Memory 1 ♡ Oops They Did It Again

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I should've known something was wrong when my father summoned my mother and I to brunch at the golf club.

He generally avoided the place like it could infect him with a disease. It was packed to the brim with the new-rich, or the old-rich who weren't as rich as they pretended. There were politicians, whom used their smooth silver tongues to extract money from anyone willing to part with it in exchange for a compliment. And the worst people of all according to father were the ones who weren't moneyed but curried themselves invitations to the club through connections.

Ugh, the proletariat, he'd say.

Meanwhile mother loved it. She hailed from a long line of wealthy people who chipped away at the family fortune with each new generation. By the time she was of an age to gallivant around the world in yachts, there was barely anything left. But she was beautiful, so she became a model and that way also achieved the life of glitz and glamor she coveted. Even if it was only in pictorials. It didn't matter if she had to return the silks after the cameras were off, if she'd worn them she could pretend the fantasy wasn't so.

That was how Alphonse Holt II fell in love with the trophy turned woman he saw in Grace Winterbourne. She fell in love with his bank account. It all happened at a party where the rich and famous mingled. They cheated on each other for decades, even when they had me. Maybe that was why my father couldn't stand the socialite scene any longer.

Somehow I was the product of all of that. A DNA test proved I really was the daughter of both of them, even if at times both denied it. I did have my Alphonse's height and Grace's reddish hair, though.

These traits caught a few pairs of eyes as I made my way through the busy club restaurant. The dress theme was an impractical white that was impossible to remove grass or mud stains from, a fact no one here cared about given that they'd only wear these garments once. I stood out like a sore thumb dressed in a persimmon dress that flowed around me like smoke. It was one of my best and most beloved creations and it was definitely a centerpiece in my portfolio. I felt comfortable and powerful when I wore it, which were assets I'd need for whatever this family meeting would bring.

I found both of them sitting at a round table, facing each other like Han Solo and Greedo.

Uh-oh.

I cleared my throat when I approached, then got sidetracked by the waiter who appeared out of thin air to pull up my chair. I didn't particularly love this part but I sat still as he unfolded my napkin and gingerly placed it on my lap, before presenting the menu. I thanked him before he left, but I wasn't sure he heard me over the sound of clinking china and deceivingly pleasant chatter.

"Adele, so great of you to join us," mother said. "It's been so long since you last showed your pretty face, child."

Her characteristic smile of deceit was in full bloom. I didn't need to get a lie detector to see that she was as pleased to see me as she was pleased by my face. In case my sarcasm didn't come across correctly: that was Addy code for she was pleased to be here for shit. And that was without considering the way she fidgeted with her own napkin.

Meanwhile my father sipped from a cup of jasmine tea, looking at his wife over the rim like she'd probably just poisoned him. I pretended to read the menu as I waited them out. That was one of the many strategies I learned while growing up with parents who could hardly stand the sight of each other. That was why I was not at all shocked by his announcement.

"Adele, your mother and I are getting a divorce."

Oh, there was something new in the menu. Mother would hate it if I ordered the brie stuffed french toast with raspberry compote. It sounded absolutely delicious.

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