"You seem to be more attached to your mother than your dad," I said to Robbie, cracking the car window to let in some of the late-afternoon breeze.
"Yeah," Robbie answered, casually shifting gears.
Twen sat in the backseat, slouched into the seat, intensely focused on the game he was playing on Robbie's phone. Yesterday, we told him we'd be meeting his grandmother. I had expected some curiosity, or maybe even resistance, but instead, he'd just asked if it was she who wanted to meet him. When Robbie told him she was dying to, Twen only shrugged and said, "Okay." His indifference unsettled me. I couldn't tell if he was happy about the meeting or just numb to it.
I glanced at the road ahead as we hit the bypass; Saturday traffic was thick and slow-moving. The evening gridlock was already settling in. To distract myself from the building tension in my stomach, I glanced over at Robbie.
"Do you hate your dad?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
He didn't answer immediately. His focus stayed on the road. We reached a traffic light, and as the car rolled to a stop behind a Volvo, he looked at me with an unreadable expression.
"I don't hate him," he finally said. "But I'm not close to him, like I am with Mum. He's always looked at things through a business lens. Family, love, relationships... they only matter to him if they strengthen the Walker brand. If something threatens that image, he cuts it off, clean and efficient. No exceptions."
The light turned green, and Robbie accelerated hard, making the car lurch forward. I could hear the tension in his voice, even though he kept his tone steady. I knew this wasn't a topic he often allowed himself to touch.
We were headed to a café called Paris Delite, which, according to Robbie, was near his mother's jewelry showroom, Coruscant. My nerves were flaring up again, so I kept the conversation going, hoping it would ground me.
"Have you ever just sat down with him?" I asked. "Talked things through? Tried to show him your perspective?"
"I've tried," he said, turning sharply. I instinctively braced against the door. Twen's phone slipped from his hand and tumbled toward the gearstick. I reached out, picked it up, checked the screen, and handed it back to him. Twen took it with a sigh and resumed playing, seemingly unfazed.
Robbie glanced at me and continued, "If it's not about business, he's not interested. The last time we even had a remotely personal conversation was when I confronted him about Twen. He orchestrated everything with Sarah and Joshua. That should give you a sense of how obsessed he is with appearances."
I kept quiet for a moment before saying, "Sometimes... silence builds walls faster than arguments do. Maybe you both need to scream at each other just to understand where you stand."
Robbie gave a dry chuckle but didn't say anything. I knew that chuckle meant let's drop it.
So I pivoted. "I was surprised to hear about the merger with Hotel Plaza. They've been your biggest rival for years. Are they going to keep their brand name?"
"Yeah. This isn't an acquisition. It's a merger. They'll retain their brand. The value of Plaza is in the name. The merger's about assets, operations, and profit-sharing. It's more about consolidation and efficiency. This deal is a huge step forward, and Dad usually handles these things, but I've been tasked with it. Roger's helping me, his assistant, you've met him."
Most of that went over my head. I didn't understand the intricacies of business mergers or asset portfolios, but I could sense the weight of what he was carrying.
"Your dad must really trust you," I offered.
Robbie pulled into the Paris Delite parking lot, cut the engine, and leaned back in his seat. For a moment, he stared ahead in silence before turning to me.
"I wouldn't say he trusts me," he said, voice lower now. "He's testing me."
That stung. Not because I doubted him, but because I knew how painful it was to live constantly trying to prove your worth to someone who only saw numbers.
He opened the window slightly and turned in his seat. "Twen," he said, "are you done with the game? Can I have my phone?"
"One more minute, I've almost killed the last boss," Twen muttered, his fingers flying across the screen. Then suddenly, "NOOO! I lost!"
Robbie and I both struggled not to laugh. Twen groaned in frustration and shoved the phone toward Robbie, grumbling about his next attempt.
Robbie quickly dialed and put the phone to his ear. "Mum? Oh, Alice? Where is she?"
While he talked, I glanced back at Twen, who was muttering about strategies and weak enemies. I smiled faintly. It made me think of how childhood had changed; screen games replacing skinned knees and muddy jerseys. Still, he was just a kid trying to find his joy.
Robbie was speaking fast, but I tuned him out. His earlier words about his father echoed in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was the wedge between them. Robbie's love for me, and for Twen, went against everything his father stood for. I wondered if his mother felt the same way. Was I just another disappointment in her son's life?
"Mum will be here in fifteen minutes," Robbie said, putting away his phone. "Let's go inside."
He turned to Twen with a gentle voice, "Grandma will be here soon. Want to come wait inside with us?"
Twen nodded and jumped out of the car. Robbie grinned and extended his hand to him. Twen stared at it for a second, then quietly took it. The smile that bloomed on Robbie's face at that moment was almost childlike. He looked over his shoulder at me and beckoned me forward, his joy radiant.
The café was charming, nothing flashy, but full of warmth. It had a lived-in kind of comfort: polished wooden floors, warm-toned walls, and soft lighting that gave everything a golden glow. It felt... safe. Like a place that welcomed everyone without judgment.
Robbie led us to a cozy semicircle booth. I sank into the cushions, grateful for the comfort. He grinned.
"I knew you'd like this place," he said. "You've always preferred cozy to glitzy."
I looked around, taking in the design choices. "It's lovely. The kind of place where people talk for hours without realizing it."
"They've got the best cold coffee in the city, Heaven Cream Cuppa. You've gotta try it."
"If you say so," I chuckled.
We ordered two of those, along with pastries and snacks. Robbie tried to get Twen to try a sip, but I nixed that fast. "No caffeine," I said, firm. "He's seven."
Twen pouted and took a sulky bite of his chocolate truffle.
Twenty minutes passed. Robbie kept checking his phone, and I began to worry that something had happened. Then I heard it, the sharp, rhythmic clack of heels across tile behind us. We both turned.
Robbie's face lit up.
"Mum."