Growing up, Nathan would be forced to sit through dinner parties with conversations like these—virtue signaling from people who had never used a social program in their lives. Even when he was young, he understood that it took more than caring about an issue to form an opinion on it. They’d whine about access to mental health care in one breath and complain about a panhandler obstructing traffic with his wheelchair in another: “If you give him anything, he’ll just keep doing it.”
Nathan had finally made it to the bar when he saw Matt Abbott smiling broadly, with his hair flattened into a Leave It to Beaver part. Matt’s voice projected over the low buzz of the crowd, who listened to him babble about billionaire tax brackets with the smug smiles of people who paid their bills with capital gains. It was the first time Nathan could glimpse what might have made him appealing to Rachel. He was telling animated stories with the same intensity that struck a nerve in that viral video. Nathan could imagine her being seduced by his passion.
Last night, Nathan had googled her in a moment of weakness. The first result was a tabloid headline speculating about the identity of Faith’s biological father. Another, shorter article mentioned an art project Rachel did in college that was banned for being obscene and damaged the department due to the scandal.
Reading it had made him want to call her. Instead, he had closed his computer and lied to Bobbi about being hungry so she’d come over to hang out and make dinner.
Nathan had just placed his drink order when Sofia appeared, and leaned in for air-kisses, steeping his lungs in bergamot and jasmine.
“You look so nice.” She ran approving eyes over his outfit. “I know you hate dressing up, but it’s such a good look on you.”
She was in full-on mothering mode, and he appreciated the attempt to make him feel better about standing out in the crowd. They were surrounded by clean-shaven men in dark blazers and light-colored pants, with solid ties. Nathan wore dark pants, no blazer, and a five-o’clock shadow because he’d been too preoccupied with Rachel to shave.
“I don’t hate nice clothes.” He accepted his drink and tossed a twenty into the bartender’s tip jar. “But I only own two of these shirts. Got to space them out so no one notices.”
Sofia gave him a familiar you’re adorable, but please behave look and guided him away from the bar. “You should make more of an effort with your father. I know he’s difficult. But you do things to make him angry.”
“My breathing makes him angry.”
She stopped walking and rounded on him. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Nathaniel. Your father is flawed, but he’s also human. And like you, he makes impulsive choices without thinking about how they affect the people who love him.”
“I’m not like Beto.”
“Oh, please,” she sighed. “You are exactly like him. I warned him not to pressure you. He was so obsessed with being right that he pushed you away from us. Away from me.” The hand on his arm tightened. “I never wanted you to leave home. But getting away from him—and being right—was more important to you.”
Nathan untangled himself from his mother’s grip. “We’re not the only stubborn people in this family. Nothing matters to you more than Beto. No one. Not even—” Nathan stopped and clenched his jaw. “Forget it.”
Sofia’s voice hardened. “You think I would choose him over my children?”
“No,” Nathan said, because it would have implied that she’d made a choice at all. Instead, she’d hovered, waiting for Beto to finish browbeating Joe or making Nathan feel worthless, to then swoop in with hugs and kisses, saying, “It’s okay, he doesn’t mean it. I’ll talk to him, I promise.” But she never did. In their home, Beto was king. And Nathan grew up watching his mother defer to a man who didn’t respect her enough to keep his dick in his pants. “I think you chose him over yourself.”
Her face iced over. “I know you’re angry, but you don’t have to be disrespectful.”
He wanted to tell her that honesty wasn’t disrespect—it was kindness. But she’d gone stiff, her eyes darting to the people around them. He hadn’t bothered to lower his voice, and they were starting to attract attention.
“I’m sorry.” He touched her arm. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this here.”
“Well, you barely return my calls, so when are we supposed to talk?”
He smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. “I return all your calls. You’re too busy being the town badass to answer.”