“Anyway, Irie, best of luck,” she says. “And remember, if it doesn’t work out with the quarterback, you call me.”
Chapter 46
Talon
I sign my name a grand total of eleven times, sliding the completed contract across the table to Ira, who grabs it like he’s Indiana Jones and it’s some priceless crystal skull.
The energy is tense. No one has said more than a couple of words.
“There,” I say, glancing around the packed restaurant. An hour ago, I asked them to meet me here. I didn’t want them in my apartment again—that place is sacred ground, intended for good times—and good souls—only.
Ira folds the stack of papers neatly in half before tucking it into his inside jacket pocket.
Mom and Mark exchange looks, and I watch as he reaches for her hand across the table, giving it a squeeze as if to say, “We did it!”
I try not to think about how happy this makes them, instead focusing on what this means for Irie and me.
“We’re so happy you came around,” Mom says before attempting to flag down a waiter, presumably for some champs. “You have no idea how proud Mark and I are of you, Talon. Truly. We can’t wait to watch you play in Richmond. In fact, I was thinking maybe sometime this month we could take a trip out there and do a little house hunting? Something for you … something for us …”
“Just give us a budget, Tal. We’ll try to stick to it.” Mark wears the smuggest smirk I’ve ever seen, one that makes all his others pale in comparison.
Mark’s real estate development empire is one of the biggest in all of Southern California. He doesn’t need my money. He doesn’t need handouts or a free McMansion—he feels entitled to it.
He thinks he earned it.
“Yeah, that won’t be happening,” I say before rising from the table.
“Talon, where are you going?” Mom asks, peering up at me with brows too Botoxed to furrow.
“I signed the contract. Now I’m out,” I say, dropping the pen against the white tablecloth.
“But we’re not finished yet,” she says. “Let’s talk about the move. Let’s talk about the housing situation. All the fun stuff. I could even come out and help you decorate. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Irie … Irie will be decorating my home. Our home,” I say. “So thanks, Mom. But no thanks.”
Her joyous-yet-confused expression fades.
“Threatening her career, by the way? Class act,” I say. “Way to go. You should be really fucking proud of yourself.”
“Watch your tone,” Mark chides, puffing his pathetic marshmallow chest.
“And you,” I say. “Don’t act like you weren’t behind any of that. I’m sure you told her exactly what to say. You’ve always been good at that … getting people to do what you want them to do. All you have to do is threaten something … or someone … they love and they do whatever you tell them to do. Right, Mark?”
Mom’s attention snaps to Mark. “What is he talking about?”
“I’m sorry, but the two of you have no business being married,” I say. “Mark, you’re a goddamned user and a liar and Mom, you’re too out of it to function half the time, the other half of the time you’re acting like some puppet on a string, doing his dirty work. Honestly, I’m embarrassed for the both of you.”
Ira sits in stunned silence, pretending to read his menu.
“Irie’s moving east with me,” I say. “We’re starting a life together, without the meddling and the drama and the projecting and the manipulating. I will not be buying you a house, but you’re welcome to watch the game on TV from the comfort of your own home.”
I’ve never seen Mark and Mom so silent before.
“We want a little space,” I say. “So maybe you can use this time apart from me to figure out your own shit. Mark, maybe you can push some of that excellence you’re so obsessed with onto yourself. Maybe try being a better husband, how about that? Maybe take an interest in your daughters’ lives and stop buying them shit to tell them you love them, maybe spend some actual time with them for once? And Mom, maybe take this time to start thinking about what it is you’re really getting from this marriage. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you make a decision for yourself about anything.”
Mom’s gaze dips down to the napkin in her lap.
“Talon, that’s enough.” Mark’s balled fist smacks against the table, summoning a few dirty looks from the patrons around us.
“Anyway,” I say, feeling light as air now that I’ve unloaded years’ worth of their bullshit. “Ira, sorry you had to see all this. But before I go, if you so much as share another word about any of my contracts or career dealings, you’re fired.”
I leave the restaurant a new man in every sense of the word, the future suddenly looking brighter than I ever could have imagined.