My father laughed, cawing like a buzzard. I hated everything about that laugh. It was cruel and harsh, the laugh he’d used to give whenever he’d watch me fail. Ever since I was a child I’d heard that high laughter whenever something would happen to cause me harm while I was out playing or involved in some sport or another. It had felt much worse back when I was so desperate for his approval, before I learned that nothing I did would ever be good enough.
“The only way that a bastard like you can hope to inherit while there is a legitimate heir living is by being the first to marry a respectable woman before I pass—something that you with all your ‘prowess’ couldn’t even manage.” He chuckled as he looked at me over his food. “I’ve won, Tristan. And for the rest of your days you’ll know that a fetus was more worthy of my love than you ever were.”
He was right.
He’d found a way to take everything that I had hoped to gain in my life and put it into the arms of a shriveled little fetus. It was as though something that I had waited for all of these years was ripped from my fingers just as I was about to see it be mine. I wanted to scream, to flip over the table and send his food flying, and stab him in the eyes with the fork in his hand. I felt myself getting red in the face, heat rising at the back of my neck as his chuckle turned into another round of raucous laughter.
“That look,” he laughed, throwing his head back as food fell from between his lips. “That has made me a happier man than anything ever has in my life.” The old man shook his head, a smile cut across his face from ear to ear. “I’ve wanted to see that look on your face—to tell you that you get nothing from me after I’ve died—for as long as you’ve been alive. Now you can go off to where I hoped that whore of a mother would have; out of sight and out of mind.”
I wasn’t sure how I managed to keep myself under control, to stop myself from leaning across that table and drowning him in his soup, but somehow I managed. I could hardly feel my face, let alone tell what kind of expression I was making as I watched my father laugh as though he’d just heard the best joke on the face of the planet. I was sure that all was lost.
But then I realized that I had a chance—a slim one, but a chance none-the-less.
I could get married—find a woman to settle down with and before my father could kick his proverbial bucket—I would be the one to inherit everything. All I’d have to do was find a woman willing, but therein lay the problem in its fullness. Who would be daft enough to even consider marrying me? Especially with the kind of reputation that I had. I couldn’t deny that I was a lover of women, and having that kind of reputation tends to make one undesirable for the purposes of matrimony. But then again there were always those women convinced that they could change men like me, fix us and teach us to be tied down and contained. The thought of it made me squirm but if I could use that to torture my father one last time before he died then it would all be worth it. After all, divorce was always a viable option.
I couldn’t help but smile as the old man continued to cackle madly, all the while totally unaware that he’d given me all I needed to make him eat every last one of those words. The old bat didn’t think I’d ever be able to keep a woman long enough, that my appetite for the tender company of women would drive any decent find far away; but I knew exactly the person to help me—my father’s own stepdaughter, Gwendolyn.
“You’re right, Father. I must concede defeat,” I said, a wily smile crossing my face. I watched as my father’s expression fell, unable to see me sulk over the news of this injustice. I’d snatched his victory and I’d snatch it again before he even knew what was happening. “Congratulations. You’ve beaten me in our little game. No use being a poor sport about it. I must be off, however. I have an important appointment and I mustn’t delay with something so trivial as our wife’s prenatal status.”
I wanted so much to giggle at the fury growing on his face as I trivialized what he considered to be the greatest victory of his life. It was the mark of a petty man that the suffering of others be their own comfort, and my father was most certainly king of all that was petty.
I stood, flashed him a venomous smile and turned on my heel in military fashion before heading out the doors and out into the street to call a cab. For my plan to work I would need to be on my best behavior, keeping myself out of the spotlight as much as possible to keep the public and most importantly my father out of the loop as I prepared to ruin his entire plan for his future. Before that child was born, I would make sure that I’d make my father regret the day he was born—I know that I certainly did.