“Mother…and Dad,” I say, approaching the table. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

I was certainly anything but surprised when I got the call—Mother of course doing the honors—to have this little meeting. Better to clear the air now rather than later.

The two of them are sitting on one side, looking grim as ever as I pull out a chair to sit across from them.

“Have you both come to spank me for being a bad boy?” I say dryly with a deadpan expression, as I sit back in my seat.

“You know, I have a good mind to do just that,” Dad says through clenched teeth.

“Careful Dad, people already think this family is kinky enough. What would your future constituents think?” I warn in a mocking voice.

“Goddammit, Rhys!” Dad says, then silences himself as the waiter approaches.

“I’ll have a whiskey,” I say, then glance at my parents and add, “make it a double.”

“Drinking won’t help things,” Mother says.

“Speak for yourself.”

She just purses her lips at me and shakes her head with disappointment. Strike one.

Once the waiter is firmly out of earshot, Dad is the one to lay into me. “What in the world would possess you to—to do something like that, in full view of the public, knowing that I’m in the early stages of running for Congress?”

I settle back in my chair, hands laced with one another over my stomach. “Well Dad, haven’t you heard? Sex sells. You’re welcome.”

“Rhys, can you manage to be serious just for once?” Mother pleads.

I sigh. “What would be the point? We all know that this isn’t going to be a discussion, it’s going to be a double assault.”

The waiter comes back with my drink and it’s radio silence as he sets it down before me. My father cuts him off before he can finish asking if we’d like to hear the specials for tonight. When he slips away, completely unfazed, Dad picks up right where we left off.

“How exactly did you expect us to approach you? With open arms?”

“How about with an apology? Gee Rhys, as it turns out you were right all those years ago at Princeton. So sorry that we didn’t believe you. Didn’t support you. Basically pushed you off the sailboat without so much as a life jacket to keep you afloat.”

He barks out a sharp laugh. “So is this about your trust fund? If you think you’re getting it back after—”

“It’s not about the fucking trust,” I say in a weary tone, taking a long swig from my drink before adding, “Jesus, how you people would manage to survive without at least seven figures is beyond me.”

“Well, you seem to be doing well enough if you can afford the Sexton of all places.”

I give him an amused look. “I spent six months eating ramen and dollar-a-slice pizza when you first cut me off.”

My mother tilts her head to the side, as though I’m being unfair. She did try to help me out after all.

“But I don’t regret those days at all. They taught me what it was like to finally be independent, out from under your thumb. It was an eye-opener, those days of sleeping on the couches of the handful of friends I had left, before I caught a break with Sex on the Line, which you no doubt already know about by now.”

“We’ve always known about the show Rhys,” Mother says.

That’s the first thing uttered at this meeting that takes me by surprise. My drink is halfway to my mouth as I stare at them in shock. Mother has a sympathetic smile on her face. Dad has a smug smile on his, like he’s just won the fucking Super Bowl.

“So…you’ve known about this all along?”

“Rhys,” Mother says patiently. “You have a very distinctive voice. It isn’t as though people who know you well wouldn’t have recognized it.”

That tiny thread, loosened in my brain the night that Prynne found out about Mr. XO now unravels completely. All the people who may have recognized my voice, but said nothing, come unravel with it. I take a long sip of my drink.

“Did you honestly think we’ve gone this long without knowing what you were up to?” Dad says, prickling me enough to bring me out of my own thoughts.

“That ‘what I was up to’ just so happens to be my career, and a very lucrative one at that.”

“Which was fine so long as you were anonymous, or at least not advertising who you were. Plausible deniability and whatnot. The people in our circles who knew you had enough tact to keep quiet about it and so we let it continue.”

I cough out a laugh. “Let it continue? In case you hadn’t noticed Dad, the apron strings were cut a while ago. By your hand, I might add.”

Dad shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Mother hides a reluctant smile behind her glass of water.

“The only reason I’m here today is to find out just how much meddling you plan on doing in my life—the one that you helped to ruin originally—during this crazy idea you have of running for Senate.”

“Since you ask, let’s discuss it,” Dad says, once again settling into his element. I settle into the second half of my double whiskey.

“Now that this Meghan thing is cleared up, I’m thinking when we get closer to the actual campaign itself, we can do a series of public—”

“No.”

The nice thing about my voice is that it does have an effect on people. That simple word is enough to shut Dad up. I knew exactly where he was going with this before he finished his first sentence.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the only one Meghan owed an apology to and she gave me one. I accepted it. End of story. You’re not going to parade her around in some walk of shame for the cameras. Just like me, she’s entitled to move on with her life. We all are. Because frankly, I don’t want to revisit that shit either, especially not in the public eye.”

Dad stares at me like I’ve gone off the deep end. I’m surprised to find my mother looking at me with something resembling respect.

“Why on earth wouldn’t you take advantage of the fact that—”

“Because I don’t take advantage of people, Dad. That’s something you might want to remember on the off chance you win and become a public servant.”

“It’s going to come out, son. These boils are best lanced before they have a chance to fester.”

“As frighteningly vivid as that description is, I’m going to have to part ways with you on this one. You decide to drag up this old dirty laundry just to cleanse it in your own form of bleach, then I’m going to stay right here in the mud where I belong.”

“Well, that’s certainly an apt way of putting it. Speaking of which, let’s move on to the next scandal. The Sexton? Really? And your little partner in crime, I’m sure that wasn’t by accident.”

I think about the hour I spent with Prynne at Agent Provocateur. Those were the last moments of fun, the apex of our relationship—and yes, we were definitely at the relationship point—where we could finally let loose and be comfortable around one another. One outfit she tried on, in particular, made her look like a hired assassin in the form of a dominatrix. Like something from that scene in Mr. & Mrs. Smith, except Angelina Jolie has nothing on Prynne Dawson when it comes to sex appeal.

“Well, you know, Dad,” I say, feeling just a tad troublesome, “at the time, I was thinking to myself, what woman could I choose who would best ruin Dad’s chances of running for office? Lo and behold, there she was on my doorstep. The epitome of family values and Christian purity just waiting to be sullied by yours truly.” In a way, it’s true enough to be amusing.

“I’m almost inclined to actually believe that,” Dad says, staring at me as though he honestly thinks that. “Did this girl even know what she was getting herself into?”

I set the glass in my hand down so hard that what little is left of my whiskey manages to find its way onto the tablecloth.

“This woman is named Prynne Dawson, and Prynne Dawson is someone you aren’t going near with a ten-foot pole, Dad.”

He stares at me in shock for a moment. Then his mouth opens to counter with yet another comeback, before Mother places one calm hand on his arm.

“I think,” she begins, looking first at me, then at Dad, “that maybe we should give Rhys a chance to explain himself,” she turns back to me with a pointed look, “without any sarcasm or joking, and,” she turns back to Dad to give him the same pointed look, “without any interruption.”

I’m sure both Dad and I have the same expressions of mild surprise on our faces. Ninety-nine percent of the time Mother lets Dad do the talking. That’s what happens when you choose to marry someone who graduated in the top-five-percent of his class at Harvard Law School; a man who has worked both in one of the top law firms in the country and on the bench.

Dad sighs and relaxes into his seat, finally picking up the glass of whiskey in front of him to take a sip. Like father, like son.

“Okay then, Rhys, enlighten us.”

I sip on my own whiskey, considering him over the glass as I think about what to say.

“You know, despite it all, I still love you Dad.” That’s yet another shock to his system, one he wasn’t quite prepared for. His drink hangs in the air on the way to his mouth, which now hangs open as he stares at me. “Once upon a time we actually got along, actually enjoyed each other’s company, had fun together. I realize now, that was when you still had hope for me. Sorry I didn’t turn out to be the next JFK or G.W. or John Q Adams to continue whatever legacy you’re plotting with this Senate run. But I like my life the way it is, and you can accept it or not. Either way, I’m not changing.

“As for Prynne Dawson, well, the heart wants what it wants. Mine found hers. If all goes well, I plan on making it work between us. And no, that may not fit into your plans of a scandal-free campaign, but frankly…I don’t give a shit. What I do give a shit about is her. So, I repeat, hands off. Completely.”

I finish off the rest of my drink and stand up. “As much as I like this place, I’m going to have to pass on dinner with the two of you. I seem to have lost my appetite. Besides, I’ve got the next Sex on the Line show to prepare for. I have a feeling listenership will be higher than average this week. I better make it a good one.”