Cygen

Nathan
stood on the balcony overlooking the west end and the park and the river… it
was way too sunny out for his tastes… he would have preferred overcast, to
match his mood.

‘Happy
birthday to me…’ He whispered, singsong, to himself.

He
glared at the phone, wondering if he should just call his parents and inform
them that it was his birthday, or continue this game of waiting, hoping that at
least his mother would remember, maybe even give a damn. He didn’t hold out
much hope at all for his father… hell, neither of them particularly cared about
their offspring, beyond him being the grand prince heir to the corporation.

He’d
been groomed practically from birth to be the next company president. At
present he held office as a VP several doors down from his dad… His title might
as well have been ‘Boss’s Son’. He didn’t really care, it didn’t mean much to
him. He’d have the company one day, and the family fortune, and all that. He
showed up when he felt like it, kept his hand in the game, made sure he was
knowledgeable… but his parents both had thirty working years ahead of them, maybe
more, considering all the ‘We’re gonna live forever and ever!’ health shit they
were into.

He
glared out at the morning, and sighed. The phone rang, and he had it to his ear
before the screen flickered to life.

“Mom?”

“Nope,
guess again,” the familiar voice came as the screen slowly faded in from black.

“Oh,
hey Iris.”

“Gee,
aren’t we thrilled,” she replied dryly. “Still hoping that Mumsy
and Dadsy will remember you exist?”

“Yeah.”

“Not
worth beating yourself up over,” Iris sighed, with a shrug, pushing her hair
back over her shoulder. “So anyhow, you’re gonna be at Mickey Dolan’s at ten,
right? You’re not gonna sink into your whole ‘woe unto me, my parents don’t
love me and my nanny is dead’ routine?”

“I’ll
try,” he replied, glaring at her.

“K.
I’ll make sure I call half a dozen more times. You wanna get together for
dinner beforehand?”

“Sure
I guess…”

“Oh,
um, was gonna ask, you bringing a date or anything? I mean… haven’t heard
anything from you on that front since Charles moved out…”

“Yeah.
There’s a reason for that,” Nathan replied shortly, scowling. Chalk up one more
thing to get morose about…

“Sorry.
Kay, no date, gotcha… I’ll come pick you up at eight then. We’re taking your car,
no arguments. Mine’s not pretty enough to park at Mickey Dolan’s.”

“Yeah,
see you then.”

“Don’t
hang out by the phone all day, or you’re gonna kill the party,” Iris chided,
wagging a finger at him.

“Yeah,
whatever you say.”

“Yeah,
whatever I say. And Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy
birthday.”

The
screen flicked out to blackness, crackling as the static dissipated, and Nathan
clicked the receiver back into place with a sigh, running his fingers through
his hair and glancing out the window again as he continued his vigil.