2. Robert

Chapter two

Robert

The wrought iron gate creeks open, revealing the familiar driveway that winds up to a large white cottage atop a hill. I drive slowly until I get to the parking spot next to the garage.

They still refuse to let this place go.

My parents are older, and I don't know how they manage the size and stairs every single day. Then again, like me, they tend to keep to themselves, so this must feel like a trusted cocoon.

It runs in the family, after all.

I park the car and take my keys out. Automatically, my hand pushes through my brown hair to tuck loose strands to the side.

Mom's gonna be annoyed if she sees a strand out of place, even at my age.

Her doting is par for the course with her, but definitely not something I like to deal with. I lock up the car and head to the door. I don't have to, but locking up is just force of habit. Who knows, maybe some woodland creature is lurking in the bushes, ready to take my briefcase.

At the door I see the nested camera to my right turn with a hiss. It clicks, probably taking a picture of me. A second later, the door opens slowly, and a woman with dark brown hair, even darker brown eyes, and a short, stocky frame appears.

"Robert, right?"

"Yes. I'm here to see Dan and Becca," I reply. It feels weird calling them that, even though I've taken care of documents that use those exact names. But the formality of my family does not lend itself to asking for my mom and dad.

She opens the door wide and gestures me inside. In the foyer, I take off my shoes and put them in the shoe cabinet next to the door. Laughing to myself, I think how regimented a visit to my own parents is at my age.

"This way."

"Yes, I know where to go," I reason. But she doesn't listen. The stocky woman walks down the hallway until we get to the first threshold.

"In here."

"Thanks," I reply, holding back from telling her she didn't need to give me the grand tour to get here. As I step through, I see the familiar red leather couch, a coffee table with three cups of tea on it, and a small tray of pastries right in the center. My father stands up and approaches.

"Robert! Good to see you again, son."

"Hey, Dad." Okay, face to face I can get away without the formal.

He embraces me for a brief moment. Mom joins in, and I look into her eyes.

She's getting older. The wrinkles on her face are deeper than before. As her big, blue eyes take me in, she grins, and I see her teeth getting a little gray despite all of the work I know she's had done.

"Robert! You finally made it out here!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

We embrace, and as she pulls away, she gestures to the chair next to the couch.

"Have a seat." And as I do, my father doles out the Danishes. I take a bite, savoring the taste of the sweet treat. "Not bad."

"Yes, our new housekeeper, Alena, makes these for her family, so we seem to get the benefit of her expertise," my father says.

"Oh yeah. We met at the door; glad she can bake up a storm. These are delicious."

So that's her name. Alena. She's nice, and I'm not surprised that they have a housekeeper to help with everything due to their age.

"Indeed."

We sit there and eat the pastries, not saying much else. A few minutes later, my father clears his throat.

"So, how's business been?"

"Good. I've had a couple of new properties along the lake go up."

"Oh, those! Alena showed them to me when we went to the spa the other week."

I continue: "They're doing well and I have a couple of potential offers already. People flocked to these properties despite the price, Dad. In fact, I have three different offers for one of them, all within a similar number. Choosing the best one proved to be a challenge, but we have a buyer who will be closing with us in a couple of days, and on the most expensive place."

"That's good! Things are well with us, too."

"So, retirement's treating you okay, Dad?" I ask.

"Yes" is his single answer, immediately followed by Mom interjecting.

"So, when are you going to give us some grandkids, Robert, dear?" my mom interjects.

I hold the cup in my hands tighter. I'm afraid if I loosen it, I might drop it, especially after hearing what she just said.

"Mom, I thought we'd gone over this," I mutter. This happens every single time that I come out here. The same old schtick and the same old questions. It's getting tiresome.

"We're just worried about you, son, and—"

"Dad, I don't even have a girlfriend," I state the obvious.

The room falls silent. My father clears his throat, and I wait for his next words.

I know exactly what this will be. It's the same conversation we have every single time.

"You know Robert, there are a lot of great girls out there, and I'm sure you'll meet someone."

"Jenna Warden is single, maybe you two can—" Mom pops in.

"I told you both plenty of times that I'm not interested in dating. I don't need anyone."

That's the truth. I hate dating. Women are vapid and, honestly, tiresome. Most of them don't care about anyone besides themselves, further proving that it's not worth it these days.

"Come on, Robert, you know that's not true. There are a lot of great women out there."

I sigh, trying to keep it together. As much as I wish I could believe them, I don't. "I know you guys both mean well, but I'm not interested. I don't need anyone. Won't you please listen to me?"

"Come on, everyone needs someone," my dad says. I shift my legs, crossing them as I look down.

They still don't understand. They think that just because it happened a while ago, it means I can just get over it. But I can't. The one time I opened my heart to someone, I got burnt and left at the altar.

"I'm sorry, I just don't need anyone. I've built my wealth and managed to secure my future without the aid of someone else."

That was true. Sure, my parents offered me a little bit when starting up, but ever since I grew this company, I haven't relied on any outside partnerships besides those that are related to the company's growth. I have yet to meet a woman who's worth my time and contributes to my overall success. I tighten my grip on my legs as I try to find the right words.

Mom and Dad don't say anything but instead stare at me. They're waiting for my response. I look up, reaching for my tea to take a long sip. At least this will get my mind off the awkwardness that their words brought forth. I place the cup down, sighing as I look at them.

"Listen, I get it. I know you guys want to see me with someone, but I don't think that'll happen anytime soon."

My mother scoffs and places her cup down. "Come on, Robert, it's been seven years since Maria. Why don't you—"

"Because I don't want to, Mom," I cut in curtly. "I don't see the point of falling in love with someone, especially when they're so quick to leave you at the altar, never to be heard from again."

Mom doesn't respond. There are no words for what she did. I gave my heart to Maria, and we were engaged for a while. It felt to me like she put all of her effort into our relationship.

Then, on the day of the wedding, she just left. I looked and looked for her but nothing. I called her, and my parents called her. Heck, even her own parents tried to look for her, but she got up and just plain disappeared.

I don't know where she is now. Not that I care. I would never take a woman back who does me that dirty. Not if my life depended on it.

My father reaches out and gently touches my shoulder. "Robert, I know that you're still upset about this, but there are better women out there."

"It's not worth it to date people."

"Sure, it is! The right person's out there for you. And I'm sure in the future, you'll meet someone amazing."

That, I doubt. There isn't anyone else out there who tugs at my heartstrings or that has ever made me feel the adoration that I had for Maria. I half-smile, standing up.

"I get it, Dad, and I know you mean well, but I doubt that'll happen."

"You never know. Life works in mysterious ways."

"Keep telling yourself that, Mom," I mutter. I reach for my keys and grab them, dropping them in my pocket.

"Anyway, I love seeing you both, but I've got to go. I have a meeting for a closing tomorrow morning and—"

"Want to come see my fishing collection, Robert? I expanded it since you were last here."

Great. Just what I need. I hesitate. Even though I don't want to, I feel like I need to.

"Sure, let's do that."

My father gets up, groaning slightly as he stands. He is getting older. Both of them are showing their age, and it concerns me that they are still living in this big house. I get where they're coming from and why they worry about me, but I don't want to settle for anyone. When they're gone, that person would be the only one I'd have left. My aunts and uncles have drifted away; they only talk to me now on the rare occasion when they need money.

It's not easy. I can't just dedicate my life to any person. It's why I've settled for loneliness rather than trying to search for my soulmate. It's easier, and there is less chance of getting burned.

We walk down toward the hall, where my father gestures to a wall filled with stuffed fish. "I told you I would do it."

I stare at each of them, amazed by my father's collections. There are catfish, trout, and even a large sturgeon against the wall.

"This is impressive!"

"Sure is. You've got to come out with me sometime."

"I'll think about it, Dad, and figure out a time we can spend the day out on the water."

I spend another hour with my parents before heading out. The last thing that I need is for them to pressure me to go out with this Jenna or anyone else. I've met her at some event a while ago and she's nice, but I feel nothing for her.

As I sit in the car gripping the wheel, I think about the other day and that girl at the coffee shop.

She was cute. A little too nice for her own good, but sweet. She caught me at a bad time. I was already late for an investor's meeting, and she took the brunt of my frustrations. And I'm intrigued to realize that I'm carrying some guilt at the way I behaved.

I sigh, shaking my head. She's pretty, with curves that would have any man staring. And she also has a sweet face, with big green eyes and a dimpled smile that could warm any heart. I doubt I'll see her again, though. She's young and probably only took it as a temp job. Besides, that coffee shop's out of the way.

As I start the car, drive down the street, and out of here, my thoughts continue to sit on the barista girl. Sure, she's nice, but she's too young, and I don't even know her.

I can't deny, however, the racing of my heart when I think about her and the possibilities that fill my mind. Maybe my decision to remain unattached isn't what I really want.