darby is getting back from dropping off north at the airport when his phone buzzes in the palm of his hand. he stops midway through the walk-up and peers down at his phone.

dad

he mentally prepares himself for the phone call, because nine times out of ten, it’s far from enjoyable, buzzing himself into the front door and heading for the elevator as he brings the phone to his ear. “dad, hey.”

“silas!” his dad greets him, his voice warm and crisp with the british inflection he’d never fully lost even though he’d lived in the states since before his parents had had sienna. “glad i got a hold of you.”

that, for the record, was never a good way to start a conversation with alden darby. ten times out of ten.

“what’s up?” he got out of the elevator and makes his way to the apartment, jiggling his key in the door and almost wanting to immediately tell his dad he’ll have to call him back as his pug, oslo, waddles toward him from where he’d been sprawled out belly-up on the plush rug in front of the coffee table.

he scratches behind his ears and waits for his father to continue.

“ana noticed that you haven’t rsvp’d to our anniversary dinner.”

anäis matoko, gorgeous, materialistic - younger than alden darby’s own son - is his father’s latest wife in a string of wives. after splitting up with his mom when darby was still a pre-teen, he’d moved on from woman to woman - and several failed engagements - each woman seemingly younger than the next. variety had coined him as following in george clooney’s footsteps, and apparently, his father had taken that to heart in all the wrong ways.

but it wasn’t like darby could really tell his dad that he didn’t see the point in celebrating a one-year wedding anniversary for yet another marriage that wouldn’t make it to the next christmas.

“i guess i never saw the invitation,” he lies, his eyes betraying his words as he catches the unopened envelope with the ‘anäis matoko’ address label in the corner of his kitchen counter.

“well, it’s in a week,” his dad explains, as if this makes any sort of difference, “and i know it would mean a lot to ana if you were there. if the whole family was. vanity fair is covering the whole party, and-”

and there it is.

“so this is about your appearance. not the whole family being together,” darby’s words come out harsher than he intended for them to, but he can’t swallow them back down now. “you just need to make sure you still look like a family man.”

“that’s not very fair, silas. i think it would be good press for all of us.” a beat, and darby - however naively - thinks for a moment that maybe this will be it. “i never ask you for anything.”

“you never even make the effort to talk to me unless it’s to critique my life choices or ask for me to give an interview blurb for you, show up at a red carpet, do something that’s going to help you.”

“silas.”

but silas, as it turned out, was at the top of the rollercoaster, and the only way to go was down, down, down.

“no,” he countered. “no, because we have this conversation over and over again, and nothing ever changes, dad. you want us to look like a united front, but you don’t make any effort to be a united front. you’re only in it when it’s good for you, and…” jesus christ, having this conversation with his dad after arguing with north about complete bullshit in the middle of jfk is proving to be the very worst idea. “i want you to be happy, dad. i really do. but…”

not the time, not the time, not the time.

he bites his tongue to swallow down the words, but his dad picks up the slack. “after everything i’ve done for you to get you to where you are-”

the record scratches to a shrieking stop. his heart is a sack of lead burrowing itself down to the pit of his stomach.

“excuse me?”

“silas. think of your career. think of the opportunities you’ve been given. think of how that started, think of who helped get you to where you are.”

“are you kidding me?”

“your mother and i-”

“don’t bring up mom to me,” silas’ voice cracked with his words. “you don’t get to talk about mom. you don’t get to act like you did me some fucking favor. i was the one busting my ass at every audition. i was the one waiting for you to show up on my opening nights. and you didn’t. because you always had something better to do. you always had an excuse. but yeah, thank you for getting me to where i am, dad. it means a lot.”

the silence is palpable, static in the air between them.

darby clears his throat. “tell anäis i can’t make the party.”

he hangs up without another word, shoving his phone into the pocket of his jacket and moving to the hook by the door to grab oslo and genevieve’s leashes. they immediately scramble to the door at the familiar jingle. he hoists the door open with his dogs in tow, kicking it shut behind him and calling his sister.

“i’m coming over.”

sienna, somehow, sounds like she expected just this. “i’ll make the drinks.”