sharp look.
“You could bring a date if you want,” my mother continues to try to connect with me once more. “However there should be plenty of opportunities to mingle if you decide against it.”
“Maybe I'll bring June,” I nonchalantly add and meet eyes with her. “Would that be a problem?”
“Why would it?”
“Aside from the fact you've met her at least a dozen times over the past two years-”
June whispers, “I don't know about a dozen...”
“-and still can't remember her name? How about the uncomfortable looks you're giving her that you don't think I've noticed? Sure, it's been years since I’ve seen it, but I know that look. You don't approve.”
She huffs and folds her hands. “Is there something to approve of ?”
Aunt Brandi denies for me. “No. Of course not. She's just my assistant.”
June slinks into her seat once more.
“She's so much more than that,” I counter before turning back to my mother. “And I'm not saying there is or isn't something here for you to approve of, because I honestly don't give a fuck if you do or not, it's just disgusting that you wouldn't, because she's not like Rachel was. Because her family doesn't play golf with yours-”
“Stop it,” my mother fusses. “You stop that right now, Tucker. You know damn well that's not true. We're not those types of people.”
“ You are that type of person. You have been ever since dad died. Hiding behind your snooty cocktail parties and who the fuck is who galas. You weren't like that when dad was alive-”
“And now he's dead,” she bites back harshly. “And David likes going to those things with me. And he likes having cocktails instead of beer. And he likes French films. He likes all the things you father didn't-”
“So that's his appeal? Being the complete opposite of the man who worshiped you for years.”
“Tuck,” Uncle Brett tries to pull me back.
“Years! He quit being a Marine for you!”
“He quit being a Marine for you !” She yells in return. “He wanted to be here for you!”
“He wanted to be here for us ! We were his whole world! You know it as much as I do! He never let us forget how hard he was willing to work to keep us or what he was willing to do to protect us!” I stand, hands slamming on the table. “He always taught us substance over style! Humanity over profitability! To be kind, humble, and fucking caring to everyone from different walks of life because you don't know what they've been through!” Tears stain her eyes and I viciously add, “You're basically spitting on dad's grave every time you act like you're better than everyone else.”
“Tucker!” Aunt Brandi shouts. “You're. Done.”
“You're right.” I toss my attention to a horrified June. “Take me home?”
Her eyes flicker to my aunt's, who simply shrugs in defeat.
“Tucker, please don't go,” my mother whispers, stifling back a sob. “I'm sorry. Stay and-”
“It was a pleasure to see you again Uncle Brett, Aunt Brandi.” I divert my attention to David. “Enjoy your meal and my mother.”
He grimaces as June starts to usher me out of the room with light pushes.
“Thank you for....salad,” she sheepishly says before stumbling over her own feet.
Maybe you think I'm an asshole now, but you know what? I don't really care. If you'd watched her try to erase the memory of my father mere hours after he died you wouldn't judge me so harshly. He wasn't even cold yet when she actively began deleting his existence.
By the time June gets us in her car and we're exiting the property, an unbearable agitation has made itself what feels like a permanent home in my system. The radio plays classic 80s rock while I try to bury my attention out the window.
I need an outlet. I need something to ease this anguish. I need a pencil. Paper.
In a softer voice than expected, she questions, “You
“You could bring a date if you want,” my mother continues to try to connect with me once more. “However there should be plenty of opportunities to mingle if you decide against it.”
“Maybe I'll bring June,” I nonchalantly add and meet eyes with her. “Would that be a problem?”
“Why would it?”
“Aside from the fact you've met her at least a dozen times over the past two years-”
June whispers, “I don't know about a dozen...”
“-and still can't remember her name? How about the uncomfortable looks you're giving her that you don't think I've noticed? Sure, it's been years since I’ve seen it, but I know that look. You don't approve.”
She huffs and folds her hands. “Is there something to approve of ?”
Aunt Brandi denies for me. “No. Of course not. She's just my assistant.”
June slinks into her seat once more.
“She's so much more than that,” I counter before turning back to my mother. “And I'm not saying there is or isn't something here for you to approve of, because I honestly don't give a fuck if you do or not, it's just disgusting that you wouldn't, because she's not like Rachel was. Because her family doesn't play golf with yours-”
“Stop it,” my mother fusses. “You stop that right now, Tucker. You know damn well that's not true. We're not those types of people.”
“ You are that type of person. You have been ever since dad died. Hiding behind your snooty cocktail parties and who the fuck is who galas. You weren't like that when dad was alive-”
“And now he's dead,” she bites back harshly. “And David likes going to those things with me. And he likes having cocktails instead of beer. And he likes French films. He likes all the things you father didn't-”
“So that's his appeal? Being the complete opposite of the man who worshiped you for years.”
“Tuck,” Uncle Brett tries to pull me back.
“Years! He quit being a Marine for you!”
“He quit being a Marine for you !” She yells in return. “He wanted to be here for you!”
“He wanted to be here for us ! We were his whole world! You know it as much as I do! He never let us forget how hard he was willing to work to keep us or what he was willing to do to protect us!” I stand, hands slamming on the table. “He always taught us substance over style! Humanity over profitability! To be kind, humble, and fucking caring to everyone from different walks of life because you don't know what they've been through!” Tears stain her eyes and I viciously add, “You're basically spitting on dad's grave every time you act like you're better than everyone else.”
“Tucker!” Aunt Brandi shouts. “You're. Done.”
“You're right.” I toss my attention to a horrified June. “Take me home?”
Her eyes flicker to my aunt's, who simply shrugs in defeat.
“Tucker, please don't go,” my mother whispers, stifling back a sob. “I'm sorry. Stay and-”
“It was a pleasure to see you again Uncle Brett, Aunt Brandi.” I divert my attention to David. “Enjoy your meal and my mother.”
He grimaces as June starts to usher me out of the room with light pushes.
“Thank you for....salad,” she sheepishly says before stumbling over her own feet.
Maybe you think I'm an asshole now, but you know what? I don't really care. If you'd watched her try to erase the memory of my father mere hours after he died you wouldn't judge me so harshly. He wasn't even cold yet when she actively began deleting his existence.
By the time June gets us in her car and we're exiting the property, an unbearable agitation has made itself what feels like a permanent home in my system. The radio plays classic 80s rock while I try to bury my attention out the window.
I need an outlet. I need something to ease this anguish. I need a pencil. Paper.
In a softer voice than expected, she questions, “You
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