Chapter 14 #2
He stands up and wraps me in an embrace. I tense. I don’t remember the last time we hugged.
“It’s good to see you, son,” he rasps.
I pat his back before he steps back. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”
The biggest surprise? It really is good to see him. I was prepared for the wave of guilt, blame, shame. Fuck, I was even ready for a stern dressing-down or an argument.
I wasn’t ready to deal with the flood of sap that cruises through my veins at that moment. I didn’t realize how much I missed him.
I’ve been so buried in my shame, in avoiding the issue, and running away from it, that I didn’t allow myself to feel the hurt of our estrangement.
“I took the liberty of choosing the wine. This conversation is perhaps more suitable for a tumbler of whiskey, but we’re at a steakhouse.”
That’s my dad alright, always leaning into expectations and norms, even if it’s against his own preferences.
He gestures to the waiter, who approaches with the decanter and pours me a glass. It’s an organic Zinfandel from a small vineyard in Napa Valley, and my mind immediately wanders to the ginger nymph who has been escaping me.
Would she like this vintage?
What is she doing?
Why did she run away?
The last question is returning with annoying frequency.
I raise my glass and take a sip, desperately thinking of a way to lead this conversation. My father is the only man I know who makes me search for words. It has been like that forever.
The thing is, when Senior speaks, everyone listens. I grew up in the light of that awe and respect he so effortlessly commands. As a result, I always measure my words with a care that borders on self-censorship.
Like I’m trying to mimic his authority while second-guessing every word that leaves my mouth. Like every syllable is a test I didn’t study for, but can’t afford to fail.
The lifelong habit is only emphasized given the circumstances of our encounter. I fucked up. I left. I ignored him. How does one start a conversation after that? Fuck.
“I’m sorry I made you feel that leaving was your only option.” He dives right into it.
“You didn’t—” Or maybe he did. Who knows anymore? But what staggers me is his apology. Whatever happened to the Stones never apologizing?
“Look, Alexander, you have a brilliant combination of intelligence merged with street smarts. You have a drive that pushes you beyond and above. But we didn’t realize how smart you were early on, and you went through the school system with such ease, you never learned one important thing.”
I frown in question.
“You never learned what it is to fail. We had enough worries with your siblings—”
“It’s not your fault…” Are we going to dance around it and blame it on the school system?
“Maybe not, but I think we should have challenged you more. Instead, you learned that everything comes easy to you, and when you faced your first challenge—”
“You lost a company because of me,” I snap, finally naming the issue that had spun in my head since I’d caused the situation but had never verbalized.
He raises his eyebrows, and then frowns. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve never interrupted him when he speaks, let alone this many times, or because my admission surprised him.
“The company is just an asset. I replaced that several times over since then.” He takes a sip of his wine, looking away. “I lost way more.”
Not sure if I’m as smart as everyone tends to think, because I never considered his angle. I never considered his loss.
The regret in his tone, in his expression, in those averted eyes, is as potent as the one flooding through me. Even though he’s not looking at me, lost in his own emotions, I look away.
I’m so fucking sorry. About my wrong decision. About his company. About running away. About missing the time with my family. About disappointing him.
And most of all, I’m sorry I can’t say it. I can’t apologize. That word has never been in my vocabulary. The man across from me taught me that apology is a sign of weakness.
“You must be disappointed,” I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“You’re my son. You can never disappoint me. I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished here. And perhaps the situation back home triggered you in the right direction. One you would not have entertained otherwise.”
“Silver lining,” I mutter, his pride wrapping around me like a prickly coat.
One of the reasons I lean into sarcasm, playfulness, and jokes is so that people don’t take me too seriously. I grew up being praised by everyone because I just learned things faster and more easily.
Being praised constantly doesn’t help you find friends, or even keep the peace with your siblings. So I dumb it down.
Even now, as a grown-ass man, my father’s praise gives me shivers.
This meeting is unraveling deeply hidden traumas I really fucking don’t want to address. I think childhood shit should stay right there, in my fucking childhood. Meeting my father after almost two years is stirring shit up, whether I like it or not.
I expected to rehash the situation that led to my exile. Instead, all sorts of other rehashing is happening, and the last thing I want is to show that weakness to my father.
He shrugs. “Perhaps a silver lining. Or just the way things were supposed to be. I don’t like how you got here, but I think you’re where you should be.”
I nod. “How is Mom?” I redirect before I suffocate in my own bullshit.
“Busy with her annual gala, driving everyone crazy, and claiming this is the last year she’s organizing it. The usual.” He chuckles. “But I’m sure Lottie told you that.”
I shouldn’t be surprised he knows I’ve been in touch with my sister, but I am. “She did,” I admit.
“Shall we order?”
I nod, and he raises his hand. We order steaks and more wine, and he gives me an update about my siblings and some other relatives.
Finished with his meal, he wipes his mouth. “So tell me about Merged.”
“I have a feeling you probably know enough.” I lean back.
Despite the heaviness of the circumstances, and my still unresolved guilt over the situation from two years ago, I’m enjoying his company.
“I hear your client is expanding to the West Coast.”
“It’s not a secret. The merger has been announced.” I’m just not sure why he brought it up, but I guess I might as well take advantage. “But since you mention it…”
“How can I help?”
I might still take my revenge on Roxy—her meddling is not appreciated—but I’m glad she pushed me here. It might be the first step in reconciliation with my family, and finally get us closer to that seat we promised Atlas.
“I need a seat on the Vireon board.”
He nods. “Those assholes will drive you crazy, but I still have some pull there.”
I snort. “They drove you to resignation, I hear.”
“I’m at the age when I choose carefully who I spend my time with.”
“Will you help us?”
“Of course, but I have a condition.”
And the plot thickens.
The last time he made a request—demand—my life imploded. I fucking hate that he still has so much power over my choices.