Winston answers, putting his arm around his wife.

“Marie is on the debate team as well,” Sterling adds. “She’s proud of her cousin, and though she struggles somewhat, she says she’s learning a lot. Good work.” He raises his glass to my brother as if he should be proud of raising an argumentative child.

I sigh, ringing my hands together under the table.

I don’t fit in with this family. I don’t belong here. Why do I still come?

The doors leading to the kitchen creak open and the servers walk out, each of them holding a dish. The table is already set with plates and cutlery. The dishes of food are put down along the middle of the table. Two full roasted chickens, mashed potatoes, asparagus, freshly baked rolls, and tureens filled with golden gravy. It smells delicious, and I’m sure it will taste just as good.

The dishes get passed around, and we put food on our plates, but only enough that you’ll eat because you can’t waste it. If you want more, you can get more, but you dare not throw any away.

“Is that all you’re taking, Gabriel? You’re eating like a bird,” my mother chastises.

I look down at my plate that is full. It’s more than I should have taken in the first place. The last time I took too much and couldn’t eat it, I got scolded like a child. I’d rather not deal with that again. Going home starving is better than going home shamed.

“It’s all I need.”

“Oh, come now. Put more food on that plate. Tevia, add more potatoes to Gabriel’s plate.” My mother gestures to William’s wife, who is sitting beside me. She grabs the dish and plops another full scoop onto my plate with a smile.

“Thank you, Tevia,” I say, holding back my annoyance.

They all make small talk as we eat, leaving me out of every conversation. Honestly, I don’t even mind anymore. I come here because I’m told to. I eat dinner. I leave. I’m not about this life and being the way they are. I don’t have a wife to bring along, and I don’t have kids to brag about or send off to boarding school. Hell, I don’t even have enough money to do the things they all do. No vacations, no country clubs, no fancy cars. My cell rings and I freeze, panic causing my ears to buzz as badly as the vibrating in my pocket.

“Oh, Gabriel,” my mother scolds, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How many times have I told you about cell phones at the dinner table?”

She shakes her head, scoffing.

I quickly pull it from my pocket and deny the call, noting I don’t recognize the number, but I’m pretty sure it’s a Boston area code. Meaning, it’s Storm. He’ll have to wait. I put it on silent, then put it back in my pocket.

“Sorry, everyone.”

“I don’t understand you, Gabriel. Why is it so hard to just do as you’re told? Ugh, I’m getting a headache.” She finishes her wine, then goes back to eating her food. Because, of course, she isn’t getting a headache from all the wine she drinks. No, that headache has to do with her ridiculous child who can’t be early enough to be on time and uses technology.

“You should respect your mother’s wishes, Gabriel,” my father adds, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“I will, Father. Sorry.”

My father has dark brown hair, as do all of my brothers and I. My mother has a much lighter tone, but none of us got that from her. Perhaps if we had a sister, she would have taken after her in that sense. Everyone but me has blue eyes. I’m the odd one out with grey. It’s fitting.

My brothers’ wives have similar features as well. All with dark hair and brown eyes—the same as Tara. I’ve never had the gall to ask if they did it on purpose.

My father and brothers are all roughly the same height as me, give or take an inch or two. My mother is a solid 5’7, but stands at 5’9 most times since she lives in heels. I swear she takes those to bed with her. My sisters-in-law are all the same. Pristinely dressed in heels with not a hair out of place.

“Gabriel, have you heard from Tara?” Sterling asks.

He is by far the biggest pain in the ass and gets away with everything because he’s the baby and has no shame in being annoying or shoving things in my face. He knows damn well I haven’t talked to Tara, and won’t, yet he has to ask every single week.

I force a smile, looking up at him. “I haven’t, Sterling. Have you?”

“Gabriel! That was unacceptable. Why in the world would your brother talk to your ex-fiancée? You know he’s happily married!” my mother shouts.

Yeah, happily married and doing vile things to all the women at the country club he visits with Father every weekend. Like father, like son. As if I don’t know what they get up to over there? I’m thankful I was never invited. That isn’t the sort of thing I want to partake in.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Sterling smirks at me, but I bring my focus back on my food. I try to drown out them listing off all the reasons Tara didn’t show up to our wedding and decided to disappear instead. Some are convinced it was her father that decided he no longer wanted ties to our family. Others think it’s because I’m too much to handle.

“Her father did seem a bit off,” Winston says.

“I think he seemed just fine,” William adds. “Tara just couldn’t manage him. I mean, look at him. He’s unruly.”

Then they get on the topic of all my bad and bothersome habits they had to tolerate through the years, and the consensus is she left because of me. Nothing I haven’t heard before. Nothing I don’t already know. As if I don’t think about this every single night before I fall asleep.

By the time dinner is done, my head is spinning and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is go home. I’m relieved to be on my way, only to remember I have someone waiting for me at my house.