Page 1 of Billionaire Grump
1
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ivy? I really think you’re making a huge mistake.”
I’m on the train, video chatting with my best friend Cleo, my hair tied back and my baseball cap pulled down low. I can always count on my level-headed bestie to be the voice of reason. “That’s definitely possible.”
I came straight from yoga, so I’m wearing leggings and a zipped-up hoodie, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
The train isn’t overly busy. It’s mid-morning on a Saturday and I’m on my way from Grand Central Station out to Stamford, Connecticut. I know I’m more likely to be recognized by the groups of college students and young couples who are filling the train than if I was on a Monday morning commuter train. Which is why I keep my cap low.
I don’t mind if people want to say hi. That part of being sort-of famous is kind of cool. Most people are nice. They tell me they love my music or that they follow me on social media, they ask for a selfie, then they get on with their day. It’s the silent, not-at-all-subtle filming and the stealth photography that freaks me out. I’d much rather people said something to me than try to stalk me when I’m sitting right next to them.
When I was sure no one was close enough to listen in, I called Cleo, who’s trying to talk me out of what I’m about to do.
“Ive? Seriously. This is a bad idea.”
I chew my lip, staring at Cleo’s concerned face on the screen, framed by her honey-blond curls.
“You’re probably right. But this isn’t about me, Cleo. I’m doing it for Josh.”
“Does Josh even want your father at his graduation?”
“I mean, he says he doesn’t. But deep down I think maybe he actually does. Graduation is a big deal. It might be nice for him to have…you know, a family.”
“We can be his family. Found family is just as good. And in this case probably better.”
“I know.” I do know. I’ve almost jumped off the train at each stop we’ve made. “But I figure there’s really nothing to lose by extending the olive branch one last time.”
Cleo sighs. “You’re a better woman than I am, Ive. If my dad ditched me and my sisters when we were kids so he could lavish attention all over his new family, I wouldn’t have spoken to the bastard ever again.”
I shrug. “Like I said, it’s about Josh.”
“Even if your dad did come to the graduation—which we both know is unlikely—Josh might feel more anger over the whole AWOL father thing than joy over a family reunion that we all know is too little too late. It seems to me you’re just inviting drama that no one wants.”
“Maybe.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, yes. But maybe if our father sees what a great man Josh is growing into, he’ll realize he fucked up by walking away. If he sees what he’s been missing out on, it might make him want to be in Josh’s life a little more. And it might give Josh some closure. He’s just so pissed off at life in general. I was hoping maybe it would help.”
Cleo shakes her head. “It’s wishful thinking.”
“It’s hopeful thinking.”
I know Cleo means well, but it’s easy to judge when you come from the perfect family unit. Her parents are still madly in love after thirty years of marriage and support everything their children do—logistically, emotionally and financially. Cleo’s parents never missed a single piano recital, softball game or school play. Not to mention a single payment for the upscale boarding schools or the college tuition. Mr. and Mrs. Ellis were and still are the kind of parents you’d find in a Disney movie about suburbia gone right, a successful advertising executive and his well-presented, loving domestic goddess of a wife who baked, sewed and was the PTA member everyone liked. “Your dad knows you’re coming out to see him, right?”
“I sent him two emails.”
“Did he reply?”
I pause as a group of teenagers walk past me onto the train, hiding under the rim of my hat. “Nope.”
“But you think he’ll be there?”
Part of the reason I’m making this trip on the weekend is because my dad is a lawyer and he works at a law firm in Stamford. I didn’t want to visit him at work. A small part of me wonders if maybe his receptionists have been given strict instructions to turn me and Josh away, if we ever happened to turn up. At least if I visit him at home he has no buffer besides his trophy wife Anita.
But who knows, he might be a golfer or something, spending exorbitant amounts of money on country club fees and meanwhile disinheriting his two oldest children.
“If he’s not there after he’s seen my emails, then I guess that tells me everything I need to know. All I’m doing is taking him up on his offer to ‘visit anytime.’”
I cringe thinking about the lame Christmas email he sent. In January. His half-assed once-a-year attempt to keep us from being completely estranged. It’s almost more of an insult than if he totally pretended we didn’t exist.
Merry Christmas! I hope the two of you are doing well. Visit anytime! Dad.