“How would you have liked to spend your birthday?”
“With you.”
“That's a given, but how?”
“I would have liked hanging out with pizza, soda and a cake: a big chocolate cake.”
“You won't even get cake tonight, will you?”
“Not real cake. Maybe some sponge thing drenched in liquor and topped with shit I can't even pronounce.”
I grew up invisible and Bastian grew up inconsequential. I hadn't even met his parents and already I didn't like them.
We parked before Bastian climbed from the car and came around to my side to help me out. He reached for my hand and held it tightly in his as we made our way inside.
His parents were already there and so was his brother. We made our way through the dining area and I took the opportunity to study the people who had given Bastian life.
His father had perfectly cut black hair, laced—almost highlighted, it was so perfect—with gray. His eyes were more gray than blue, but I could see Bastian in his features. From the way he eyed his fellow diners, he was more interested in everyone else in the room than his own family, specifically his son whose birthday he was here to celebrate.
His mother did look beautiful with sable brown hair and indigo blue eyes. Dressed in a sapphire-blue silk sheath that hugged her perfect figure, she didn't seem old enough to have two grown sons. Unlike her husband, her attention was fixed on her son, but I didn't see love in her expression, only censure as if she was checking him over for flaws.
His brother, Dominic, looked so much like Bastian it was a bit scary. He wasn't as tall or solidly built as Bastian, but love and humor shone from his greenish-blue eyes. At least Bastian had that.
We reached the table as Dominic and the father stood; Bastian made the introductions. “Mom, Dad, Dom, this is my girlfriend, Larkspur. Lark, my mom and dad, Jennifer and Sinclair Ross, and my brother, Dom.”
“Hello, Larkspur, we are so glad you could join us this evening. Please sit,” Jennifer said as she gestured to my chair.
Bastian helped me to my seat before taking the seat next to me.
“Thank you, I’m really happy to be here,” I said just as the waiter handed us our menus. The tension in the air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. I had never felt so uncomfortable. The conversation remained forced and very impersonal and then quite suddenly the focus turned to me.
“Larkspur, tell us about your family,” his dad asked.
“My mom died when I was eight, so I live with my uncle and aunt. He's an attorney and my aunt stays home with the kids.” I saw the disgust in Sinclair's expression and assumed that was due to my aunt staying home with the kids instead of having a nanny doing so. I couldn't help but think that was strike one.
“Are they members here?” He asked.
“No.” Strike two.
“What about your dad?” He pressed.
“I never knew him.”
Strike three.
“Do you have any idea what you want to do next year?” I had already struck out with the man, who clearly found me lacking, so I held his stare and replied, “I'm going to Columbia to study art.”
“An artist. What's your medium?” Jennifer asked.
“Charcoal and oils mostly.”
“You see, Sebastian, even your girlfriend knows what she wants to do next year. You need to stop dragging your feet. It's time for you to come into the office and learn the ropes,” Sinclair chided.
I just stared, because it was so inappropriate to be having this discussion not only in public, but in front of me. For all the breeding they claimed to have, Sinclair and Jennifer Ross had no class.
I looked over at Bastian and expected to see him react in some way to his father's bad manners, but instead he smiled at his brother, undisturbed. Was he like me, so accustomed to his mistreatment, that it didn't come as a surprise to him?
“You can't spend your life living as carelessly as you do.” His father was on a roll. “I can't tell you how embarrassing it is for me to have to explain to my friends why my son has a part-time job to begin with…but being a mechanic of all things. You may be comfortable interacting with the middle class, but we are not middle class. Aim higher, Sebastian, you're a Ross.”
Why I had the feeling his last comment of aiming higher was about me, I couldn't say. The two of them were a tag team with the goal of breaking Bastian down. I now understood why he had the tattoos—a daily visual reminder to never give up; to fight for what he wanted.
His mom said, “I was disappointed that Kira couldn't make it this evening. She is such a lovely girl and so accomplished. Did you know she and Sebastian have been friends since they were in kindergarten? Her parents are in agreement with us, have been since the children were very little, that they should marry. I understand Sebastian is young and needs to sow his oats, but in the end like calls to like. You understand my meaning, don't you, dear?”
Did she just say that? Insufferable bitch. My attention shifted to Bastian, since I felt the change in him in response to his mother's baiting: every muscle tensed and the smile faded from his face.
“Kira's a self-absorbed snob and nothing like me, but, regardless, my girlfriend is sitting at the table and you will not disrespect her again.”
I covered his fisted hand with my own. It was official. I hated his parents as much as they disapproved of me. I didn't want Bastian's evening ruined, so I tried to offer him comfort, but his mother wasn't done.
“Larkspur seems like a lovely young woman, but she isn't someone a man like you marries. She just doesn't mingle in your social circles. Surely, Larkspur agrees with me.”
Suddenly all eyes were on me, which wasn't good, since I was fairly sure I was giving Jennifer the evil eye. Her implication that I wasn't good enough for her son was bad enough, though expected, however the fact that she could show such disrespect for her own son, in front of his guest, was what had my temper spiking. Reaching for my glass, I took a sip in an attempt to calm down. A glance at Bastian confirmed that he looked about ready to explode too. I touched his face to turn his gaze to mine.
“It's okay; I understand what your mom is saying.”
He looked at me in confusion. Apoplectic would be a better word. My attention turned to Jennifer. She gave me a pleasant smile, but I didn't miss the spite just behind her eyes. Having grown up with my aunt, I was used to hostility aimed at me, but the Rosses behavior was over the top. They didn't know me well enough to have such a strong reaction to me which only reinforced what I had already feared. His parents had a plan for Bastian and I didn't fit into that plan. And it was their blatant disregard for Bastian and what he wanted that caused me to snap.
I leaned back in my chair. “I don't suppose Bastian and I do move in the same circles, but now that I've got my hooks into him, I'm not about to let go. With Bastian, I'll be able to aspire to something higher than a double-wide and six kids all with different fathers. Now that, to me, is living the dream.”
“There's no call for sarcasm.” This criticism came from Sinclair, but since he was too busy looking around the room to see whether anyone watched us, I couldn't be sure he was actually speaking to me. Jennifer did not bother to hide her contempt. “In our social circles, young lady, the young respect their elders and defer to their life experience.”
I was the one feeling apoplectic now and I was frankly surprised my head didn't lift off my shoulders and spin around in true Exorcism fashion. I may not have blood relations who cared about me, but I knew from watching the Wrights what loving families were all about.
Leaning closer to Jennifer, I held her glare with one of my own. “And in my social circle, family always has your back. Private matters are discussed in private, not among outsiders, and respect is earned. Insulting a dinner guest is hardly respect-worthy. As far as deferring to your judgment, I can't do that, because when you look at your son, you see someone lacking and when I look at him, I see an honorable, courageous and beautiful man inside and out. So you will have to forgive me, but we are going to have to agree to disagree.”