Free Hotel Ruby by Suzanne Young

trying to get used to seeing my father like this. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair is tamed with gel or mousse, making it flat and old-fashioned. He’s clean shaven, rosy cheeked. But strangest of all, he’s interested in our lives again.
    â€œDon’t know,” Daniel says, picking up a drumstick of fried chicken. “Might meet Catherine later, but until then I’ll probably work out. You?”
    â€œI received an invitation to the party in the ballroom tonight.” Our father laughs and takes a sip of wine. “Can’t remember the last time I attended a formal event. Probably my wedding.”
    I divert my eyes to the white linen tablecloth. The way he said it—like his past with my mother was some casual memory—hurts. I wait for Daniel’s reaction.
    â€œYou’re going to the party?” he asks our father witha strained voice. Daniel is clearly rattled by the mention of our mother, but in typical fashion he’s ignoring it. If he doesn’t acknowledge that she died, it can’t hurt him. That’s what he told me once, anyway.
    â€œYes, I thought I might have a drink or two,” Dad says. “You should come. I believe you received your invite?”
    Daniel crinkles his nose. “Yeah, but it’s not exactly my scene. A bunch of old people, isn’t it?”
    â€œNot all of them.” Dad laughs. “But I’ll be doing my part for the senior citizens.”
    He’s funny. I forgot that about him. Daniel smiles, and suddenly I’m the odd one out of this family-bonding moment. “I didn’t get an invitation to the party,” I say, feeling slighted.
    Daniel smirks. “You must have pissed someone off, then.”
    â€œWhatever,” I say. “I wasn’t going to go anyway. I don’t want to be stuck at some stuffy party all night. And that guy Kenneth at the front desk? What a tool. I’d rather find my own form of entertainment.”
    My father’s hand tightens around his glass, and he takes a sip of wine. “Then I should probably alert housekeeping,” he says through pursed lips. “Your idea of entertainment involves property damage.”
    His words are a slap in the face, a harsh dose of reality in the dreamlike peace we’ve found in the hotel. I blink quickly, humiliated. Angry. My father starts to apologize,but Daniel drops his food and starts to wipe his hands on his napkin, pushing back his chair like we’re leaving.
    Dad never did wait for an explanation about the house party that got Daniel and me sent away. I figured he didn’t care enough for me to offer him one either. It was almost three weeks ago—a Saturday, the day after my birthday. Daniel had brought me home one of those Hostess mini apple pies, tossing it like a football to where I sat alone in the kitchen.
    â€œHappy seventeenth,” he said with a smile, his arm around the stray he’d brought home. She snapped her gum, all blond curls and attitude, unimpressed with my existence. I thanked him, though, because Daniel had remembered my birthday and my father had not. He’d stayed at his office the last three nights, and I started to doubt he was coming home at all.
    After my brother left, I went up to my parents’ room and sat on the bed. My mother’s memory had been scrubbed from the house, even her scent. All that was left were a few pictures that stood on the mantel in the family room. I waited on the bed until dark, but my father still didn’t come home.
    My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out to see Ryan was calling again. I still don’t understand why he stayed with me. I had never come out and told him that I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he should have seen it. Instead he treated me like a sick child—his love a chicken soup for my lonely soul. But it seemed too cruelto leave him now. I’d end up married to him someday, I figured. It was the only