The following day came quickly. I wasn’t even sure what time Evelyn had gotten back to the condo with the groceries she picked up. She refused any help from me, even transportation. It was annoying.

 

I was lying in bed and looking toward the windows even though they were covered with blackout curtains. I stretched and got out of bed to pull on some boxers and throw on a robe. Breakfast was already laid out on the kitchen table. I took a seat and saw a little note that read, “Breakfast in the breakfast nook.” The handwriting was delicate and pretty. She really had a sense of humor.

 

I placed my cell phone on the table and pulled the plate of fruit closer to me. Just as I dipped my spoon into the yogurt my phone rang. I swallowed and sat the spoon down, taking my time to check the name on the screen. It was my father. That was the last person I wanted to talk to. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath before answering the phone anyway.

 

“Hello,” I said somewhat loudly as I put it on speaker. I didn’t want to stop eating breakfast or stop scrolling through the news on my tablet. It wasn’t like I wanted to pay full attention to anything my father had to say anyway.

 

“I’m out here in the Keys,” he said briskly. He had a habit of responding to questions I never asked. “Sunset Key is quite a place,” he went on, “You ought to see the new cottages going up out here. Talk about top of the line. Of course you know I’m not here to see them for no reason.”

 

He went on about his newest business venture and I sort-of checked out of the ‘conversation’. Pretty much every time my dad called it was for something mundane and boring. It was all just a ploy so he could open the door of conversation to complain. And, inevitably, the complaints circled back to criticism of me.

 

“Uh huh,” I responded dully at one point.

 

“Here I am talking to you about the Keys and this great business venture but, of course, you don’t give a damn. Trying to talk to you about anything important is a waste of time. I don’t know why I keep doing it, Remi. Are you too busy fucking some dumb broad to care about the family business?”

 

“At least the family business isn’t the only thing I’ve ever cared about,” I fired back. Now my father had my full attention. “If you only cared about your family half as much–”

 

“Yeah, well, at least I have a family. You can’t get your nose out from between some dumb twat’s legs long enough to make yourself into any sort of meaningful man.”

 

I hated being interrupted, but not nearly as much as I hated how my father always berated me. What got me heated even more than that, if it were possible, was the fact that he never acknowledged any of my accomplishments.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with having fun. I know you have no clue what that means, but that’s your problem. You seem to forget I’m a self-made man,” I snarled. I was clearly angry and had no qualms defending myself. “So don’t try to tell me I haven’t done anything meaningful in life. I did it all without a single dime of your money.”

 

He scoffed at my remark, “If you want to believe I didn’t give you my knowledge of the business world then go right ahead. Whatever helps you sleep better or, in your case, fuck dumb broads better.”

 

I brushed his comment off. I knew how these arguments went and I didn’t feel like dealing with it that morning. Just then, Evelyn walked into the kitchen with a scrunched up worried look on her face. She was walking toward the fridge, but when my gaze met hers she mouthed, “Sorry.” She had overheard at least part of our ‘conversation’ over the speakerphone.

 

There was a lull in the heated conversation and I quickly reached for my phone to take it off speaker. Just then I heard him say, “I’m not going to call you a fuck-up son, because you’re not.”

 

I paused, my heart rate picking up and I held my breath.

 

I was almost ready to end the call, but now my father was saying something I rarely heard my whole life. This was one of the few times my dad had ever given me anything remotely close to a complement. I didn’t want to cut the phone call short. I could practically feel the word “but,” coming out from my dad’s mouth. Still I waited on baited breath. It didn’t matter that Evelyn was standing in the kitchen, hearing every word of the conversation. I wanted to hear what else he had to say. I naively hoped it might actually be something positive.

 

“You may not be a total fuck up, BUT you do have to get your priorities straight, son.” My heart sank. There was the turn I knew was coming even if I had hoped for something else. “Stop fucking around and partying so damn much! Stop with the endless parade of dumb broads. Those airheads might be fun to you now, but there’s more to look for in a woman than that. The perfect woman could be right under your nose and you’d find a way to fuck it up somehow.”

 

I glanced over at Evelyn. She was staring straight forward at the pantry, slender hand clenched tightly around the glass of orange juice she had poured. It was obvious she felt awkward and didn’t know what to do. I stared at her for a moment as I mulled over my father’s words.

 

“I have to go,” I said curtly before ending the call. I quietly set my phone back on the table, with the screen down and the ringer off.

 

“How much did you hear?” I asked Evelyn. A part of me didn’t want to know the answer, but I needed to.

 

Evelyn sighed and ran her hands through her wavy, dirty blonde locks. It was only then that I noticed her hair was loose, but I was too worked up from the call to pay much attention. “Too much,” she responded quietly before adding, “I’m sorry.”

 

I wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for overhearing the conversation, expressing her regret over the issue with my father, or both. I wanted to believe it was the first option. I couldn’t deal with her expressing regret for my father issues. I cleared my throat and tapped my fingers on the tabletop, shifting my gaze out the window.

 

“I’m sorry for having it on speakerphone. I’m, uh, not used to having people over in the morning.” I cringed inside. That last sentence came out wrong. That was exactly the sort of thing that magnified my playboy lifestyle my dad just chewed me out for.

 

“Right,” Evelyn said quietly. She ran her fingers through her hair again before turning to the refrigerator to pull things out for her own breakfast.

 

I watched her quietly as I started to daydream. She moved delicately and quietly throughout the kitchen. She opted for fruit and granola with a second glass of orange juice. She took a seat at the counter of the kitchen island with her back to me. She didn’t even glance in my direction the entire time. I liked that she still went about her business even if it was awkward.

 

I sighed and picked up my spoon even though I didn’t feel like eating anymore. I sat the spoon down without taking another bite and leaned back in the chair, arms crossed with eyes fixed on Evelyn. She wasn’t just some airhead I had banged and then kicked out of the apartment with a cab fare. And she wasn’t just my chef. I didn’t necessarily want to be that asshole playboy, but I couldn’t seem to break myself out of it.

 

The truth was I enjoyed it on some level. I hooked up with hot women, got off, and never had to see or speak to them again. On the flip side, I had to endure grueling dates with them beforehand. I was always bored. I knew there was a reason I loved people-watching the other couples at the Red Brick Cuisine. It wasn’t because anything was better than listening to what’s-her-name gab on about purses and makeup either.

 

Evelyn shifted on her barstool. Her hair fell over her shoulder, catching the morning light. The way it cascaded down her back was shiny and beautiful. Would ‘settling down’ with the so-called right woman be like this? Would it be quiet and peaceful?

 

I ran my hand over my temple as I watched Evelyn quietly eat her breakfast.