He's not my dad

part 8

Kate drove like a woman who had survived something traumatic and refused to let it win twice.
“If we never drink again,” she said, eyes fixed on the road, “it’ll be too soon.”
I snorted. “We’re drinking again on Friday.”
She sighed. “I hate that you’re right.”
We sat in exhausted silence for a moment, then she glanced at me. “Same place?”
“Obviously.”
“Of course,” she muttered. “We learn nothing.”
She dropped me outside my building and waited until I was safely through the door before driving off, already texting me something I knew would be regret-filled and optimistic...
My apartment was quiet when I stepped inside.
Too quiet.
Then I spotted Bree.
She was stretched out on the living room floor in neon yoga pants, legs bent at impossible angles, calmly following a yoga instructor on the TV like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Please tell me you didn’t move in a stranger while I was dying at work today,” I said, kicking off my shoes.
She didn’t look up. “Relax. I’m alone. Unless you count inner peace.”
I dropped my bag on the couch. “I’ve never counted inner peace.”
She smirked and switched sides in her stretch.
I hesitated, then asked casually, “Have you heard from Noel recently?”
Her movement stilled—just for a second.
“Yeah,” she said lightly. “He messaged this morning.”
“When’s he due back from Iraq" I asked.
She glanced at me then, eyebrow raised. “He’s in Afghanistan, Taylor. Not Iraq.”
“Oh,” I said quickly. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, already turning back to the TV. “Easy mistake.”
The instructor chirped something about breathing through discomfort.
Bree stood up smoothly and grabbed her water bottle. “So,” she said, too brightly, “tell me everything. Work. The CEO. The motorcycle god. I’m bored.”
I watched her for a moment—how effortlessly she’d redirected the conversation, how practiced the shift was.
Then I smiled. “You’re never going to believe today.”
And just like that, we moved on.

......
I just sit down on the sofa when my cell starts to ring it's my mom reminding me I have appointments to attend. I had totally forgotten that I had a ball to attend with my parents. I sigh before grabbing my keys and heading back out. I would love nothing more that chilling out on the sofa with a pizza but I have a beautiful berry red dress waiying for me.

After hours of being pampered, my hair and makeup were flawless, and by the time I returned home I felt completely relaxed. I dressed carefully and waited for my father’s car. He’d told me to be ready for half past seven, and true to form, he pulled up outside my building exactly on time. Ever the gentleman, he stepped out and opened the door for me.

“Darling, you look wonderful,” he said, kissing my cheek.

I slid into the seat beside my mother. Her blonde hair was styled into glamorous curls, and she wore a striking red gown that suited her perfectly. She looked radiant, as she always did. My mother had competed in beauty pageants as a teenager and still knew exactly how to present herself.

“Taylor, sweetheart, you look divine,” she said in her thick Texan accent. “Do you love the dress?”

“I really do,” I told her warmly. “Thank you.”

The drive to the venue was filled with conversation. There was never a quiet moment with my mother—she had a story for everything, and my father listened with the same fondness he always had. After twenty-three years of marriage, he still doted on her. I hoped one day I’d have something like what they shared.
When we arrived, the grand ballroom buzzed with energy. Guests swarmed to greet my parents. My father’s success made him popular, and my mother’s role in countless charities ensured she was constantly surrounded. I lingered politely at their side before quietly excusing myself.
I collected a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a sip, scanning the room. Everything was elegant and impressive—crystal chandeliers, a live band, couples gliding across the dance floor.