Page 7

Seven

NAT

“Hey, dad,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him at our usual table. We meet for dinner at this roof-top restaurant every other Tuesday, as long as he’s not traveling, and though lately the meetings have been more and more strained, we keep up the tradition.

Things with my dad have always been a little…complicated. Well, not always. When I was little, I was a complete and total daddy’s girl. He was my hero and some of my favorite memories involved the two of us going on little adventures all over Seattle. Once I hit those lovely teenage years, though, things shifted. I do love him, but we butt heads constantly. Mom always said it was because we’re too much alike, but neither one of us will admit to that out loud. He’s just always had this idea of what my life should be, and I’ve always disagreed and pushed back—to a point. He pretty much always ended up getting his way in the end, but I made it as difficult as possible most of the time. At least until a year ago. It wasn’t until I moved back here after mom died that I actually put my foot down and stopped going along with his plans completely. He’s been…frustrated, is one way to put it. Waiting for me to fall on my face and realize that he’s right and I’m wrong and I need daddy to fix my life for me is another.

“Hello, Natalie.” A waiter comes over and fills my water glass and dad signals for another drink for himself. Macallan I’m assuming. He’s in an impeccable suit, as always, his salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, his matching mustache and beard trimmed to perfection. We have the same gray eyes, the same cleft in our chin (though you can’t see his, of course), and the same stubborn personality.

“You left early the other night,” he observes as I dig into the bread. Of course Erin would have ratted me out when she found my table empty and no trace of me in the ballroom. I don’t blame her. She’s nice enough, but she’s dad’s lap dog and that means she’ll always take his side over mine. My lips twitch remembering Rizzo thinking Erin was Aaron . The offer to have a little “chat” with the fictional ex-boyfriend stalking me through a fundraising gala was actually surprisingly hot for reasons I don’t want to explore. I’ll just blame the romance novels Hattie let me borrow last week.

“I was there, as promised, and stayed through dinner. I was tired,” I lie with a shrug. “How did it turn out?”

“Enough raised to fund the construction of a whole new wing.” I can’t help but smile at that and he lets his iron facade soften a little bit, smiling back. In these rare moments, I can see how mom could have fallen for him all those years ago and I remember how close we used to be, how easy our relationship was.

“Mom would love that,” I say, eyes watering a bit. Willow’s House was named for her, after all, and was one of her most beloved projects. It’s a children’s hospital, mostly focusing on varieties of childhood cancers, but there are fully furnished apartments on-site available for the families to use so they can all be together during treatments.

“I think you’re right.” He and mom were madly in love, but they just couldn’t be married to each other. It was the kind of love that burns too brightly I think. They were better as friends with, I learned as I got older, occasional benefits. Talk about scarring me for life when I walked into that on a Wednesday morning before school…and confusing the hell out of me. I know you can’t blame your parents for all of your issues, but I think some of my relationship hang ups can definitely be laid on their doorstep. I’ve gotten over most of them over the years with the help of some therapy, but yeah, they really screwed me up for a while.

We talk about mostly trivial things over our meal—some of the foundation’s new projects, trips he has coming up, how the guest bathroom shower needs to be replaced at my house—until he finally asks the inevitable question.

“Have you finished this little game, Natalie?” He says it in that tone that grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard, like he’s talking to a petulant child who refuses to eat her broccoli. “It’s been nearly a year. You’re working as an assistant to something or another in a hockey organization.” He makes it sound like it’s the most ridiculous job he could fathom and my hackles rise even more. I love my fucking job. I love the people I work with and the work we do. It makes people happy, and more importantly, makes me happy. But he doesn’t care about that. All he cares about is me following in his footsteps and re-joining the family business. He didn’t see or care how miserable I was for the years I spent working for him in the New York office after graduation.

But after mom died, everything shifted. It was like losing her so suddenly just ripped away the blinders and I could finally see how unhappy and unfulfilling my life really was. I decided then that I was tired of settling for the life he wanted me to have. I wanted to do something on my own. I had no idea what, exactly, but I knew I didn’t want to be in New York anymore. He was pissed as hell when I told him I was quitting and moving back to Seattle, but beneath the anger, he understood. Mom’s death hit him extremely hard too, he just didn’t let anyone see it.

So, he’d agreed to let me have this “sabbatical” as he calls it. I could do whatever I wanted job-wise, as long as I did something , until I got it out of my system and he wouldn’t hound me. Who knew I’d find something I loved so much—and that turns out is the bane of his existence.

“You have a degree in business from Yale for God’s sake, and you spend your time…what? Getting someone coffee? Asking hockey players what their favorite breakfast food is?” I grind my teeth, trying hard to keep myself in check and not make a scene.

“First off, I work for the Assistant Director for Media and Marketing for one of the top American Hockey League organizations. Second, I didn’t want that fucking degree, dad. You did. I got it because…well, I don’t really know why anymore, but I sure as shit didn’t do it for myself. And third, I’m happy in this job. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

“Of course I want you to be happy,” he says, softening a fraction. I snort in obvious disagreement and he narrows his eyes. “But this isn’t sustainable, Natalie. I know that you needed time to handle your mother’s passing in your own way, and I’ve given you that time, but soon you’re going to have to stop playing pretend and start your real life.”

“And this isn’t my real life?” I snap.

“Of course not,” he scoffs.

“And that’s enough for today.” I push away from the table and toss my napkin on my plate. “I’ve got a lot of work to do for the job that you think is just so far beneath you, that I happen to fucking love.”

“Natalie—” he says in an exasperated tone, but I cut him off.

“I’ll see you in two weeks, dad. Love you.”

He sighs but doesn’t move to stop me. “I love you, too.” As much as we verge on hating each other sometimes, as many times as I want to put my fist through a wall after these dinners with him, we always, always end our conversations with love. Deep down, we both do and we know how quickly things can change, how fast someone can be taken from this earth. I would never want our last words to each other to be anything but love, regardless of how mad I am at him.

I leave the restaurant, torn between fuming and hurt. And is stupid as it is, the one person I want to talk it through with is Rizzo. Not Hattie. Not Bobby. Rizzo .

Things have been…weird. I mean, not weird in the sense that we’re being awkward around each other or anything, but I’m pretty sure he wants a round two. Which isn’t exactly his M.O., so it’s suspect…and I promised myself that it was a one off. One night to give in to temptation and that was it. Because I know that’s for the best. Rizzo doesn’t do relationships and even though I’m not sure I really do either, I don’t think I can do the whole fuck buddies or friends-with-benefits thing with him. I would feel like a player in a batting line up or something, just one on the roster waiting for my turn at the plate, and as much as I tell myself that I’m not feeling things for Rizz, that it’s all just hormones and his stupid god-like sex powers, I know it’s a lie.

I can’t go for round two…because I’ll want a round three and a round four, and then suddenly I’m in love with him and he’s breaking my heart or I’m breaking his and I have to quit my job and it’s all awful.

So, even though we’re friends, I’m going to ignore the desire to talk to him tonight and go home and drown my sorrows in some Criminal Minds and a glass of wine.

Maybe a whole damn bottle.