01 Summer Invitation

01

Summer invitation

“I don’t need a vacation. I need him.”

Ryan Smith’s voice cracked through the room, sharp and angry. He threw the paper onto the marble table, frustration creasing his brow as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t get it, does he?”

Margaret stood silently across the room, her eyes heavy with emotion she wouldn’t let spill. She had raised him since birth, fed him, soothed his cries, clapped for his first steps. She was everything his real mother couldn’t be. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father had checked out emotionally ever since.

Light spilled into the room as Margaret stepped forward, her features sharp but soft with concern. She looked too young to carry the weight she did, early thirties, porcelain skin, tired eyes. The years have been kind to her face but unkind to her heart. 

“You have to go, Ryan,” she said, steady and sure. “Your grandmother is expecting you. It’ll do you good to spend time with her.” 

Ryan turned toward the window, jaw tight as the city lights glittered in the distance. His father’s home office situated in the Smith's mansion felt colder than usual. He’d come here expecting a conversation. Instead, Margaret had handed him a letter, his father’s new idea of communication.

“He just doesn’t understand,” Ryan said, louder now. “I need him. I need his attention, not this!” He pointed at the letter, voice raw.

Margaret didn’t flinch. “You need to calm down.”

She knew this side of him, the short temper, the boiling anger. Alexander, his father, had it too. Like father, like son. A small, tired smile tugged at her lips as her thoughts drifted to Alexander before she forced it away.

“And worse, you’re not even coming with me,” Ryan said, his voice dropping lower. “If he wants me to accept this... then you have to come.”

She shook her head gently, already bracing for this. “You’re going, Ryan. I’m not needed there.”

He scowled but didn’t argue. At eighteen, he still clung to the hope that his father would someday see him. His birthday was last week. The party was extravagant, white tents, expensive decorations, chandeliers, expensive drinks, music, but his father didn’t show up. Not a message. Not even a call. Just silence.

“I don’t want to go alone,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Margaret heard it. She paused, her back already turned, before saying softly, “You won’t be alone. You’ll be with your grandmother. She loves you.”

“But it’s not the same,” he whispered.

“How will you know that when you haven't spent maximum time with her?” She was met with silence. 

Margaret turned to leave, her tone final. “We will start packing after I make you something to eat. Come to the kitchen.”

Ryan followed her to the kitchen, his presence casting a quiet tension around them. The mansion staff shifted out of the way quickly, as if the weight of his anger could crash into them at any second. No one wants to be a scapegoat or get lashed on. They knew better. 

In the kitchen, Margaret moved like clockwork, opening drawers, reaching out for spices, her motion smooth and practiced over the years, preparing his meal while Ryan leaned over the counter, arms folded, watching her with furrowed brows.

“Margaret,” he called quietly.

She turned to face him.

“Are you... happy I’m leaving?” His voice was softer now, uncertain. “You don’t even look a little sad.”

She blinked, surprised. Then, with a sigh, she placed his plate on the dining table and pulled him to sit beside her. “Ryan,” she murmured, taking his hand. “Since the day you were born, I’ve never spent a night away from you. Do you really think I’m happy about this?”

His face remained hard, but she saw the crack in his expression. She knows him better than anyone.

“It’s just for a month,” she continued. “And it’s your father’s decision. You know how stubborn he is.”

Ryan grunted a half-laugh. “We both are.”

“That’s why you butt heads so much.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Besides, I won’t say I’m not relieved. I’ll finally get a break from babysitting you.” She grinned. 

He shot her a look, and she laughed.

“I’m kidding. Of course I’ll miss you. But I’ll be right here when you get back.” She stood abruptly. “Now eat. I’ll pack your bags.”

“And call your grandma. Let her know you’re coming!” she shouted over her shoulder as she walked out.

Ryan rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. He tapped the number and held it to his ear, expecting the warm, familiar voice of his grandmother.

“Hello?” came a voice. A young feminine voice. Which is definitely not his grandma. 

Ryan stiffened. “Who is this? Why do you have my grandma’s phone?” He snapped. 

The girl scoffed on the other end. “Arrogant much?”

He blinked, caught off guard.

“She went out to get something and left her phone,” the girl replied casually. “I’ll tell her you called.” Then, click. She hung up.

Ryan stared at his phone in disbelief. Someone actually hung up on him? 

Meanwhile, across town, Tessy frowned at the name flashing across the phone screen before it dimmed. “Grams’ grandson?” she muttered. “No way. That arrogant mutt? He and Grams are nothing alike.”

Just then the front door opened.

“Tessy!”

Tessy rushed forward to help the older woman with her bags. “Welcome, Grams. What’s all this? What’s the occasion?”

Grams smiled as they headed into the kitchen. “Thank you, dear. My grandson’s coming to stay, so I went to get his favorites. Need to stock up.”

Tessy’s heart dropped. She froze in a place for a second before following grams in with a careful expression. 

“Your... grandson?” she asked carefully.

“Yes. We barely spend time together, but now he’ll be here for a whole month.”

Tessy turned back to the groceries, the unease settling in her stomach. That boy? Here?

“He called earlier,” she added over her shoulder. “Wanted to speak with you.”

Grams gasped. “Oh goodness! I left my phone again, didn’t I?”

She rushed to the living room, fussing over her forgotten device and Tessy just stared at the counter, trying to shake off the tension curling in her gut. She ran her hands through her curls, frowning as she tried to process it. Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

Still… she couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was about to change.