Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(35)
They’ve been taking some time off work to travel this past year—as if parading from country to country for work the past twenty doesn’t count as travelling—and are only now, six months later, taking a break to visit their two daughters and granddaughter.
It’s so disgustingly typical of them to think that visiting us is some sort of gift that we should worship at their feet for. Like we should be grateful and not so damn stubborn with our feelings of neglect.
I can still hear my mothers clipped tone in my ear from when she called and told me that we were having dinner together the night they got back into town. If I had just paid closer attention to the caller-id when she called that morning, at the asscrack of dawn, I could have avoided the entire thing and blamed it on work or something. But since I was too exhausted and worn-out from the complete pity fuck I received the night before, I picked up the phone and was greeted with the raspy, snippy voice that belongs solely to my mother before I had the chance to warn myself.
“We already made the reservation for Sunday night, Sierra. Don’t argue with me, it’s the least you can do for us. I’m too old to argue. You know this,” she said, as if fifty-five was the new ninety.
I simply responded by asking where the reservation was, and immediately had to fight the need to hiss like an offended cat when she responded with, “The restaurant connected to our hotel. The fancy one. Remember? They have the best fish.”
I’ve always hated fish, but I told her I would be there and hung up before I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer.
My parents only ever stay at the same hotel when they visit. Considering that they sold our childhood home the minute Clare got pregnant and moved out. They forced me, their sixteen-year-old daughter at the time, to live with their eldest daughter so that they could travel freely without having to worry about me and whether or not I was okay.
A hotel is their only option in Vancouver. And for some reason that I really don’t care enough about to know, the hotel restaurant is the only place that they will eat. It probably has something to do with the sticks that have somehow climbed further and further up their asses with every trip they take for work, and how it's made them too good to eat anywhere with less than a five star rating, but who knows. Definitely not me. I haven’t known anything about them for quite some time now.
The door buzzer makes me jump, yanking me from my thoughts as I take one last look in the mirror, nod in approval, and grab my purse. Fidgeting with the high-collar of my button-up peach blouse, I undo the top button and pull the shirt away from my hot neck as I head out. I fan the material and sigh when a cool breeze sticks to the sweat there. If Clare’s already down there waiting, I must have been stuck in my own thoughts for far longer than I thought.
With that in mind, I say a quick prayer under my breath and head downstairs with my wool coat under my arm and a grim smile on my face.
“Momma,” Liz sings from the backseat. She’s snuggled into her booster seat with her favourite stuffed giraffe in her fists, not bothered by the lack of light in the car. It’s only seven o’clock, but it’s already fairly dark outside thanks to the change in seasons.
“Yeah, baby?” There’s a slight waver in Clare’s voice, most likely from nerves, but I don’t mention it. She’s already on edge enough as it is.
Our parents have only seen Elizabeth, their granddaughter, a total of three times since she was born. She just turned seven this past July. Their lack of involvement has already pissed off Clare, but they just don’t see it. They don’t care. I feel awful for my sister, having watched her raise a daughter all on her own after being divorced when she was twenty-three, so young and alone. I know that I was there for her and Liz, but it’s not the same. She needed her mom and she wasn’t there for her. It wasn’t fair to anyone.
“I don’t wanna see Nana and PopPop.” There’s a finality to her otherwise gentle voice that makes me wince. Tell me about it, kid. “Why do we have to? Do they remember me?”
Clare sits silent for a moment, her tongue pressed to her cheek. I can only imagine the things she wants to say but knows that she can’t. Kids are like sponges. They absorb literally everything. Not like we both wouldn’t love for Liz to let a few of our thoughts slip during dinner. Just not tonight. A scene is the last thing any of us want.
“Because they’re family. And we always make time for family, Bug.”
I turn to Clare and smile even though she doesn’t take her eyes off of the road. I wait for another question to come, but Liz seems satisfied with that answer for the moment. And after another ten minutes in silence, with only the radio playing in the background, we arrive outside of the hotel restaurant.
There’s a chill that slides over me when we head for the doors, one that makes my skin prickle and my stomach clench with fear like someone’s reached their hand inside and squeezed. I swallow slowly and shove my hands inside the deep pockets of my coat, fiddling with whatever I can find.
The automatic doors slide open when Liz skips a few steps ahead of us, arms flapping in the air. She looks the epitome of carefree and naive. In the best possible ways. It makes me jealous, honestly.
When we’re young, we’re always so eager to grow up. When all we think being a grown up means is no longer having a bedtime and being able to eat junk food whenever we want. It’s not until we actually do grow up that we realize just how badly we miss our youth and how we took it for granted. We would do anything to go back to the days of no responsibilities and worryless nights. But we can’t. Because like our youth, they’re long fucking gone and there’s a slim to none chance that they will ever come back.