Extending Our Hearts

XXII. Dinner

Extending Our Hearts

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OUR DINNER with the Cooper family was supposed to be last week but was cancelled by a very revengeful Nonna. Still furious about not being allowed to cook for them, she'd called the secretary and said that the whole family got diarrhea which resulted in the meeting being rescheduled for today. 

Saturday.

I hear my mother cursing someone out on the phone and calling out for Talia who runs into her office.

She also had to reschedule the caterer which made it all the more stressful for her already strained self.

I also asked dad why we had to have this dinner with them and he gave a vague summary.

Apparently, the Coopers aren't wealthy but the father's company is somewhat influential with them being one of the founders of the city's banks.

Around two years ago, they'd let go of quite a few of their shares for family time. Of course my mother had input in this part and said they hadn't willingly done it but rather because the father had a gambling problem.

Then again mom could have also said that because she's resentful. Another thing about my mother, no one can do better than her.

"Theodore," my mother calls from the kitchen."This is important, come here."

I enter the large cooking area and see the brown haired woman that's supposed to be my mother.

She pours some tea in a mug before looking at me."Tonight, you introduce yourself as Theodore Toretti."

"No jokes," she says and puts a hand on her waist.

"I also expect you and your sister to socialise with their kids," she pauses to take a sip of her drink. "Make a good impression."

I nod and point upstairs to which she nods. 

"Téo," my father's voice interrupts as I walk past him on the couch. "Your mother-"

I scowl at him, "Is stressed? She's always stressed."

"Watch your tone, everything we do is for you," he stresses on the last word.

I tsk and shake my head in disbelief, "Right, because you never meant to build an empire."

"You are making this much harder than it needs to be on yourself Theodore," he throws the newspaper on the coffee table in front of his seat.

"Yeah," I nod. "Always my fault, never your own."

With that I stomp upstairs and continue to stuff my belongings into different boxes.