Chapter 53

CHAPTER 53

SPENCER

I walked around my apartment, making sure there was nothing I wouldn't want my parents to see. They were going to be spending their time in New York with me. I was not looking forward to it.

I carried a few bottles of water into the guest room that I had cleaned and readied for their stay. I put the water in the mini fridge in the room.

Seeing the neat guestroom, the plush carpet, and the expensive bed sheets and fine furniture was all a testament to my success. I couldn't help but nitpick the little things, thinking I should have bought better pillows and had different artwork in the room. My second-guessing was a reminder and my childhood came rushing back, the constant criticisms and the never-ending list of expectations. It was never good enough.

I didn't know why I was trying to impress them. It wasn't like the home they provided for me growing up was anything to write home about. I could have made them a bed out of money and there would still be something for them to complain about. I did all I could to make them happy. This visit was going to be a challenge, just like every visit with them was.

I checked the time. Their flight would be landing in an hour. I felt a flutter of anxiety in my stomach, a dull throb that intensified with every passing minute. Despite the success I had found, the wealth that I had gathered, I knew they would find some flaw, some perceived failure to harp on.

With fresh eyes, I headed back down the hall to my main living space. I looked at the place like I was one of the toughest inspectors. I straightened a vase, adjusted a picture frame, and fluffed up the cushions on the couch. But no matter how many times I straightened, adjusted, and fluffed, I could feel my stomach knotting.

Marlow had offered to be here with me, but I had to do this on my own. Plus, I wasn't sure I wanted my parents knowing about her. It would just give them something else to judge.

I glanced in the mirror, noting the tension in my jaw, the slight furrow in my brow. I adjusted my tie and attempted a smile. My reflection just stared back at me, giving me nothing to console my nerves. Looking at the clock again, I noticed it was time to leave.

They would be expecting me at the airport. I was not about to be late. That would not get the visit off to a good start. I grabbed my keys and headed out into the buzzing city streets. Thankfully, I gave myself plenty of time to get there.

I stood at the domestic arrivals terminal, my foot tapping anxiously as I scanned the crowd for my parents with the new throng of people flooding into the area. I knew it was their flight that was moving toward baggage claim. It was an odd feeling, knowing they were coming, yet dreading their arrival. I loved them, but every visit seemed to reinforce just how different our lives had become. They didn't know me at all.

When I finally spotted them, I couldn't help but smile despite myself. There they were, in wide-brimmed sun hats, tropical shirts, and shorts, looking every bit the tourists. It was like they wanted everyone to know they were Floridians. Their tans and casual attire didn't quite fit with the New York weather.

"Spencer!" My mother's voice was loud and cheerful as she waved, the bangles on her wrist jangling. My father followed behind, looking slightly less enthused but still smiling. He was carrying both of their carry-on bags.

"Hey, Mom. Dad," I greeted them, taking their bags. "How was the flight?"

"Long," my father grumbled. "But they had free drinks, so it wasn't all bad."

My mother frowned at him before turning her attention to me. "It's so cold here! How do you live like this? I miss Florida already."

I chuckled, leading them toward baggage claim. "It's mid-autumn, Mom. You grew up here. You know it's not like Florida in the fall."

She harrumphed, pulling her jacket from one of the bags I was carrying. She pulled her coat tighter around herself. "Well, I don't miss it."

I laughed again, softer this time. "Well, I'll put the heater up for you in the apartment. You'll be fine."

We collected their bags, Mom complaining about the way they were handled. Dad took one and I took the other. I was tempted to ask how long they planned on staying. I thought it was a visit, but with as much luggage as they brought, it might be longer than I expected. I wasn't mentally prepared for that.

We reached my car, and I loaded their bags into the trunk. As we got in, my mother taking the back seat, she continued to lament about the weather. "Oh, the beaches were so nice. I don't understand how you can stand this cold, Spencer."

I started the car, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "I've lived here my entire life. I don't know any different. Besides, it's not that cold yet."

"Well, the smell of the city is enough to make you gag," she complained.

This was my mother. There was nothing that made her happy. Nothing was good enough.

Then, just as predictably, my father chimed in. His two cents typically parroted my mother. "Well, to be fair, the beaches do have a certain charm to them. The sun, the sand…"

"You guys are retired," I reminded them. Not mentioning they were retired because I made that possible. They didn't have to work for their money. They just called me.

As usual, traffic was a bit of a nightmare. I barely noticed.

"Oh my God," Mom complained. "I should have used the restroom in the airport. I forgot how terrible it is trying to get anywhere in this city."

"It's not even that bad today," I said with a sigh.

"Are we even moving?" she added, her eyes fixed on the gridlocked traffic ahead of us.

Dad chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "Patience, dear. Remember, it's not about the destination, it's about the journey."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his attempt to make light of the situation. "We'll get there," I assured her.

"Are you in a penthouse?" Mom asked.

"Yes. Kind of."

"What does that mean?" she snapped.

"It's not a typical penthouse you would see in one of the massive residential buildings," I explained. "It's an older building that has been renovated."

"That sounds… nice," she muttered.

"It's my home," I responded simply, not bothering to hide the hint of irritation in my voice. It was clear that this visit was going to be just as trying as the last one.

The rest of the drive remained quiet, punctuated only by the occasional rattle of bangles as my mother fidgeted in her seat. By the time we arrived at my building, I was on the verge of turning right back around and putting them on the next flight out. My nerves were shot, and we'd been together thirty minutes. I took a deep breath, reminding myself this was temporary.

"Your building has character," Dad observed as he looked up at it. His tone was neutral, but I could tell he was making an effort to be positive. Unlike Mom, he often tried to be a little more diplomatic.

"Well, I consider it home," I replied.

I got their bags from the trunk and led them inside the lobby. Inside was a quiet contrast to the bustling city streets. The polished wooden floors and minimal furnishings and decorations were exactly why I liked the building. It wasn't trying to sell luxury. People that lived in the building knew what we paid. We didn't have to advertise it to the world.

"You don't even have an elevator?" Mom sounded horrified, as though the very concept of stairs was beneath her.

"Yes, it's over here," I answered calmly.

"Goodness, this is so rustic," she commented as we stepped into the elevator.

I ignored the comment and used my key to get us to my apartment on the top floor. I knew my apartment was beautiful, but I was suddenly nervous for her to see it. She was going to hate it. We stepped off the elevator and into my foyer. We walked into the living room, and I waited. I wondered what she would critique.

"Oh," she began, taking a sweeping look around the space. "Well, this is quaint."

It was the tone of her voice more than the words themselves that stung. Quaint equaled small in her language. Despite my state-of-the-art kitchen, hardwood floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a breathtaking view of the city, my apartment would never measure up to their sprawling beach house. The house I bought them.

"It's perfect for one person," Dad offered diplomatically, walking over to the window. "You have a great view, Spencer."

"Thanks, Dad." I appreciated his attempt at pacifying the situation even though I knew it wasn't really heartfelt. "I'll show you to the guestroom," I said, leading them down the hallway.

I opened the door and stepped back to let them inside. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for them to reply.

"This is it?" My mother looked around, unimpressed. Her disappointment was all over her face.

"Yep," I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "Come on, let's get you settled."

My mother looked around, her nose wrinkling slightly. "It's cozy."

"That's a good thing, right?"

"It's small," she corrected. "Compared to that lovely hotel you put us up in last time. That place was beautiful and comfortable."

I sighed, knowing where this was going. I wasn't going to beg her to stay in my apartment. I only offered because I didn't want them to think I didn't want them to stay. It seemed like the polite thing to do.

"I can book you the same hotel if you'd prefer," I offered, trying not to sound too excited.

Her face lit up. "Oh, would you? We had such a wonderful time there. That hotel bar is just dreamy. And the room service? Darling, do you remember how good it was?" She turned to my father, who nodded.

"Good beer," he said simply.

I remembered the hotel room bill being racked up to high heavens last time. They took full advantage of the room service, massages, and every other perk. But seeing the eagerness in their faces, I nodded.

I walked out of the room and quickly called the hotel to book them a room. Fortunately, there was a vacancy.

"Alright, all set," I said. "I can take you over there now."

"Perfect." Mom smiled for the first time. So did I.

The hotel wasn't too far from my building. When we arrived at the hotel, my mother schmoozed the desk clerk, trying to get a free upgrade. When it became clear there was nothing to be done, she started being a real Karen about it. She wanted the best of the best—period. There would be no peace unless she got it.

I just handed over my credit card. "Can we have the nicest suite available?" I asked the clerk, who nodded and processed the upgrade.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Spencer!" my mother gushed, kissing my cheek. "You're such a good son."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Look, I'd like you to come back to my place later tonight for dinner. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

My father perked up. "Who's that?"

"A friend," I said, knowing it was better to keep it vague for now. "I'm going to cook for you."

My father frowned. "Why don't we go to a restaurant instead?"

"Whatever, that works too," I said, not wanting to argue.

They went back and forth for a bit, mentioning they had intended to see a Broadway show, but finally they agreed to dinner. With me. They made it sound like such a chore. On that, we could agree. Everything with them was more difficult than it needed to be.

"I'll send a car for you and see you at seven," I said.

I left them to make their own way to their room. I wasn't going to pay for the room and then act as the bellhop. I had some pride left, after all.