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Gruffly I ran my fingers through my messy hair.
“I’m at Troy’s.”
“Ok, the driver will be there in twenty. Say goodbye to your friends.”
Forty-minutes or so later, the driver drove through the black wrought-iron gate. Our home in the Buckhead suburb was a work of art. It should’ve been, my dad Thatcher Owen Marshall, was a famous architect. Every prestigious person in the state of Georgia and around the world wanted my dad to design their building or home.
Not sure why the fuck he settled down. He didn’t want a wife and children. His architecture was his precious world. Our home was fucking airy, sleek, modern, and a work of art. I hated it. I hated it because Thatcher designed it. Yeah, I hadn’t called him dad since I was thirteen. He wasn’t a dad to me. He was a sperm donor. There was a time when he loved us. And we loved him. The way he once gazed into my mother’s eyes made me believe in true love and happily ever after’s. What happened? Why did he become evil and distant?
Owen and I began spending the night at our friends. Hayden had the best parents out of all of our friends. They still loved each other after all these years. Hayden’s father was a workaholic too. He promised to turn the business over to Victoria and Hayden one day. A cold chill shot up my spine and I clenched my fists. I wanted my family to be normal again. Instead, my mom Laura Bonnie Marshall, had a drinking problem at thirty-seven. I exhaled.
Our butler stood, holding the front door open.
“Good evening, Sir Zander.”
“Ralph.” I nodded, strolling through the atrium, down the long hall into the massive size industrial copper kitchen.
“Zander!” My brother Owen peeked up at me from the countertop he leaned on across from my mother.
“Owen. Mom.” I smirked.
He stepped forward, embracing me. “Happy birthday! I missed you, baby bro.”
“Thank you and I missed you, too.”
I hurried over and wrapped my mother in my arms. Her frail short frame shook.
“Mom, don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it. You boys turned out so good despite having a young mother like me.”
My mother Laura was nineteen when she had my brother. She wasn’t a perfect mother. There were plenty of times the TV babysat my brother and me. Dad had enough. He insisted mom hire a part-time nanny. We didn’t always live grandiose. We lived in a four-bedroom colonial until I was three years old my mother said. Not that we couldn’t live in a mansion in the beginning. Thatcher said we needed to struggle a little. He didn’t want to depend on his or my mother’s parents. Yup, both my parents came from money. Old money. Not sure why my mother stayed with him. Oh, sorry getting a head of myself. We lived in the first mansion for five years until this monstrosity was built. Secretly I love the state-of-the-art home. Again, I hate it because dear old dad laid the plans for this beauty.
This city will always be home. It will be an adjustment to attend Princeton University in a couple of years.
My lips melted against the top of her head. She smelled of rich floral perfume. Stepping back, my eyes darted to the low-ball glass of vodka on the rocks.
Her brilliant green eyes followed mine. “Zander, don’t yell.”
My jaw twitched. “Mom.”
She met my angry gaze. “Ok.” My mom poured the contents down the drain.
“Owen, lead Zander onto the patio,” she smiled wide.
I glanced between them. The corner of my lips curled upward. “What are you two up to?”
Owen shoved me through the open door way. I glanced at the red and yellow sun setting.
I turned to the right. My smile dropped the moment our mirrored eyes met. Shit, why was he here?
His arms opened wide and a cheesy grin fell across his lips. Owen and I look exactly like him. If it wasn’t for my mother’s nose and ears, no one would believe she had anything to do with the birth.
“Happy birthday, Zander!”
His deep voice slapped my heart. I felt a little love for him. He closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me.
“I missed you, son.”
