Page 90 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession
Paul and Hana Ruaidhrí have aged, Ma more so than Da. My father’s face has deeper lines and grooves around his persistently frowning mouth and on his forehead, his hair grayer and receding more, but he still stands tall and proud.
I’ve never known my mother as a happy person, but right now, the small woman looks miserable. I want to put it down to Nan’s passing but I know it's not.
Her tanned skin is sallow, and her thick, curly hair, which was once lustrous and coal black—a testament to her Polynesian heritage—looks dull and stringy. And is it me, or does her posture seem more stooped? She isn’t even fifty yet!
Tears sting my eyes because the little girl, the troubled teen, or the young adult who needed them badly was never chosen over their piety and religious beliefs.
And they still continue to deny me, going by the hostility in my father’s eyes and the hurt disappointment in my mother’s. How loveable could I be if my own parents think I'm beyond redemption?
“Hi, Ma, Da,” I say, hovering by the door, my voice already cracking. This house is more home to me than any place I’ve ever known, but because of these two people in the room, I don't feel like I belong here.
To my surprise, my mother’s face breaks into a tremulous smile. “Siobhán.” She comes over to me, and I see that her eyesare glassy, but she keeps a smile on her face. “Siobhán.” She holds me at arm's length, looking at me intently. My hair, my earrings. She looks like she wants to say more.
After what feels like an intense battle, she pulls me into her arms and hugs me tight. I want to push her away. Instead, I start to sob. She still smells like mint and cloves. I feel her body shaking with silent sobs, too. Her hold tightens, almost painfully, around me and then abruptly, she sets me apart, dabbing discreetly at her eyes.
“Siobhán, it’s been so long,” she says in a surprisingly strong voice. She looks like a different woman from the one who took me in her arms just now. “Y’ know yer always welcome back home, no matter what’s been done.”
That’s not my home anymore. It’s not been my home in a decade. Maybe it's never even been my home.
“I’m so sorry about Nan,” I say instead.
“We all feel it, love.” Her eyes skitter away from mine, nervously glancing back towards where my father watches with disapproval. I don’t think he’s too happy with my mom’s reception. “Greet yer da.” She nudges me toward him.
I go to my dad because he won’t come to me. He was standing by the window when I came in and hasn’t moved an inch since. He’s still looking into the street. At the Rolls-Royce.
“Dia dhuit, Da."Hello, Father.
My father eyes my hair and expensive clothes with distaste. He doesn’t move to embrace me. “Still livin’ the high life, I see.”
“Paul, please, not now.” My mother’s soft, pleading voice floats over the sudden roaring in my ears.
I can't say anything because my throat has closed up.
“We were never enough for yer tastes, were we?” He points to the luxury car sitting in the street.
I was the one who was never enough for you.
“I’ve got a job now, Da, in New York. And that’s just the airport transfer,” I tell him, hating how I feel like I have to justify any part of my life to him.
His eyebrows shoot up. “All the way from Dublin? Wasn't the 717 bus good enough? Or a regular taxi? But no, ye roll in with a Ghost, flauntin’ how far ye've come from the Limerick days.”
I’m too shocked to say anything. Shocked because the Harmonial master, the ultimate peddler of poverty, knows that the car is a Rolls-Royce Ghost. I can bet my life that Mother wouldn’t have the foggiest clue about the make, much less its model.
Red-faced now, he continues, “Ye've been an embarrassment to yer ma and me and the entire sect with all your gallivantin’. It's clear as day yer still at it in the States.”
“Now look here—” Twiggy begins.
“Hold your tongue, lad. Yer only still here because t’was ye that discovered the body,” my father warns.
I’m hit by an unexpected bolt of pain.
The body. The body!My beloved Nan, reduced to those two cruel words. I crumple to the nearest chair, suddenly unable to stand as it hits me afresh that the only person who gave me a home worth coming back to is no longer here.
Twiggy marvels at my father’s callousness. “Bloody hell! Ye’ve not seen yer daughter in ten years, and this is how ya greet her? No wonder she ran away.”
“She ran away because she wasn’t willin’ to atone for her wrongdoings, and I’ll talk however I see fit. I’m her da and her Sect master. Maybe if ye heard some hard truths yerself, ye’d not be as off the rails as ye are.”
“Spittin’ seed and a babe from yer crotch doesn’t make ye lot parents,” Twiggy snaps.