Though, to be honest, I don't know what he's so bitter about. He's making money hand over fist and living the kind of life mere mortals only dream about – and, he doesn't have to worry about somebody like me looking over his shoulder every step of the way. In my estimation, he's living his perfect life – one on his terms, and just how he wants to live it, with no interference from me.
So, what's the damn problem?
“So, how is life caring for the unwashed masses, Duncan?” he asks.
“It's fine,” I retort. “And how are things with father's company?”
Henry visibly bristles, and I have to suppress the smile. He hates it when I refer to it as ‘father's company’. In Henry's mind, he's the captain of the ship, which makes it his company. Referring to it as anything but his puts a real knot in his boxers.
“I have the company running smoothly and well,” he replies, his voice tight. “Thank you for asking.”
The fact of the matter is that Henry hasn't done anything differently than our father did. He assumed leadership and has been more or less content to roll with the status quo. He's trying to do a few things here and there to expand the reach of Clyburne Financial, but he hasn't actually accomplished anything genuinely substantive. And my little reminder to him of that fact irritates him to no end.
It's a petty little dig I take, but one I enjoy all the same.
“So, Henry, are you seeing anybody new?” our mother interjects, trying to defuse the tension between us.
He finally tears his eyes away from mine, turning to look at her, and gives her a cocky grin.
“I see somebody new almost every night, Mom,” he smirks.
A slight frown pulls the corners of her mouth downward. She's unconventional in a lot of ways, but she's also pretty traditional in plenty of others. Our mother is a complex and very nuanced woman – modern, with a touch of the old-fashioned in her.
“Don't you ever think about settling down, Henry?” she presses. “Starting a family?”
He gives me a look and I grin. It's one of the few things we can bond over – our shared appalment over our mother's grandbaby fever. He turns back to her and smiles.
“Sure, I think about it,” he says.
“And?”
He shrugs. “Maybe someday,” he says. “When I get tired of the wanton playboy lifestyle.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes as she shakes her head. “You both are impossible.”
“You raised us to never be too easy, Mom,” I chime in. “So, it's kind of your fault if you think about it.”
She laughs and shakes her head at me. My mother is an exceptional woman. She's truly unique and I appreciate her. Probably not as much as I should have when I was younger, but with age and experience comes wisdom and appreciation. As I look back on my life, I can see clearly all she's done for me and can see how most of the lessons she imparted – though perhaps frustrating at the time – continue to serve me well as I make my way through life.
“Speaking of relationships and settling down,” Henry says and turns to me, “there's somebody I think you should meet, Duncan.”
I roll my eyes and take another drink of my iced tea. I hate being set up as it is – the idea of being set up by my brother is even less appealing.
“I can already tell you that I'm not interested,” I tell him. “Thanks, though.”
Henry's jaw clenches and his eyes bore into mine. “Her name is Erica,” he presses on, undaunted. “She's thirty-two, graduated from Stanford, is brilliant and completely gorgeous. You're going to love her.”
“I'm sorry, but did somebody put you in charge of my love life?” I ask.
“What love life?”
I give him a sardonic smirk but say nothing. He's not wrong, I have no love life to speak of. But that's by design – my design. I hope to meet somebody special one day – somebody who really sparks that fire in me. But I'm going to do it on my own terms, rather than because somebody forced me to.
If Henry is pushing this woman on me, I can already be pretty confident in saying there's no way in hell we're going to click. Henry and I have completely different values and priorities – and I know for certain that extends to the women we see. Or don't see, in my case. If I'm going to date anyone, I'm going to date somebody of my own choosing.
“Look, Duncan, what's so wrong about trying to set you up with a great girl?” he asks. “I think the world of Erica and –”
“Which pretty much tells me all I need to know,” I cut him off. “Thanks again, though.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” he growls.
“I'm pretty sure you know what that means.”
“Boys,” our mother chides, trying to stop the train before it gets rolling.
“You have an obligation to this family, Duncan,” Henry hisses.
“An obligation?” I question, a wry laugh escaping me.
“Yes, an obligation,” he says. “I've seen the kind of women you prefer to date, Duncan. And let me assure you they are not Clyburne quality.”
I scoff at him, unable to believe what I'm hearing fall out of his mouth. “Are you kidding me?” I spit. “Clyburne quality?”
“That's what I said.”
“Henry,” our mom admonishes him.
“And I suppose the women you date are?” I ask.
He shrugs. “The women I date are beautiful, successful, and driven,” he says. “You prefer women who are like – burned-out Starbucks baristas.”
“You are unbelievable,” I say. “Utterly unbelievable.”
“Somebody has to protect this family's good name,” he says. “We have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, and I suppose banging a different model every night and making a total spectacle of yourself is upholding our family's good name?”
“At least they're a higher quality woman than the strays you prefer,” he shoots back.
“Go fuck yourself, Henry.”
“That's enough!” our mother roars, slapping her palm down on the table.
Our mother isn't prone to big – let alone violent – outbursts like that, so it immediately draws our attention. We turn and look at her, Henry's expression of surprise, no doubt mirroring the one on my own.
“Why can't you two ever seem to get along?” she asks, her voice still heated. “You're brothers. Why can’t you act like it? You're brothers, yet you act like complete strangers.”
“We're just two different people with two different ways of seeing and doing things,” I say softly.
“To say the least,” Henry adds, unable to resist taking one last jab.
Our mother doesn't miss it, and she turns to him, her eyes narrowing. “You know what would do a far better job of upholding our family's good name, than any woman you could ever date?” she says, fire coloring her every word. “Acting like an actual goddamn family for a change.”
She stands suddenly and marches off the back deck, slamming the door behind her as she goes inside. And what had been a pleasant afternoon has turned into a giant pile of shit, thanks to my brother. He has that effect on nice days. I drain the last of my iced tea and slam the glass down on the table, glaring daggers at him.
“Nice work, Henry,” I say. “Really well done.”
“Fuck you,” he snaps.
I stand and walk away from him, following our mother into the house. After checking a few of her favorite haunts, I find her in the sitting room. She's seated in a large plush wingback chair that’s set before the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the rear grounds. It's one of her favorite places to sit and read. As I step gently into the room, I hear Henry's footsteps pounding down the long corridor. The front door opens, then slams shut behind him, the echo of it making my mother give a little start.
“Why can't you two just get along?” she asks, not looking at me.
I sit down in the chair next to hers and lean forward, arms on my knees, my hands folded together. The last thing I want to do is add to her upset, but I know what I have to tell her – what I've been putting off telling her all day – is going to do just that. I wish like hell Henry hadn't come by because he's made this all far more tense than it needs to be.
“We just – we're different people, Mom,” I reply. “We don't exactly sync up with one another in most ways.”
“In any way that I can see,” she sighs.
She finally turns her eyes to mine, and a strange expression crosses her face. She's always been able to read me pretty well and I have no doubt she sees the turmoil going on in my head and heart right now.
“What is it?” she asks.
I sigh and look down at my hands. “I need to tell you something. And I doubt you're going to like it.”
“With that kind of a preface, I can already guarantee I won't like it,” she says.
With thoughts of losing my mother already racing through my head – not to mention thoughts about her being so lonely in this house, given that Henry doesn't visit all that often – the idea of telling her that I'm leaving too feels like a dry, bitter pill stuck in my throat. The words are in my head, ready to burst out, but when I look into her eyes, I hesitate to say anything at all.
“You may as well spit it out, Duncan,” she tells me. “The day's already kind of shot to hell, in case you didn't notice.”