Bad Boy Blues(54)

That’s not the tragedy. The tragedy is that Mr. and Mrs. Prince, along with Ashley’s parents, are seated together, as if in a huddle. They look like a nice group, men dressed up in tuxes and women wearing designer dresses.

And Zach, he’s seated all the way at the other end of the table.

It feels like there’s a line between him and his family and their friends. Not to mention, he’s the only one in this group with no fancy clothes on. He looks more like us, the staff, with his dark, threadbare t-shirt and spiky hair, than one of them.

I’m serving wine and trying to be invisible to them. So far it’s been successful. They are all absorbed in themselves, except Zach.

Zach has been staring and staring at his dad’s hand over his mom’s. Yup, they are holding hands – Mr. Prince has his fingers wrapped around Mrs. Prince’s wrist – and sipping their drinks from the free ones.

It’s all very lovey-dovey, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like there’s something wrong in the way Mr. Prince is dominating almost all of her hand.

“So, Zach, how long are you here for?” Mr. Howard asks.

This is the first time anyone has included him in the conversation. Mr. Prince’s eyes snap to his son and something crackles in them. Something very close to annoyance.

Zach looks away from his parents’ entwined hands and focuses on Mr. Howard.

“As long as it takes,” he drawls and glances at his mom.

Lowering her lashes, Mrs. Prince dabs her lips with a napkin and clears her throat, smiling slightly. Mr. Prince’s hold on her hand increases. I can see his knuckles turning white as I pour wine in his glass.

“Take to do what?” Mrs. Howard asks, taking a bite of her steak.

Zach toys with the stem of his wineglass. He hasn’t taken one sip or even a bite of his food. All he’s done is watch his parents with anger.

“To forget this place.”

The scratch of a chair dragging on the floor sounds and it’s Mr. Prince. He looks like he’s going to stand up or say something, I don’t know, but Zach’s next words stop him.

“Because I miss them so much when I’m gone.” He’s looking at his dad. “England’s a cold place to live after the heat of our town.”

Ashley’s parents laugh like it’s the funniest joke ever. There’s a chuckle from Mrs. Prince and a cold smile from Mr. Prince that matches so beautifully and spookily with Zach’s.

“You must be very proud, Ben,” Mr. Howard says to Mr. Prince.

“Yes, very proud.”

Mr. Prince’s voice is lashing. It almost cuts the air in two, if possible.

Zach’s jaw clenches.

Mr. Howard carries on like there’s nothing wrong. “We all remember how much of a troublemaker Zach was back in school. You definitely would’ve had some sleepless nights.”

This is addressed to Mrs. Prince, who hasn’t spoken a word in ages. She clears her throat and I see her wrist flexing under Mr. Prince’s hold as I top up Mr. Howard’s glass.

“Yes. But you know, kids. Besides, he’s at Oxford now and so I think it turned out okay.” She leans over to her husband and kisses him on the cheeks. “It was all Ben.”

I round the table to go to Zach and top up his glass. Although, there’s nothing to top up. He hasn’t been drinking; I just needed to be close to him.

His knuckles around the stem of his wineglass are pretty much the same color as his father’s. All leached out and white. Bloodless.

He doesn’t even spare me a glance. I wish he would. Because my eyes would drip the same anger that his gaze holds. They’re all talking around him like he doesn’t even exist.

I hear Mrs. Howard’s airy laughter. “Everyone’s a troublemaker when they’re at school, George. He was just being a boy.”

Mr. Prince takes a sip of his wine. “Troublemaker or not, Zach is a Prince. And every Prince is born with a certain set of traits, a certain intelligence, a certain intellect. Going to Oxford is just a part of it. I went. My father went. My father’s father went. And if Zach hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have been one of us.”

Then, he smiles at the table in general as his eyes remain pinned on his son. “And that was just unacceptable to me. And to my wife.” He turns to Mrs. Prince and kisses the back of her hand.

More chuckles go around the table.

Fuckers.

Every single one of them.

I can bet anything that Zach’s father wasn’t supportive of his dyslexia. Which is so unfair and archaic.

It’s not Zach’s fault that he has a learning disability. Not to mention, it’s easily treatable. This is the twenty-first century, people.

Zach was right.

He’s expendable. An afterthought. To his dad, at least.

Because according to his dad, he isn’t a Prince. He’s defective.

He’s a reject.

Isn’t that what bullies say to you? You’re too fat. You’re too short. You’re a nerd. You’re a loser. You eat too much. You eat too little.

It’s not Zach. It’s his dad. He’s the bully.

I can almost see him bullying Zach into believing that he doesn’t belong in this family. The family of perfectionists and architects who build estates and palace-like mansions and are town-founders in their spare time.