Fanfare (22 page)

He nodded slowly in obvious consideration. “French and Music don’t seem related to Social Work. Why did you choose those things?”

“Oh, come off it, Dad. Are you interviewing her for a job?” Anne said teasingly as she tried to deflect the strain.

“I’m merely curious.”

Tom snorted sarcastically as he lifted his glass to his lips. The sound was not lost on his father.

“I chose French because it’s very similar to Spanish, and it was relatively easy to learn. Languages have always interested me, and I thought it was a good idea to study something I was good at as opposed to something I would struggle with,” I stated simply.

“What do you struggle with?” he queried on mercilessly.

“Patrick,” Tom’s mother admonished.

I smiled to show I wasn’t fazed. “Math. I initially wanted to be a doctor but failed my first-year Math classes . . . twice. I figured it was the higher powers telling me I shouldn’t pursue it any further.”

“So, you’re bad with numbers and good with languages.”

“Didn’t she just say that?” Tom muttered spitefully. He was behaving like a petulant child, so I nudged his foot under the table in warning.

Tom’s father focused his gaze onto his son’s face then made an ill-advised decision.

“With all that education under your belt, does it bother you that Thomas barely finished high school?” he asked in a cutting tone.

“Patrick, please. They only just arrived here,” Tom’s mother requested with more force behind her words.

“No, it doesn’t bother me,” I answered firmly.

“Would it bother you if he were poor?” God, this man was merciless!

“Bloody hell! Have you gone completely mad? This is the first time I’ve ever brought home a girlfriend since I left London, and you can’t even control yourself for half an hour!” Tom exploded angrily.

“Tom,” I pleaded. “Please.”

“You said she was important to you. If she’s important to you, I’m entitled to ask questions that shed light on her character. If you have a problem with that, then perhaps you should consider whether or not you were actually ready to introduce her to your family. It’s just typical of you, Thomas. You just do whatever you want, and you never stop to think about anything else.” His father spoke slowly with ruthless dispassion. The muscles in Tom’s jawline rippled under the strain of trying to remain silent.

“Patrick!” Tom’s mother said loudly.

“Yes, it would bother me if he were poor,” I stated in a clear voice.

That took everyone off guard. Anne dropped her fork into her plate, and Tom’s mother stared at me in dismay. I could feel Tom’s body go rigid next to me, and his father’s eyes settled onto mine as though he realized he had struck a chord that resonated.

I knew how important it was that I choose my next words with extreme care.

“But not in the way people would assume. Being able to buy as many fancy things as you want is nice, but it’s not important to me. If Tom were poor, it would mean he was struggling, and I would hate to see him struggle because I care a lot about him. He’s a very hard worker, and I know he spends a great deal of time studying to become better at his craft. Going to college is one way of learning, but I don’t think that a classroom is the only place where you can get an education. Unfortunately, I’m biased in favor of fancy university diplomas because I come from a poor country, and I know what hindrances poverty and a lack of an education can be. So, I guess my own cultural views pushed me in the direction of college. But I think Tom is very blessed to enjoy what he does and have the ability to make money doing it. He’s also very lucky to be surrounded by people who support him.”

Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that last part. So sue me, you disgruntled meanie.

Tom released a drawn out breath and turned to stare at me with a flurry of emotions crossing his face. Amusement, appreciation, and . . . shock?

“Well, is that sufficient?” Anne demanded bitingly.

“Could you pass the salad dressing, Cris?” Tom’s father asked as though nothing of import had transpired at all.

Wordlessly, I picked up the bottle and handed it over to Tom’s father. His mother winked at me, and Tom’s hand squeezed my knee under the table. His sister’s hazel eyes sparkled wickedly.

Half an hour later, Anne whispered, “Oh, my God!” as we stood alone in the kitchen after clearing away dishes. Tom had left to take our luggage upstairs.

“What?” I asked.

“That was bloody brilliant! You actually got him to shut up. Tommy would have just kept yelling at him, and Dad would never let it go. Priceless! You’ve got to teach Tommy how to do that!”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why do they fight so much?” I asked as quietly as possible.

“I dunno. They used to be so close. I think it’s because Dad wanted Tommy to make a difference in the world and do something meaningful with his life. Tommy is really smart, and he did well in school until he decided he wanted to be an actor. It was really random. Did he ever tell you that I was actually the one who wanted to be an actress? He came with me to an audition because I was watching over him, and the little twit got a job! He was nine years old. Dad was furious when Tommy announced he wasn’t going to university so he could move to the States and be an actor. I think he was disappointed in the waste. Dad wanted him to become a barrister. Can you imagine? Tommy would be miserable! My brother’s just really sensitive about Dad too. He thinks Dad will never be happy with him, no matter what he does . . . it just makes for a bad situation all around. Dad knows how to piss him off, and Tommy can’t control himself. It’s funny because he’s usually so patient and easy-going. It’s like Dad brings out the angry little boy in him.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Really, I think they just need to talk.”

“I think so too,” I agreed.

“Think what?” Arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and warm lips pressed against my cheek.

“I think you need therapy,” I joked.

“I’ll get in line behind you,” he jeered back. “By the way, you’re absolutely amazing.”

“Isn’t she? I nearly died at the look on Dad’s face! ‘Can you please pass the salad dressing?’ ” Anne tittered to herself as she studied her younger brother who held me in a loose embrace with an expression of total satisfaction on her face. “Really, you did quite well with this one, Tommy. Dad thought you were bringing home an American idiot with big knockers and a small IQ. This is just perfect!”

“Instead, he got a Puerto Rican smartass with no knockers and something to prove.” I laughed with Anne.

“What’s Mum doing?” Anne asked Tom.

“Yelling at Dad.”

“Perfect. So, now it’s my turn to ask questions, but they’re really easy ones. I’m just dying to know some of the basic things about you, Cris. Bare with me,” Anne said beseechingly.

“Go for it!” I replied with a grin.

“Favorite color?” she inquired.

“Red.”

“Favorite day of the week?”

“Friday.”

“Favorite book?”

“I’ve got two. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy and Emerson’s Self-Reliance.”

“Nice! Favorite place to go on holiday?”

“The beach.”

“Favorite kind of music?”

“Unanswerable. Depends on the week.”

“Favorite kind of food?”

“Probably Indian . . . or Italian.”

“Favorite movie?”

I smiled wickedly before responding with “Anything starring Thomas Abramson.” I batted my eyelashes at Tom with a look of groupie adoration that prompted Anne to guffaw loudly and Tom to shove me with a groan. After she finished laughing, Anne announced she would straighten up the dining room and discreetly left us alone in the kitchen.

“I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you standing up for me,” he murmured.

“It’s what I’m supposed to do . . . plus, I think it sucks your Dad can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“He would most likely say the same thing about me,” he muttered in response.

“You really need to talk to him. I think you two haven’t had a chance to have a serious discussion in forever. It looks like all you do is pick fights with one another.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I just don’t know where to begin.”

“Not knowing where to begin is not an excuse. Remember what you said to me about my father? How it shamed you? Don’t forget about that, and try to be more patient with him. I think he cares a lot more than he lets on.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he placed a tender kiss on my forehead.

“I love you, Bad-Tempered Tommy,” I teased affectionately.

“And I love you, Ass-Kicking Cris.”

Chapter Sixteen

My eyes opened of their own volition at six o’clock in the morning. No matter how much I willed myself to fall back to sleep, my body refused to listen. Jetlag was the bane of my existence.

After I tossed and turned for fifteen minutes, I rolled out of bed, tentatively stuck my head into the hall, and padded to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I changed into jeans and a bright blue T-shirt and treaded downstairs as quietly as possible to find my purse and iPod.

“Good morning, Cris.”

“Holy crap!” I cried, taken off guard by the presence of Tom’s father standing a few feet behind me with a mug of steaming liquid in his right hand.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you usually wake up this early on a Saturday?” he asked. Man, this guy was addicted to interrogative dialogue.

“No, sir. I usually sleep in, but I think my jetlag had other ideas. I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just coming downstairs to get my purse.”

“You’re not bothering me at all. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee or tea?” he queried.

I thought to myself for a quick moment. As much as I wanted to avoid spending time with someone I’d already deemed unpleasant, I didn’t feel as though I had a right to insist that Tom spend time with his father when I couldn’t bring myself to do the same.

“I’d love a cup of coffee,” I replied with a cheerful grin.

I followed him into the kitchen. I dropped two cubes of sugar into the mug of coffee he handed me and sat in the chair across from him in the small breakfast nook. A chessboard was set up between us, and the pieces were scattered around the board in mid-game.

When he noticed where I gazed, he smiled. “I was playing with Anne last night before you arrived. Chess is a hobby of mine. Do you play?”

“A bit. My father loved chess too, and he always pushed me to play with him. He used to say that you can tell a lot about people from how they play chess.”

“He sounds like a wise man. You lost him last year to cancer, correct?” For the first time, I heard a hint of empathy in his tone.

I nodded and returned his introspective stare without hesitation.

“Would you rather not talk about it?” he asked gently.

“I don’t mind. I love talking about my father.”

“I’m surprised that you don’t seem angered by the unfairness of it all,” he continued.

“Death isn’t fair . . . I think that’s the way it usually works. Honestly, I’m kind of thankful it happened so suddenly, if it had to be because of cancer. He didn’t suffer as much as he could have, and I’m grateful for that.” As I spoke, I absentmindedly made the next move on the chessboard with the white knight before me.

He smiled crookedly, and, for a moment, I saw Tom in his expression. “That’s a very mature response.”

“To me, it’s more about self-actualization. At the end of the day, I know I did everything I could think of at the time to help, and that was more important to me than dwelling on how unfair it all was. I miss him all the time, and sometimes it makes me angry that I can’t hear his laughter or ask him for advice anymore, but I’ve never been mad about it being unfair.” I watched as he removed one of my white pawns from the board and shifted one of his black pawns into its place.

“I hope you’re not offended by what I’m about to say, but I’m very surprised by you,” Tom’s father remarked.

“May I ask why?” I made another move on the chessboard.

“I did not expect you to be so . . . composed and intelligent.”

“Now it’s my turn to hope you won’t be offended. Your low expectations are kind of a disservice to your son. Did you really think he would like a silly, stupid girl?” It was probably too soon for me to be this candid with Tom’s father, but he honestly brought it on himself.

He actually chuckled before replying. “I thought he would like someone that fit his job more appropriately.” His bishop took position closer to my king.

“So you think his job is silly and stupid?”

“In a word: yes. He could have been so much more,” he stated bluntly.

“But I don’t think that detracts from what he is now. He’s a success, and I’m always impressed by how well he handles it, even though he’s not comfortable with his success, yet. I don’t know him as well as you do, but I’ve never felt for a second that his job takes away from the great person he is.”

“You love my son. Sometimes love makes it hard to see the truth.”

“And sometimes it makes us project our wishes onto those we love and ignore their version of success in favor of ours.” I moved another chess piece.

He chuckled again. “You certainly are feisty. Check,” he murmured as he threatened my king with his queen.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward. I just think you’d be pleasantly surprised by how down-to-earth and humble Tom is, even if you think his profession is vapid.” I rescued my king and took a careful glance at my strategically arranged pieces.

“It would be nice to know that side of Thomas, but I haven’t seen it in him for a while now.”

“I apologize for being feisty again, but I think that it would help a lot if you both sat down and spoke with each other candidly. I know it’s really presumptuous of me to say this to you, but I’m sure Tom wants to talk to you. In fact, he mentioned it last night.” Inspired, I decided to go a step further. “I think he would love to have lunch with you today, just the two of you.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”

I nodded emphatically. Of course, I hadn’t consulted Tom yet, but he always told me I needed to live outside of my head and be more spontaneous. I was certain he wouldn’t mind too much, and we didn’t have any plans for the afternoon. We were supposed to spend time with some of his childhood friends in the evening.