Chapter Twenty | Sometimes
You can tell a lot about a person by going through their stuff.
If you were to go through my book bag you'd find the obvious; binders, notebooks, and pens — but you would also find chapstick. Walking around with dried lips was a big pet peeve of mine. I always make sure to keep some in my backpack and some also in my locker as well. You would also find hand sanitizers, because I hate germs, and school is a playground for germs. The final and most important is a pack of gum. I love gum, and it also doesn't hurt to carry an extra piece around just in case someone else needed a piece as well.
However, what was in Asher's bag was completely dissimilar. For the most part his backpack didn't have much, but I wasn't too surprised considering he doesn't seem like the type to do work in class let alone bring it home and work. He had two notebooks, one more damaged than the other. I didn't bother going through either. Also in his bag were a pair of tangled up headphones and a half eaten pack of Sourpatch Kids.
I didn't tell him that I went through his bag when I gave it to him yesterday, he didn't need to know that. People can judge me for it, but I have a natural curiosity and I couldn't help myself. If I closed my eyes, I could still smell that familiar cinnamon scent that always lingered on him in the bag.
However, I knew that smell was about to intensify the minute I drove into the Montgomery's cobblestone driveway. To my surprise, it wasn't that difficult to find my way here. Luckily, Asher and his family lived in the same neighborhood as Ryder and a few other kids from school. I was familiar with the area and knew my way around a little bit.
The Montgomery's lived in a nice house, I guess. It was large, two floors with a modern feel. Their garage was the first thing I spotted when I pulled into the yard. It was large and I could make out the many cars parked outside and inside. I remember Asher used to always brag in elementary school that his father had more cars than everybody's family combined, and I would always roll my eyes and shove him for even thinking he could speak to me, but seeing it now, in person, I can see that he wasn't entirely lying.
However, even with a yard full of extravagant vehicles, the only person home was Braxton. He had informed me beforehand through text that he has the house to himself today so we can work in "peace". I had rolled my eyes at the message. Nothing is ever peaceful when Claremont's and Montgomery's are involved together.
When I get out my car and made my way to the door, I pressed the doorbell. A few moments had passed, before the front door swung open to reveal a very relaxed looking Braxton. He was dressed in very athleisure attire which made my choice of a Burberry trench coat paired with a black turtle neck and matching black jeans underneath seem a little much, but I'm not complaining. Plus, I have to meet my father down at the company after this so it's best that I dressed the way I did.
"Liam-Parris from Public Speaking, come in!" Braxton voice was louder than I had anticipated and I jumped at his tone. He sent me a toothy smile as I made my way past him and into the house.
Just as I had predicted, I'm hit with the familiar smell of cinnamon once I enter. It's like someone took Asher's scent and rubbed him throughout the entire house. It was stronger here and I feel like I'd become lightheaded the more I inhale.
"We can work in the kitchen." Braxton gestures for me to follow him, and I do but I move at a slower pace as I try to take the place in.
I looked around the large foyer at the many pieces of decorations and family touches. There's family photos of them placed on the walls around me. I spotted one of Asher's embarrassing baby photo and I was so tempted to take my phone out and take a picture of the photo, but I decided against it. It's already weird enough that I'm here in the first place.
However, among the many photos plastered around — Asher's childhood memories, Braxton's baby photos, and even photos of their little sister— I didn't see not a single photo of their mother. Even in the family photos it was just the boys and their father. I knew what Asher's mother looked like, from the many times she came to school and sat with us in the office whenever we'd get in a fight, how could I not? I always thought she was gorgeous, way too gorgeous to be Asher's mother, which is why I'm so confused why there's no photo of the woman around.
"Do you want anything to drink?" Braxton asked once we entered the kitchen. It's a bright, a little too bright actually. The marble counters tops, and metallic fridge didn't help either.
"No." I simply said.
Braxton shrugged his shoulders at me, before heading towards the fridge. "You can take a seat at the bar." He said, rummaging through it.
I did as he said and took a seat on one of the bar stool placed before the kitchen island. I took my notebook and pen out my backpack, before letting it hang against the back of my chair. I tapped my pen against the notebook as my eyes roamed around the room.
There's a lot of things I said I'll never do, but ended up doing it anyways; like the time I went sky diving for my fourteenth birthday, or the time I went to Malia Obama's yacht party even after she said my party wasn't that "exciting", or the time I traveled to Australia and ate kangaroo without knowing. However, when I said I'd never step foot in Asher Montgomery's house I really did mean it.
Or at least I thought I did.
"Okayyy," Braxton prolonged the word as he made his way back to the bar and took a seat next to me. He took a sip from the drink he had grabbed for himself and stared at me a moment.
He blinked at me, and I raised my brow at him, getting annoyed by his stare on me. "What?" I said.
"Do you think that if you ever have kids they'll get your new nose since my brother broke your last one?" The boy asked, before poking the side of my nose with the eraser of his pencil.
"Who the hell starts a conversation like that!" I snapped, pushing his pencil out my face.
"What?" Braxton laughed. "I'm just wondering."
"Well stop," I rolled my eyes at him, and he shrugged it off with another laugh. "Let's hurry and get this assignment over with. I have somewhere more important to be." I told him.
Braxton threw his hands up in defense, before laughing my words off and grabbing his laptop. I took note of the many Marvel and DC hero stickers placed around the MacBook cover. Of course he's into that kind of stuff.
"Where do you have to be after this?"
I raised a brow up at him. "Is that any of your business?"
"Just trying to make conversation."
"Well don't. If anything you have to say doesn't revolve around the assignment we're supposed to be working on then don't say anything to me. Got it?"
Braxton blinked his long lashes at me, tucking his lips before returning his attention to the laptop in front of him. "Bitch." He mumbled under his breath.
"What!"
"Nothing!" His facial expression quickly changed into a brighten one as he sent me another toothy grin. Crossing my arms, I glare at the boy, hoping a taste of scary-Liam will make him reconsider his choice of words, but the idiots doesn't get the message and just continues to smile away.
"Okay, so the speech has to be at least five minutes on our selected topic," Braxton quickly shifted the subject, as he read the outline for the assignment. "We have to talk about whether we disagree or agree, and also talk about why we feel the way we do."
"That doesn't sound too hard." He said, turning to me with that eerie smile of his.
I turned away from his gaze. "What's our topic again?"
"Does music today influence the youth."
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I thought about the topic. Truthfully, I agree and disagree. Sometimes when I listen to music it does have an effect on my mood, like when I'm sad and listen to sad music, it only intensify my mood, or when I'm out at the club and their playing hype music and I find myself getting lost in the music and lyrics. So yeah, I believe music does influence ones behavior, but that still doesn't mean that when I listen to music about drugs, violence, and crimes that I want to go out and do those things too.
"I agree and disagree," Braxton shrugged, typing away on his laptop. "Music can influence you just like television, but I don't think that should be the blame for a lot of things going on the world like mass shooting, the increase in gang violence and etc."
I nodded at his statement. I guess he's not as dumb as he looks. I'm a little surprised.
"What kind of music do you like?" Braxton asked, turning to me with his hands halted over his keyboard.
"What kind of music do I like?" I repeated the question. I hate when people ask me this because I can never give a straight answer. I listen to way too many categories of music to name just a few. "I like everything, honestly." I answered.
Braxton raised his a brow up at me. "Everything? Really? Even country?"
"Sometimes it slaps." I shrugged.
"Rock and roll?"
"Every now and then."
"Kpop?"
"The girls groups are good." I chuckled to myself.
Braxton eyes widened as he stared at me his mouth slightly agape, a sly smirk quickly coming over his lips. "Wow, you surprise me more and more Liam-Parris from Public Speaking."
I brush off his way of saying my name, watching as he returned his attention back to typing on his laptop. "Yeah, I mostly just listen to whatever is mainstream at the moment. I'm basic like that. Asher on the other hand has the weirdest taste in music I've ever seen."
"What do you mean?" My words left my mouth without thinking and I mentally cursed at myself. Why would I ask that? I don't care about Asher and his interest.
"The other day I caught him listening to Put Your Head On My Shoulder by Paul Anka and I was just like what the fuck man?" Braxton explained.
I cocked a brow up at him. "Paul who?"
"Exactly! Dude is weird. He's always listening to music from the 50's and 60's like it's the hottest thing out."
Asher likes vintage music? I never would have guessed that from him of all people. That's very odd of him considering the way he dresses and carries himself isn't anything like the men back in the 50's and 60's. I guess that's a good example of our topic too, since Asher isn't influenced by the music he listens to.
"You two are pretty close, huh?" I say to him, scribbling down in my notebook.
Braxton shrugged his shoulders at me, swirling around in his bar stool. "Sometimes," He answered, stopping himself in front of me. "Sometimes it feel like we have the best bond ever and there's nothing that can come between us and we're unstoppable, but then sometimes I feel like I don't even know him."
"What do you mean?" My words betrayed me again as I leaned closer to the boy.
He exhaled a sigh, his index finger gliding around the marble counter top. "I don't know. It's just that sometimes I feel that I don't even know who my brother is anymore. I remember when he left after mom died, and I was so mad at him. Like I was so upset that he just decided to leave without even telling anyone beforehand. He just randomly decided he wanted to study abroad away from everyone and dad let him, without question."
"It's sad to say, but Asher was really all I had after our mom died. Dad was throwing himself into his work to avoid everything so he was never home, so Asher took his role. He helped me with my homework, cooked for me, and even stayed up with me when I would have one of those nights. That's why I was so upset when he left because he was literally all I had left, but he was just a kid himself at the time. I shouldn't have expected so much out of him when he was going through things just like everyone else."
I blinked at Braxton, not entirely too sure how to respond to his words. I knew Asher's mother death was a hard time for him, even still it's affecting him strongly, but I didn't know it was the reason why he left.
Braxton looked up at me, and forced a faint smile that left as quickly as it came. "I'm gonna tell you something crazy. I never told this to anyone before." He began, straightening himself up in his seat. "But sometimes, I have trouble remembering what my mom even looked like. It really seems like my whole life Asher's been the one looking out for me. He's always been the one that's there. And now, when I try to remember my mom, Asher's face is the only face I can picture."
The sigh that escaped Braxton's dry lips was slow, as if his brain needed that time to process what he had just said to me. His eyes remained fixed on the marble counter top, his finger trialing around in a circle.
He looked indigo. Him and his brother shared the same somber look. Their bottom lip pouted as their eyes drifted off into the distance at nothing. He's thinking about something and I'm too afraid to ask him about what. I feel like I've already ripped off a bandage that wasn't done healing yet, and I'd hate to rip off another one.
"Okay so music influencing the youth? We agree or disagree?" Braxton abruptly blurted, his entire demeanor changing within a blink of an eye. His somber quickly shifted into a more relaxed and playful way and his pouted lips spreads into a toothy grin. I blinked at him, confused at how he can just brush off his emotions so easily like that.
But I decided not to question it when I see him turn his attention back to the laptop and continue typing, that indigo still lingering in his eyes as he stared at the screen.
"I guess a little bit of both." I answered, tucking my lips as I stared at the boy.
••••
It didn't take Braxton and I long to complete most of the assignment before I had to go meet my father at the company. We actually got most of it done, and he told me he didn't mind finishing the rest tonight so we can hurry and turn it in tomorrow. I tried to tell him he didn't have to do that, but he insisted so I just let him.
My father's company was located in the middle of downtown DC. It's the biggest building and easiest to spot with the familiar Claremont symbol plastered above on it. It's practically a tourist sight from some. I can't count the number of times I've made my way into the building and was stopped for a picture by some foreigner. It's always weird and awkward, but I guess I should get used to it because soon this will all by mine. My father said it's best to get accustomed to the press and people at a younger age anyways.
After making my way into the parking garage, I handed the valet driver my car keys so he could find me a parking spot while I hurry up inside. The valet boy reached for my keys and I quickly moved them out of his reach, harden my stare on him. "Be careful with my car, alright? The last valet decided to take it for a little spin and flex it on Instagram to his and the boy hasn't seen a job since."
The valet boy swallowed the swelling lump in his throat and nodded his head. I sent him one last look, before handing him my keys and making my way out the car.
I swear, there's new workers every time I come here. I don't get how my father's expect for me to become familiar and "friends" with any of the workers when he's firing and hiring new staff every damn day. Besides, I don't need to be friends with these people. I'll be their boss and being friends with your boss is never a good thing in the end. You get too attached, which makes it harder to discipline when they screw up.
My eyes ran up the length of the skyscraper in front of me, head tipping back as I had to nearly bend backwards just to see the top of the damn thing. The windows were shining and spotless, sunlight reflecting off of the smooth surface, nearly blinding me; I closed my eyes quickly, the bright reflection hurting my eyes as spots danced in my vision. Shaking my head to help steady myself, I opened my eyes and marched towards one of the giant revolving doors.
A pleasant smile greeted me at the front desk in the lobby. "Mr Liam, how are you?" The receptionist was kind enough, but as she studied me a bit closer, I noticed a slight shift in her attitude; the way her smile stretched beyond capacity making her look like she was about rip apart her skin.
"I'm doing fine," I quipped, looking around the building as the workers all tried to best to eye me without making it noticeable. You would think after seventeen years of roaming around this place the workers would be used to seeing my face, but they are always starstruck whenever I come in.
The way their bodies tense and their breath halts in their throat whenever I walked past them never really leaves me with a good feeling. It's like their scared of me, never even wanting to walk beside me because they're afraid.
"You father is currently having a conference on the twelfth floor. Would you still like to go to his office?" She asked picking up the phone at her desk, placing the receiver beneath her ear, waiting for me to continue.
I blew out a breath, rolling my eyes, before shrugging my shoulders. "Sure, whatever."
She put the receiver down back in its cradle and walked around the desk swiftly, making her way towards me. "I'll escort you sir," she smiled, picking up speed and passing by me entirely. She's a newer worker, I'm assuming because most staff didn't escort me to my father's office. It's not like I'm some crowned prince or anything.
The elevator ride was long and awkward, the receptionist looking frazzled as she inspected her reflection on the shining surface of one of the elevator walls. She flicked her hair back and forth, straightening her blazer and shimmying her pencil skirt down just a tad to smooth out the invisible wrinkles. I had to force myself not to roll my eyes.
Moments later, the elevator came to a halt with a soft ding. She exited swiftly and I followed behind her. My fathers office was on the top floor, the only room on the twenty-third floor so the elevators opens up directly in his office.
I always loved my father's office. The office is warm and inviting. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, which two sleek leather chairs were placed in front of. Large bookshelves lined the long wall behind the desk, and they were filled to the brim with a colorful assortment of books and vinyl records. It was an impressive collection, but paled in comparison to the magnificent view of downtown DC to the left. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the left wall, and it made for a breathtaking focal point for the office of a clearly wealthy and important man.
I try my best to ignore the many childhood pictures of myself hanging around the room.
However, when we walk into the room I realized we weren't alone. One of the janitors came from around the corner dusting, and she jumped once she spotted us. "Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't know anyone would be coming up here so soon." She talked with a latin tongue, and her pronunciation wasn't all the best, but I understood her.
"Gloria, what are you doing up here?" The receptionist asked, placing a manicured hand on her hip.
"I was just cleaning for Mr. Claremont." She tried to explain, but I could tell the receptionist didn't care as her face harden into a glare at the woman. "You don't have to clean when someone's in here, you know that right? Just hurry and go back down to the first floor. I heard the toilets are clogged down there anyway."
Gloria's shifted her gaze to floor as she nodded. "Yes ma'am.-
"No, Gloria you can stay," I interrupted, coming to Gloria's defense. "You can finish what you were doing. It's okay." I turned to her and said, and she sent me a small smile that I gladly returned.
"You clean the toilets." I pointed at the receptionist with my index finger and her eyes instantly widened at me.
"Me? I don't clean!"
I shrugged my shoulders at her, making my way over to my father's desk and taking a seat in his chair. "There's a supply closet around here somewhere. Learn, and once you do, clean the restrooms."
She gawked at me, in complete and utter disbelief. "You can't-"
"Oh, but I think I can," I raised a challenging brow at her, before I swirled around in my father's chair. "Unless you want me to get my father to ask you instead. Though his task for you may be a little harsher than mine."
The receptionist stared at me for a moment, her eyes still widened and her mouth agape, before exhaling a groan and making her back into the elevator. I sent her a playful finger wave as I watched the elevator doors slowly close, sending her back down.
There's nothing I dislike more than people being a blatant pain in the ass to someone who's just trying to do their job. At least when I'm a bitch to people it's not people who are just minding their business. I only bite when provoked. I was always taught to treat a janitor with the same respect as a CEO, but I guess someone people still haven't learned that in this workplace.
I turned to see Gloria smiling at me as she dusted away at the shelves. "Thank you." She said.
"No need to thank me," I said, getting up from my father's desk. "My father should really start picking more carefully who he hires at this place, because I see some people still don't know anything about being a decent human being." I made my way over to the mini fridge my father had placed in his office.
"You have a good head on your shoulders. You remind me much of my son."
I grabbed a bottle of juice and made my way back to the desk chair. "Yeah? Must be a smart kid." I smiled at her.
She nodded. "He's very smart and talented too. He goes to that elite private school, Stratford Academy, you know of it?"
I cocked a brow up at her. "Yeah, I go there."
Gloria's eyes widened. "Oh, then you probably know my mijo. He's there on an art scholarship. He loves to paint and draw."
No. She can't be talking about him.
"Gloria what's your last name?" I asked her.
"Perez. Gloria Perez." She answered cheekily.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
••••
Excuse any mistakes or errors
Not really feeling this chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy it. Also just wanna say thanks for all the love and support on this book. I really thought it would flop because it's not as humor driven as my other books and really dwell on serious topics such as classism and colorism. However, the support and love I've been getting is unbelievable.
Also, I love Braxton so much. He deserves the world!