Mr. Wrong Number by Lynn Painter

Author:Lynn Painter [Painter, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Colin

“I can’t believe you actually made it for once.” Jillian leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, grinning as our parents exited the dining room. “Mom’s going to be insufferable for months now, reminiscing about the time her little Colin actually joined us for lunch at the club.”

To be honest, I couldn’t believe it myself. I usually avoided doing anything with my parents at the club, but when my mother, who had just recovered from a heart attack, called the night before, I’d caved and agreed to grab a quick bite with the family.

“Dad won’t be joining her in those fond memories, though, will he?” I signed the ticket and handed it to the server, wondering why my family liked the place so much. It was dark wood and old money, formal and pretentious, and my mother and father made it a habit to share a meal there at least twice a week.

“That’s because you never just shut up and let him talk.”

Jill was good at that. She’d always let my father go on and on without her saying a word because she knew it was futile; I, on the other hand, wasn’t so good with acquiescing. “Well, it pisses me off that everyone does that. He’s like the fucking king and it’s ridiculous. Who gets to say things like ‘only members of a fraternity and out-of-work actors have roommates at your age’ and get away with it?”

“Now, now, Colin, you have to understand.” She drained the last of her wine and set down the crystal glass. “He’s lashing out because he misses his little prince.”

“I think our patriarch made it abundantly clear that I am not that.”

“True.” Jillian snorted. “But you argue with him about everything.”

“I only argue with him about the things that matter to me, and when he intentionally comes at me, I refuse to just sit there and take it.”

My dad was a decent guy. He went to mass every week at St. Thomas, worked hard, took his wife on nice vacations, and told funny jokes on the golf course.

But he and I had been in a perpetual standoff since I was in the eighth grade.

Public school versus private; I’d picked the wrong one at the ripe age of fourteen. After I graduated junior high, he’d wanted me to go to Creighton Prep, but I’d used my mother-son bond to get her on my side and we’d demanded my public education. He caved because he was far too busy to waste time arguing with my mom, but until the day I graduated, the man never failed to point out the terrible education I was receiving every time I wasn’t able to instantly answer a pop quiz question.

Then it was state university versus Notre Dame; to this day he felt betrayed by my refusal to attend his alma mater (and my grandfather’s alma mater and my grandfather’s father’s alma mater). He’d tried holding back the funds to keep me under his thumb, but when you scored a perfect 36 on your ACT, the scholarships flowed like water.

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