Mixed Signals Read online

  “Your sister’s campaign is a perfect launching platform,” his father said with that familiar tone of mild chastisement that Frank knew all too well. He suppressed a groan and rolled his eyes at Nancy.

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t care. My numbers in the polls have gone up, and MudzNewz has done everything short of endorse my campaign. Do whatever you want after I’m elected!” Nancy crowed. Her husband, Warren, and Alexandra, her twelve-year-old daughter, shook their heads in resignation.

  His father, unsurprisingly, was not only unsympathetic but actually glowed as if being presented with another grandchild.

  Frank’s brother Geoffrey was with them for a change, along with his wife, Beya, and their two daughters. He wiped the youngest girl’s chin—she was only four—then laughed at Frank. “Half my undergrad students think you’re hot, Frank. I think one of them even has a publicity still of you set as her laptop wallpaper. So, hey, man, use that to your advantage.”

  Beya sighed and shared a sympathetic look with Frank. She was possibly one of the most gorgeous women Frank had ever met and was the only one in the family who understand the frustrations of being beautiful. While they never talked about it, Frank knew she was the only real ally he had at the table. She understood the drive to stay out of the spotlight, having been a well-known model during her teens because her parents had pushed her into the career. She caused quite a stir with the socialite crowd when she left New York City on Geoff’s arm. Despite being the son of Dr. Alexander Sheldon, he was a dowdy academic who hated big parties, and everyone said that Beya had married down—behind her back, of course.

  “He is not public property, Geoff,” Beya said, her expression clearly revealing that she knew the argument was pointless but making it anyway for Frank’s sake. He gave her a grateful smile.

  “It’s not as if he’s got any other plans in life.” Geoff didn’t even look up from wiping his daughter’s food off her face.

  Their father laughed as if it was a silly joke and not the literal truth that Frank and his siblings knew it to be. He turned to Frank. “Politics would be good for you. You could run for your sister’s seat after she becomes governor! Your mother would be so proud.”

  Frank tried not to cringe at the mention of his mother, because it was true. It was also the last thing on earth he wanted to do. He remembered the huge scandal of his discharge, and how much he had hated having his private life dragged through the proverbial mud. He once again dreamed of being born the ugly child.

  “I’m helping Nancy, aren’t I? That’s enough for now. And anyway, I do have plans. I’m a planning kind of guy.”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

  “What?”

  His father looked on him kindly, as if humoring him. “And what are these mysterious plans you’ve failed to mention every other time we’ve had a discussion about your future?”

  Geoffrey and Nancy abandoned him wholesale to shove food in their mouths and study their wineglasses, their spouses following suit like the traitors they all were. Dr. Sheldon on the hunt was not a person any of them wanted to be in the direct path of, even if they were married with kids or running for governor. Frank really did not know what he was saying; he just wanted to derail any plans his father might concoct concerning getting his youngest son into politics, which seemed to be where the conversation was headed with or without him.

  His brain flailed around while his father stared him down. “It’s kind of new.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “And maybe a bit… unorthodox.”

  His father just continued staring at him.

  “It’s… uh. “ He stalled, the image of Benjamin’s smirky, devilish smile coming to mind. “It’s a video game.”

  Geoffrey choked on his wine, while Nancy and Warren looked appalled.

  Alexandra, on the other hand, perked up. “First-person shooter?”

  “Uh—” Frank started, wondering how to get out of the conversation quickly.

  “That’s quite the departure, Francis.” His father’s voice dripped disbelief.

  “Well, a friend of a friend, really, and it’s something of a breakthrough, and we’re still in the coding stage.”

  “Right. Well. Let me know if you need any… ah, any help.”

  Frank was pretty sure his father meant “if you need me to bail your sorry ass out,” but he nodded frantically and was immensely grateful that just then Geoffrey’s youngest daughter decided to start wailing for the stuffed toy she dropped.

  After dinner was “family time” which was code for “grandpa time” while Frank’s father commandeered his three granddaughters into the garden room facing the back patio for board games or lessons in world domination; Frank wasn’t placing bets either way. This left “the kids” to wander off to the old gentlemen’s parlor, which had been altered over the course of the past century to act as more of a private den for family, and serve themselves drinks from the small bar there. No servants, including Harris, were allowed in the room if it was occupied, so it was as close to a private space as they ever got in the mansion.

  “Video game?” Geoffrey drawled as he collapsed onto the old paisley sofa next to Beya, sloshing his whiskey.

  “Shut up,” Frank grumbled.

  “Ha! I knew it! You were lying!” Nancy cackled, fixing herself a daiquiri. As soon as it was finished, Frank snatched it off the bar top and walked away, Nancy squawking in outrage. Warren gently pushed her aside and went about making two more.

  “He wasn’t lying,” Beya said serenely, propping her feet up in Geoffrey’s lap as she settled against the armrest.

  Geoff looked at her skeptically. “He wasn’t?”

  “I wasn’t?” Frank eyeballed her.

  “No, you had something in mind when you said that. Someone? I could tell by the look on your face, you were remembering something.”

  Frank took the overly stuffed wingback chair, leaving the love seat for Nancy and Warren. “That’s true. It’s tough to explain, though. Might not be something I can invest in.” He sighed, sipping his drink. “But it has to do with planes. Flight.” He waved a hand around.

  “That, at least, would be using your talents,” Nancy said, sitting down with her. “I love you, brother, but I can’t see you as a state senator. You handled the politics of the Air Force pretty well, for the most part, but this is a whole different ball game.”

  Warren, who was a former Navy officer, nodded. “She’s right. There’s some backstabbing in the military, but at least the rules are clear-cut. I wouldn’t last a day before throwing some slimy ‘good old boy’ out a window.”

  Frank’s eyebrows went up. “Are you saying dealing with the spouses is easier?”

  “It really is. We all go for pedicures and wine to decide who is hosting which charity ball. Except for Emily—she gets the breast cancer one. And Colin, he does Nature Conservancy. Anyone who challenges those two ends up thrown out of the salon barefoot. Literally.” He shrugged. “It’s fun.”

  Nancy nodded. “His toenails are a lot prettier than mine.”

  Warren jabbed an elbow into her ribs, and she retaliated in kind.

  “Children, please,” Frank intoned. “You’ll spill your drinks.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Warren said, leaning away from his wife and looking over at Frank. “You should join me at the Wives Club.”

  Frank paused at that, suspicious. “Will they try to set me up with their gay sons or brothers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, no.”

  “Your loss.” Warren shrugged, then looked thoughtful. “Or maybe not. I’m not a good judge on whether another man is sexy.”

  “Lies! You have a raging man crush on Chris Evans,” Nancy piped up.

  “Well, who doesn’t?” Beya said, and even Geoff nodded at that.

  Frank raised his glass in salute.

  At that point the conversation drifted off into all the things adults talk about when children are not arou
nd: movies, television, and food. Beya and Geoff were foodies and knew all the restaurants in the whole tricounty region, so Frank and Nancy interrogated them for information about a few new places that had opened up. That drifted to shows everyone was behind on watching, except Frank, who, being single and childless, managed to keep up. Which, eventually, turned back around to the topic of “What is Francis doing with his life?” and Frank’s cue to get a fresh drink.

  “You love kids!” Beya insisted, again, as she always did.

  “I love other people’s kids. Like yours. I especially like giving them back to you at the end of the day.” Frank poured himself a double.

  “Speaking of, Father’s kept them all for a long time.” Nancy checked her watch.

  “You’re complaining?” Warren asked, sprawled back on the love seat.

  “Not… much?” she tried, and everyone booed her.

  “I’m just saying,” Beya broke in. “I’m just saying, Frank, you love kids, you love family—would it be so terrible to settle down? Find the right person and make a home?”

  “Seriously reconsidering going to New York on Uncle Peter’s dime right about now,” Frank said as he plopped down in his chair again with his fresh drink. Everyone groaned.

  Nancy sighed her serious “I’m the oldest and I’m done with your shit” sigh. “Then do it. But don’t spin lies to Father about some ridiculous video game start-up.”

  “It might not be a lie! Sort of,” Frank challenged.

  Geoff leaned forward. “Hey, investing in some tech start-up doing something with planes—no shame in that. Don’t know why you had to lie about some video game.” Geoff shook his head with disappointment.

  “I panicked, okay? I’m not proud of it, but there it is,” Frank grumbled. “Father wants me to accomplish something. I get that, okay? I get it. But our ideas of success have never aligned.”

  Beya clucked softly. “Lying will not win you any points with your father, Francis.” Her lovely Tunisian accent always made his name sound more lyrical than Frank thought it deserved. It also made him feel guilty—she had become the ad hoc moral center of the family a long time ago, only partially because of her strong religious faith. She was simply a very good person, and in Frank’s opinion deserved so much better in life than his boring older brother.

  “I know. I know, okay? But it’s out there now.”

  Nancy hummed a little and everyone looked at her, because that never boded well for any of them.

  “What?” Frank asked, glaring at her.

  “What’s it worth to you for us to go along with this silly story?” She grinned, evil to the core.

  “What,” Frank repeated, even though he had a good idea of where she was going.

  “Oh dear God, Nance, what are you talking about?” Warren groaned. Beya and Geoff avidly watched the exchange.

  “I need you to put in to have your discharge upgraded.”

  Beya, Geoff, and Warren all hissed at her but Nancy looked at Frank head-on, like a train bracing for impact.

  Since the 2011 repeal of the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy that allowed for service members to be discharged for homosexual conduct, it was possible for anyone whose discharge was “Other Than Honorable” to file a request to have it upgraded to “Honorable.” For some vets it meant the difference between having access to health care and other veteran support services, or going without. Some did it in order to join the National Guard; others wanted nothing more than official recognition that they did nothing wrong by being queer.

  Frank was not any of those people. “No.”

  “Oh yes. Or I will let Father know you were lying.”

  “Oh, Nancy, that’s low,” Beya said, radiating disappointment.

  Nancy did not even flinch. She kept looking at Frank. “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to open that can of worms, Nancy. It’s bad enough I have to see that bastard everywhere because of this campaign. I’m not doing it. I’d rather fess up to Father.”

  “One, Father has been wanting you to upgrade the discharge since the repeal of DADT. It’s important to him, but he doesn’t bug you about it because you fly off the handle whenever anyone brings it up—”

  “I’m not off the handle yet,” he snarled at her.

  “And two, it’ll be a nice boost of publicity for my campaign. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t need you to do this. You’re helping out by showing up and talking game at the rallies and dinners. That’s great.” She shrugged. “But it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “My firm could handle it. Jorge has done similar cases. He’s familiar with the military, and he’s hungry to make partner in less than ten years.” Warren set his elbows on his knees like he always did when talking business.

  “I’d rather let Father know I was lying. I’m dead serious about that. The discharge happened and I want to leave it behind me.”

  Before anyone could say anything, the door to the room opened and Frank’s father came in, grinning ear to ear, Alexandra on his heels. “Francis!”

  “Father?”

  “Alexandra is so excited about your video game project, she showed me her favorite game.”

  “Alex, where are my daughters?” Beya asked Frank’s father politely, looking pointedly through the door to the empty hallway beyond.

  “Amelia took them to the kitchen to ‘help’ make cookies,” Frank’s father said with a dismissive wave. Beya casually got up and did not run out of the room. Frank could have told her not to bother, since Amelia, the family chef, had been teaching Sheldons how to bake cookies for thirty years. Geoff just rolled his eyes.

  “He loves it!” Alexandra barked out at last, unable to control herself. Usually she was the calm one, having inherited Warren’s military stoicism and Nancy’s cagey, secretive mind. Everyone stared at her until she figured out she had forgotten to share some information. “Minecraft!”

  Geoff groaned and slapped a hand to his face, but no one else understood. Frank thought it sounded familiar, maybe some kind of app? A game?

  “I do!” his father exclaimed, coming in and sitting next to Geoff in Beya’s abandoned seat. “It’s a game. Alexandra insisted I play it with her on that game thing in the family den—”

  “Xbox, Grandpa,” Alexandra huffed.

  “Yes, that. It was delightful! And surprisingly challenging.”

  “He did good!”

  “Did well,” Geoff and Nancy corrected together.

  “He did well,” Alexandra parroted. “I showed him the house I’m building in creative mode; then we went and started a fresh adventure game, ran into some mobs, but Grandpa sure can run.” She nodded sagely despite the fact that her audience had no idea what she was talking about.

  “It’s so clever! You build your own world. Would your game be doing that, Francis? I have to admit the graphics are clunky, but charming.” He smiled at Alexandra and patted the seat next to him. She flew across the room and landed next to her grandfather with a huge grin. Shockingly, Frank’s father then started reeling off the many reasons he enjoyed playing a game that Frank barely even knew existed, and how educational and entertaining it was, and finished with “I feel like a video game could be a very worthy investment, with the right focus.” He stopped there, gazing at Frank with a lively expression that, Frank had to admit with some bitterness, he had not seen directed his way since he got accepted to the Air Force Academy.

  Nancy narrowed her eyes at Frank, and he realized this was the fork in the road. This was the point where he caved to needing his father’s approval and agreed to Nancy’s well-meaning blackmail, or turned his back on both of them. Since his mother’s death, he had been reeling from the feeling of being at arm’s length from his family. It had been his mother who supported him the most, and from whom he had always sought approval. Without her there to temper his father’s austere judgments of Frank’s life choices, Frank was caught between asserting his independence and needing his family’s approval.

  It wasn’t much of
a choice.

  He took a deep breath. “I can’t reveal too much right now because of the NDA, but I can promise you it will just as much fun and educational as Craftminers.”

  “Minecraft,” Alexandra hissed at him while his father beamed approval and Nancy cheered.

  He was so fucked.

  Chapter Eight

  THE MORNING after the family dinner, Frank woke up in his childhood bed in the room that would be “his” bedroom until he died, no matter where else he lived. Nancy was in line to lead the family into the next century, and she would get the master bedroom after the death of their father, so by tradition, Geoff and Frank, like all Sheldons who were not the first born, got to keep their rooms. It was cold comfort.

  He lay in bed and considered the promises he had made under the influence of three daiquiris and cowardice: fight to get his discharge upgraded and start a video game company. Both sounded utterly ridiculous to him, exercises in pointlessness because he did not care.

  And yet.

  The idea of having a reason to see Benjamin again appealed. It would be challenging because he would have to convince Benjamin to help him pretend to run a video game start-up, but if anyone could do it, it was the clever and snide and brilliant Dr. Kaplan. And there was the real appeal of getting to see Kaplan regularly, to continue their flirting and possibly get his hands on the guy’s fantastic, plump ass.

  Frank tapped his fingers on his chest, considering his plan. He realized that he did not need to actually ever produce anything, though. They only needed to come up with something plausible, something believable enough to look legit, and then tank it in a year due to market research or some other bullshit. His father burned through medical technology patents like matches, waiting for one to strike. Nothing in business was guaranteed. It would be easy to sell the idea that the company simply failed to achieve liftoff.