Chapter 57

CHAPTER 57

SPENCER

I woke to my phone ringing the next morning, the obnoxious sound slicing through my brain. It was too early. I wasn't interested in opening my eyes. After dinner and our walk, Marlow had come home with me. We'd stayed up until three in the morning, talking and baking the dessert we were originally going to make for my parents. It had ended up in a flour war, where both of us looked like two toddlers set loose in a pantry. I couldn't remember a time I laughed so hard or had so much fun. Well, I had slightly more fun in the shower with her afterward.

But now it was eight and I was still exhausted. Marlow was half-asleep beside me, mumbling for me to turn my phone off. I had every intention of doing just that. I pulled it from the nightstand and with one eye I looked at the screen. I saw my mother's name on the caller ID. The urge to ignore it was strong. But she would just keep calling.

I groaned and answered. "Hello?" I murmured.

"Spencer! I've been calling you all morning! What on earth are you doing ignoring me like that?"

"Sleeping," I groaned, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. "What's wrong?"

She huffed and puffed, clearly irritated. "We got kicked out of the hotel."

My gut dropped. "Why?"

"It's silly, really. An overreaction."

Somehow, I knew her idea of them overreacting was the staff responding to something she had done. She was the only person on this planet that could find something wrong and turn it into an all-out tragedy. My mother had perfected the art of making a mountain out of a molehill. Few people could have a grain of sand and turn it into a boulder, but my mother could do it.

"What happened?" I asked, rubbing my face to try and wake myself up.

"It was just a misunderstanding," she said.

"What did you do?" I asked with frustration.

"Why would you assume it was me?" She scoffed. "Am I not supposed to expect quality service and accommodations? We're in a suite for God's sakes!"

"What did you do?" I asked again.

"Well, all I did was ask the housekeeping lady to redo the bed because it wasn't made to my satisfaction. She didn't understand English very well, I think. It escalated a bit, yes, but she was being so difficult!"

My suspicion grew. "Escalated? In what way?"

There was a moment of silence on the line, and I could practically see her biting her lip. "She… might have ended up with a bit of shampoo in her eyes. Accidentally, of course."

I groaned and dragged a hand down my face. "Mother, you can't just assault people?—"

"I know, I know," she cut me off. "But it was your father that really did it."

"I did nothing wrong," I heard him say.

"He got angry at the manager, and let's just say, your father has quite a temper when he's angry."

I could sense her trying to cushion the impact of what had truly happened. As if it was a minor mistake that everyone made once in a while. I tightened my grip around the phone, hoping this was a nightmare. "What exactly did he do?"

"Well, he may have thrown a bottle of champagne at the concierge desk."

I let out an exasperated sigh and fell back on the bed. This was not happening. Not now. Not after the amazing night I had with Marlow. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ward off the impending headache. "You got kicked out because you attacked a housekeeper and Dad threw a champagne bottle at the concierge desk? Are you in jail? You should be in jail. That's assault!"

"You're being dramatic," she said. "No one was hurt. You're jumping to conclusions. That is not what it was."

"That's exactly how it is, Mom!" I half-shouted, trying to keep my volume down so as not to disturb Marlow. "Where are you now?"

"Your father and I have been standing on the curb for an hour trying to get a hold of you so we can come to your place," she snapped, as if it was my fault she was out on her ass.

I sighed, the irritation bubbling up. "Why didn't you call a cab?"

"Is that really what's important right now? It's raining, and we're cold. We need you to come get us."

I glanced at Marlow, still nestled under the covers. How was I going to leave her in my bed and go out into the cold? Especially when I was being asked to choose between what my mother was offering and being right here with Marlow.

"I'll send a car," I said.

"You're not going to come get us yourself?" she asked, her tone incredulous.

"I just woke up. If you want me to come get you, you'll have to wait another hour. Or I can send the car now. Your choice."

She opted for the car.

"Don't talk to the driver," I warned. "Don't say shit to him. And if you get anything near his eyes, you're on your own. You get your asses in the car, and you keep your mouths shut. If he kicks you out, you'll have to walk or take the subway."

"Spencer!" she gasped.

"You heard me, Mother," I retorted, a hint of steel in my voice. "You've already managed to get kicked out of a hotel today. We don't need you going after a chauffeur, too."

A huff sounded from the other end of the line. "Well, I never."

"And another thing," I continued, finding this sudden assertion surprisingly cathartic. "When you get here, don't expect to be catered to hand and foot. I have my own life. You two need to learn to sort your own messes out."

Silence reigned on the line for a few moments, before my mother eventually ended the call.

"Is everything okay?" Marlow murmured.

"Yes, go back to sleep."

I dropped a kiss on the side of her head and slid out of bed, being careful not to disturb her. I quietly made my way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. When I got out, Marlow was still fast asleep. I left her in bed and went to the kitchen. The thought of making myself a stiff drink to deal with my parents crossed my mind. But I resisted and put on coffee, mentally preparing myself for the storm of my parents' arrival. It was clear they were both already fired up, which was not boding well for me.

I sipped my coffee, thinking I should probably call the hotel and make amends. It was my credit card on file. My name was somewhat known in the city. I didn't want that kind of bullshit associated with me.

I dialed the hotel's number. After a few rings, the voice of a pleasant-sounding woman answered.

"I'm Spencer Kane," I said in a low voice, taking a deep breath before I continued. "The couple that was just kicked out? That was my parents. I'd like to apologize for their behavior."

There was a brief pause. When she spoke again, her voice held an edge of surprise and relief. "Oh, Mr. Kane! Your parents certainly gave us a run for our money today."

"I can only imagine," I responded, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "I assure you, this is not typical behavior for them—or for me."

"Your father was quite loud," she continued. "Claims that our champagne was subpar and that we were intentionally slighting him."

I pinched the bridge of my nose harder. It was all too much. "Right. So, what do I need to do to smooth this over?"

"Well, you're already doing it," she replied with a soft chuckle. "An apology goes a long way. I'm not sure we can allow your parents back in the hotel, however."

"That sounds fair," I agreed. "I'd like to pay for any damages caused and make sure this doesn't affect future reservations for me." I didn't need a scandal with the hotel blowing back on me and ultimately the company.

"Certainly, Mr. Kane. We value your patronage and understand that you can't always control the behavior of others, no matter how close they might be to you."

"Thank you. I appreciate your understanding," I said, my voice heavy with gratitude.

"My pleasure, Mr. Kane. I'll charge the card on file. I'm sorry about the disturbance."

"I am too," I replied, and with that, I ended the call.

I refilled my cup and moved to the living room, switching on the TV for some noise to fill the silence and hopefully distract me from the coming storm. It was too soon when the door buzzed. I knew it was them and quickly allowed them up.

I waited for them in the foyer. It was as bad as I expected. My mother scowled at me, leaving her suitcase in the middle of the entryway.

"I'm soaked," she snapped.

"It's too cold in here," Dad complained. "With it this big and open, it's too hard to heat with all the big windows."

"I'll turn up the heat," I said with a sigh. "Mom, you can take your bags to the guestroom."

"I'll do it," Dad growled. "Get your mother something warm to drink. She's likely to catch pneumonia."

He grumbled as he walked away, dragging their suitcases across my pristine floors.

"I'll get you some coffee," I said.

"I'd prefer tea," she replied, taking off her coat and tossing it over one of my antique tables. "Earl Grey."

"I don't have tea," I said.

"What? Why wouldn't you have tea?"

"Because I don't like tea. I have coffee, hot and ready."

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, if that's all you have. I need to get warm. Those monsters wouldn't even let us wait in the lobby."

"They were probably cleaning up all that broken glass," I said. They had made asses out of themselves.

I busied myself pouring two cups of coffee for her and my father.

"I'll need cream," she said. "You always drink such stout coffee."

"I'll get the cream," I said, gritting my teeth and doing my best to keep my frustration from showing.

As I poured a dash of cream into her coffee, she looked around the apartment with a critical eye. The early morning light that bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted the vast expanse of the open floor plan, something I loved.

"The place is too quiet," she announced suddenly.

"That's a good thing, Mom," I muttered under my breath but obediently flicked the switch on the Bose speaker system. Soft classical music filled the room.

"What's that noise?" Dad asked, coming back into the kitchen.

"Mom said it was too quiet," I replied.

He took a sip of his coffee and looked around before walking to the windows to look outside.

"I imagine this place cost you a pretty penny," he said. "Do you feel like a king looking down on your subjects?"

"Only when I look down from my rooftop balcony," I quipped.

He shot me a dirty look, clearly not appreciating my sense of humor. "Spencer, you could learn to be a bit more modest with your money," my father spat.

"You mean the money you two have been living off of for the better half of a decade?" I retorted.

His eyes narrowed. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

Marlow came out from the bedroom, looking beautiful even with her hair tousled from sleep. She stood in the hallway as my father gave me a tongue lashing and my mother wept invisible tears. My father's tirade about how I spent my money and what a disappointment I was as a son was too much. He claimed I disrespected them.

It was enough. Too much. I was done.

"Get out," I said firmly.

My parents reeled. "You're kicking us out?" he asked.

"Get out!"

"How could you be so heartless?" Mom gasped. "It's raining and cold!"

Dad glared at me, stomping down the hall, past Marlow. He returned with their bags.

I opened the front door, seeing them out into the hall. "I'll keep paying your mortgage, your taxes, your car payments, your cellphone bills, and all your fucking utilities," I snarled. "And I'll still give you your monthly allowance so you can continue to freeload off me. And then I'll put you in the best elderly home my money can buy, right on the ocean, in Florida, far away from me. You need a new roof? I'll buy that too. Tickets to a Panthers game? Fine. Whatever you need. My money is your money. But this?" I gestured from myself to them. "I'm done with this."

I closed the door on their faces and leaned against it, feeling a mix of relief and guilt.