Page 40 of Ruin The Friendship
Traffic isn’t too bad right now, which is good. I don’t need more time to sit and overthink this brunch. When I pull into the parking lot, I scan the area in search of Fletcher's car. When I come up empty, I check my phone, but there's nothing there either.
He's going to be late.
It’s not his fault, but it means I have to do this on my own.
I take a deep breath and head into the restaurant. My parents are always prompt, and I’m still five minutes early, but I’m certain they’re here. Sure enough, they’re standing at the hostess station, waiting to be seated. My mother is dressed nicely in black slacks and a deep mauve shawl. Her brunette curls match mine, but she keeps hers longer and pulled back into a tight, smooth bun at the nape of her neck. Her designer purse is slung over her elbow.
My father is in a button-down white shirt and black pants, with a striped tie. They both look nice, and my heart aches. I miss the relationship I could have had with them. Not because of distance, but in a way, I wish they were different. I wish they cared more. Maybe their first grandchild will change things.
“Hi,” I say.
They both turn. My mother gives my outfit a look, and my stomach sinks. I immediately regret my choice. I thought it was nice, but maybe it’s not nice enough.
“Lydia,” my father says, opening his arms for a quick side hug. I breathe in the familiar, clean scent of his cologne,and it triggers memories of my childhood. Of the same one-armed hug he’d give after coming home from travel.
“Hey, Dad.”
I hug my mother, who’s as tense as always. The softness she had when I was a young child had faded away when I entered high school. It seemed like she thought I was old enough to fend for myself. As soon as I got my driver’s license, my parents stopped showing up for my competitions since I could get there myself. I'd come home from events, and they’d ask if I made the podium, disappointed when I came in less than first, despite my best efforts. Most nights, I would have to make my own meals, eating alone at the dining room table while my dad was at work and my mom was out with her country club friends.
The hostess leads us to the table. When we sit, she pours water and leaves us with menus. I quickly decide what I’m having, and my parents peruse the menu in silence. Some might find it awkward, but my parents have never been the type of people to fill the silence with meaningless small talk. Our waitress returns, and we order.
“Fletcher should be here soon,” I state. “I ordered for him.”
“I didn’t realize he’d be joining us,” Dad says.
“Yeah, he thought he’d say hi. It’s been a while.”
Mom hums under her breath.
“He’s had a good season so far.” Dad’s voice changes to a more curious tone. He’s always willing to talk about Fletcher’s stats. He doesn’t watch the games, but he keeps up with the analytical side of his career.
“Yeah, they had a great game yesterday. I wish you guys could have come.”
Mom sighs, sipping on her lemon water. “You know we don’t like crowds.”
The little girl in me is still yearning for their approval, for their attention.
“I know, but I would have liked to spend time with you.”
“We’re spending time with you now,” Dad says, a hint of irritation seeping through.
“Right.” I smile half-heartedly, taking a sip of my water. “So, Spain?”
My mother grins widely, starting on a tangent about all the things they are going to be doing while on vacation. It sounds like it’s going to be an incredible trip, and I’m excited for them, but at the same time, I’m jealous. We never went on trips when I was a kid, even though my dad got discounted or free airline tickets through work, and as a pilot, he made a lot of money.
When the food arrives, Fletcher still isn’t here, and I get nervous that he isn’t going to make it. I check my phone again, and there’s still nothing. What kind of team meeting goes on this long? Usually, when things run late, it’s never more than thirty minutes.
I take a few bites of my food, but it’s sitting in my stomach like a rock. I don’t want to do this without Fletcher here to support me.
It doesn’t matter. I think I have to.
I clear my throat. “I have news.”
My mom lights up. “Did you get a promotion? A new job?”
I shake my head. “No, um?—”
“You know you should really find a different job,” Dad says. “You could be doing so much more.”
