A/N: I hope this chapter does its job. I didn't have a plan for this one, but I think it's one of my better ones overall. Happy reading!
It had been hours since Drew took a seat on the questionable hotel balcony. He'd consider it lucky if the whole thing fell out from under him. Surly, a fall from five floors up would be enough to avoid the inevitably worse fate he was facing. But of course, the damn thing was as structurally sound as it should be, never once in three hours swaying or crumbling. Suddenly, his phone buzzed.
"Hey babe," he answered. "Yeah, I've been up for a while. Haha, yeah, I know." His wife spoke on the other end, asking how he was feeling, if he was nervous.
"I don't think nervous is the right word," he stretched his neck. "More like, appalled that I even agreed to do this." He chuckled in the most unfunny way possible. Through the phone, Vanessa reiterated the same therapist mumbo-jumbo that got him into this situation in the first place. He needed to allow himself to forgive, to revisit trauma in order to heal. Did he believe it? No, not really. But, who was he to question his wifes intelligence.
"Are the kids up yet?" He asked, already knowing it was far too early for them, especially on a Saturday. "Right well, " he looked at his watch. "I gotta get ready, you're really sure this is necessary?" He knodded as if she could see him through the phone. "Love you too, babe. Kiss the kids for me. Alright, bye."
Drew stood up, his knees popping in refusal.
It took an hour for Drew to get ready -- showering, shaving, and throwing on the suit he brought. As he sat down to lace up his shoes, a pamphlet caught his eye. Lazy Dayz Waterpark. He picked up the advertisement, remembering his thirteenth birthday spent with a few friends going down the neon water slides and playing laser tag but with water guns instead. He smiled, wondering if it was okay to admit that some parts of his youth were good. He'd bring it up to Van later.
"I'd like to check out of room three-twelve." Andrew handed the two key cards to the front dest employee. He signed a receipt and left. Once he got into his car, time moved too fast. He pulled onto the highway to finish his half-hour drive, but it felt like five seconds before he was pulling into the restaurant parking lot. He wished he'd gotten lost or that there was a huge accident -- maybe even involving himself. But alas, the roads were as perfect as he remembered when he was younger. His heart raced, his palms itched, his tie was far too tight, and everything that Van said pointed to anxiety seemed true.
Drew turned his head to try and release some tension, only to find himself looking at a familiar car parked across the way. It felt like his head was suddenly inflated with helium, so full he may just float away and leave everyone to wonder what went wrong. He turned away, knowing if he stared at her car, it would just get worse. Instead, he looked at the colorfully beaded charm hanging from the rear view mirror. Damien and Becca made it for Father's Day -- little did they know it would be their father's very own talisman, offering him strength and courage. He could do this. The fact that when he looked at his kids, all he saw innocence and hope was enough to get him into that restaurant.
"Hello, I'm meeting someone. I believe she is here already."
The hostess walked Drew across the dining room, and all sorts of people were enjoying brunch. He remembered coming to this restaurant for silly family gatherings or frivolous work parties for either of his parents. His dad liked the ocean view from the private rooms; and funny enough, that was right where Drew was lead. He knodded as thanks and stepped inside the rich mahogany room.
A single round table, obviously requested since it was far too small for the space. She stood up, dressed perfectly, and put together like the queen herself.
"Oh god, Andrew, it's you!" Her voice was harsh and shrill. She stepped away from the table as if to approach him, but his one step back stopped her. Her face fell along with her outreached arms, "Oh, I see we're still doing this." She sounded disgusted rather than disappointed.
Drew swallowed as to convince himself to walk forward and sit down, to at least be polite. "Hello, Mother." He sounded almost like a computer, emotionless. He adjusted his tie, feeling again like it was a noose.
She scoffed, "I'm still just Mother?" She mimicked his even tone, doing air quotes around her title. It was obscenely obvious that so many years had gone by. She looked almost like a hanger, holding up her thin, wrinkled skin. He thought once, that she looked so beautiful. Glorious even.
"Would you," he cleared his throat. "Rather, I called you Patricia?" This was an exercise Viv suggested, to try and normalize distancing himself from her.
She swirled her cocktail, "I suppose you can call me whichever you're most comfortable with, Son." She said "son" with so much venom, Drew wasn't sure he could continue.
"Why don't we get started?" He suggested only because he wanted nothing more than to leave this place. He saw a manilla folder on the table between them, obviously filled with papers. He reached for the folder, only to be swatted away by his mother.
"You only came for this, didn't you?" She waved the folder around, yellow and pink papers flying out onto the floor. "You didn't even want to see me, did you?" She stared at him through a veil of sadness.
He rolled his neck, "Mother, you told me we needed to situate your will. That is why I drove out over four hours." She sneered, a look Drew had never seen from her. A look he especially hadn't ever received from her.
"Fine, the damn papers are in there." She threw the folder down, ignoring the scattered ones. Drew got up to retrieve them. As he picked them up, Patricia took a nice long look at her son. He was more handsome than any man she had ever seen. His suit fit perfectly. She remembered something about him being some kind of doctor, but the kind of doctor never came up. He bent over to grab a few scattered receipts, showing off his perfect ass.
She wanted to reach out and squeeze that ass, feel the firm flesh in her hands. She almost did. All that stopped her was her son standing straight again. She took out a compact to touch up her lipstick. Drew looked over the financial statements, the retirements, and the drafted will.
"Mother," he looked up. "I have two kids now." The last time they'd spoken, Damian wasn't born yet. That was over five years ago.
"Oh my god," she lit up again. "Another girl?" She could already imagine the darling frilly things she could have sent over.
