“Loren Hale’s brother,” Ryke tells him.
Aaron chokes on a laugh. “Bullshit. Lo’s an only child.”
“Then don’t believe me. I don’t really fucking care. But you start messing with his girlfriend, and then I will care.” A server places his plate in front of him, and Ryke digs into the mashed potatoes, not giving Aaron any more attention.
Aaron looks back to me, and his eyebrows jump up, but he mouths, later. No, I don’t like later. He even winks.
Shivers run down my arms.
Daisy squints at Ryke. “Why are you here?” she asks over her oblivious date, still texting. “Did my mom call you?”
Ryke cuts into his fish. “Nope. My father did.”
I frown. “What?” That makes no sense. Jonathan Hale basically blamed Ryke for Lo’s decision to go to rehab, leaving him with an empty house. Why would he want to invite him?
“Yep,” Ryke says. “He called me up, spewing some shit about how we should put the past behind us. But he’s an awful fucking liar.” He swigs his water. “He wants information about Lo, but like hell I’m giving it to him.”
I try not to acknowledge Aaron, but I don’t like the way he’s listening so intently, digesting our families’ secrets and filing them for later. I sip my own water to clear my throat. “So why come?”
Ryke points at me with a knife. “Knew you’d be here. Knew Lo wouldn’t.”
Ah, yes, he doesn’t trust me. “What confidence.” I love Lo enough to restrain myself.
I glance at Aaron, who stares a little too forcefully.
But without Lo to hide behind, my only defense against Aaron is to run. And I’m not as fast as Loren Hale. Not even close.
Daisy keeps leaning on the legs of her chair. “I’m confused,” she says, tossing her rose-shaped napkin on the table.
“Eat,” I tell her.
She sighs and picks at the fish.
Thankfully, the lights begin to dim so we’re not the main focus in the room. Aaron turns around, back facing me, so that helps ease the tension in my shoulders. The stage brightens, and I try to relax in my chair and concentrate on my father.
He walks onto the stage and mans the glass podium. The ballroom quiets, except for the sound of silverware hitting dishes. He looks rich. How else do you describe a man worth billions? Even in his fifties, his gray hairs are masked by brown dye. He always has a genial smile, the kind that makes him seem approachable, even if he’s usually too busy to greet. I love him for what he’s given me, and I think he’d buy us the world just for the chance to see us smile.
“Friends, family,” he says, “I’m so glad to have you all here today to celebrate this special occasion. I founded Fizzle in 1970 with an extremely ambitious—and somewhat na?ve—plan to create the next best soda that could rival the likes of Coke and subsequently Pepsi. With the help of angel investors and some faith, Fizzle became a household name in just three short years.” Everyone claps. I join in, admiring my father for his drive and passion. I can’t imagine coming out of college and starting my own business with such fortitude and strength. I’m not him. Or Rose. Or my mother.
I’m just so very lost.
He holds up a hand to shush us, and the noise settles to silence. “Almost fifty years later, Fizzle products are sold in more than two-hundred countries. Just in the United States, we’ve taken away the title of the northern soda of choice from Pepsi. By next year, we plan to steal southern hearts with our brand new soda. We believe the taste and contents of this drink are unlike any Coca-Cola product and we’ll have diehards choosing…Fizz Life.”
He steps back from the podium and a screen behind him shows an animated graphic of a Fizzle commercial, a gold background with dark colored bubbles rising up. A silver can spins in the center with gold writing that reads FIZZ LIFE, white bubbles decaled at the bottom. No black on the can at all.
“Fizz Life is zero calories, aspartame-free. It’s naturally sweetened with a recipe blended by our food scientists.” Servers with gold-plated trays begin to walk around the room with cans of Fizz Life, passing them to the tables. Our waiter sets down a can in front of my plate. Hundreds of people begin popping the tabs, air expelling and carbonation bubbling, the noise so very true to the soda company’s name. “This is not only the healthiest soda on the market, but it’s also the drink of the future.”
The tagline: Fizz Life, Better Life flashes across the screen. Underneath sits my father’s exact words: the drink of the future. Maybe it is.