Legend

Making plans

I was glad that Damian had his hand at my waist rather than holding my hand as we walked toward his father, because my hands began to sweat nervously. Bruce was sipping coffee and reading the paper, looking up and standing as we approached his table by the fireplace in Astor Court. The corner of his mouth curled up slightly as Damian seated me across from his dad and sat by my side. Inconspicuously, I pressed my palms to my pants to dry them off, glad my hair was up so I couldn't fiddle with it, as Damian passed a leather folio over to his father, who rifled through the pages inside as the server came up with coffee and  juice for me, grapefruit juice for Damian. My juice turned out to be a delicious blend of tangy apple juice, ginger, and mint.

Bruce cleared his throat and we looked at him over the tops of our brunch menus. "I apologize for barging in this morning. I thought Damian would be out and about. I failed to consider other... enticements." I flushed and Damian rolled his eyes.

"Dad, privacy," Damian said sternly. "This kind of thing is just why I moved out." My phone rang and I looked at it inconspicuously. It was J; I'd call him back after breakfast. I listened as Bruce and Damian bantered about why even dads should always knock, smiling slightly, as J called back. I frowned; he always just left a message.

"Excuse me," I murmured, and both men hushed. "It's my brother, he never keeps calling." Both men rose as I left the table. I called J back, he was in an uncharacteristic frenzy, having gotten a D on a test. I recognized that he was furious with himself and worried what the grade meant for him in the hyper-competitive medical program and for our business. "Listen, J, it's not actually the end of the world," I said firmly. "No matter what, we'll find a way to work things out. It's one grade. If you decide that you don't actually want to be a doctor, maybe you could be a psychologist rather than a psychiatrist, or maybe you'd like to do something else. There are ups and downs all along the road." I was clinging to this because owning a business is hard work, and I wasn't sure I was up to it. The call turned into a mutual pep talk as we pumped each other up.

"So what was I interrupting?" J asked.

"I'm at brunch with the guy I'm interested in. And his dad. Not long after his dad walked in on us having sex." There was dead silence for a second as J processed this, then he absolutely roared with laughter.

"Glad I could make your day," I said sourly, although I was smiling.

"You always have the best stories," he said fondly. "So who is the guy? Why is he still living at home?"

"He's not living at home. It's Damian," I said after a slight hesitation.

"Well, I know you've thought about the implications, so all I'm going to say is that maybe next time you should drape a tie over the doorknob," he said, starting to laugh again. I hung up, smiling, and walked back to the table.

I heard their voices just before I rounded the corner; they weren't speaking loudly, but the restaurant wasn't crowded right now. They were talking about the pearls. I was sure Bruce would also think that they were way too extravagant for a woman his son had just started to sleep with.

"You should have given her your grandmother's pearls," Bruce said critically.

"No, Dad, geeze. One, you said you got rid of them. Second, you don't give family heirlooms to a woman you're still trying hard to coax into a relationship unless you want to scare her off. Third, your mom was killed for those pearls, so it's really not an experience I'm looking to relive."

"I didn't actually get rid of them," his father muttered. "They're in the safe. I just never had them restrung. But they're natural pearls. These others have to be cultured. They are beautiful, though," Bruce conceded.