Chapter 6 #2
“A place? I thought you already had an apartment. Are you moving, Son? Are you coming back to civilization?” My father asked with slight interest as if I lived in the barren lands of Death Valley.
I shook my head and tried again. “No, no I’m not moving. It’s for my studio. I found a place with an ideal location, perfect for what I want.”
One of my mother’s pointed brows arched high. “Oh. You’re still on about that. I thought you would have moved on by now.”
To her credit, when I was younger, I’d had a few different passions I pursued but eventually grew tired of.
However, this wasn’t going to end the same way.
Each thing I’d tried in the past gave me a fraction of satisfaction, an outlet for my creativity, but it didn’t hit all the holes in my heart that glass filled.
This was different, I would see it through to the end. I wouldn’t give up on it, couldn’t.
“Yes, Mother. I’m still on about that. Glassblowing is what I’m meant to be doing, it just took me a while to find it. I’m going to have a studio and it’s going to be fantastic. You’ll see.”
My father’s eyes narrowed for a moment before looking around at the space like we might be overheard.
One thing about this elite bank, though, was that privacy was valued above all else.
Well… privacy and money. “I think we should take this conversation somewhere else. Let’s meet at the Oceanfront. ”
The Oceanfront was one of their favorite seafood restaurants.
True to its name, it was at the beach with big windows that overlooked the ocean.
It was also about twenty minutes away from the bank, which wasn’t far in regards to Orange County, but it felt like it was the furthest I could be from the task I set out to accomplish.
Leaving felt final. I had this gut feeling if we walked out the front door, we wouldn’t be coming back. There would be no paperwork to sign or money to transfer. “Why can’t we talk here? It shouldn’t take too long if you hear me out.”
The look my dad shot me was one I knew he’d mastered in his years of business.
It said, “Don’t you dare defy me.” I’d seen very successful business people cower to that look, as I had many times.
I felt my neck disappear into my shoulders before the command came.
“Oceanfront. Our regular table. Don’t drag your feet in getting there. ”
He didn’t bother to wait for a response, nor did I have one, as he and my mother turned and walked out the door.
I looked back, longingly, toward Mrs. Lewis’s office, cursing her, and the building, and the entire county. Not Bert, though, who offered me a sympathetic smile when he opened the door for me. “I hope we’ll see you again soon, Mr. Maldonado.”
“Thank you, Bert.”
The shutting of the door behind me felt like the shutting of the door to my future.
I felt heavy and defeated, dreading the early lunch with my parents, but there was no way out of it at this point.
My only hope left was to plead my case and hope they had some sort of understanding.
The thought of begging my parents made my stomach sour, but I would do it.
I would debase myself and do whatever I had to if it gave me a chance.
The drive to the restaurant felt like I was sitting in the pit watching the pendulum draw closer and closer with each swipe. Would I be able to escape or would I end up gutted?
When I got to the beach, I avoided the usual paid parking lot I preferred and went straight to the valet parking, knowing each minute my parents waited would only make things worse for me.
The host at the podium near the restaurant’s entrance wore a black suit and tie, because it was that kind of a place.
They must have known to be expecting me, as they pointed me to the booth on the far right side with their head bowed.
My parents were the only people occupying that side of the restaurant, which I was sure was at their request.
I sucked in a deep breath and forced my feet to move. With each step closer, my tie felt like it tightened around my throat, threatening to choke me, and my hands itched to tug at it. Instead, I balled them into fists at my side to keep them still.
A server reached the table right before I did, placing plates in front of my parents and one across the table for me. When she left, my mother motioned for me to sit. “I took the liberty of ordering for you, so we wouldn’t have to be interrupted.”
I tried to keep my face schooled as I sat in front of the scallops. I despised scallops, which, either my mother had done intentionally, or she was that oblivious to my likes and dislikes. I wasn’t sure which was worse. Intentional or apathetic.
I picked up my fork and pushed one of the scallops around my plate, my stomach souring even further. I forced myself to reply with as little bite in my tone as I could manage. “Thanks, Mother.”
We sat in silence for a long moment as my parents each took a bite of their food and savored it, moving in slow motion. It was torture. I might as well be in a holding cell at the police department for their expertise in breaking someone down.
At long last, my mother spoke, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager for her to start the conversation. “Tell us, Jasper… what brought you to the bank this morning?”
My mouth went dry again and I chugged a long drink of water. Dabbing my mouth with a napkin, giving myself a moment of pause, I reached deep down and tried to keep my voice steady. “I need an advance on my annual.”
My mother tutted and my father set his fork down. He stared at me with that no-nonsense expression of his. “If this is about money, the solution is simple. Take your seat in the company, and you’ll have everything you could need.”
It wasn’t simple. Working with him, with the family business, meant a slow, torturous death.
A death of a thousand papercuts. I’d spent enough time in the office to know that it would kill my soul to go corporate.
“I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t do that.
I have a business of my own, it’s just not fully up yet.
If I were to work for you, I wouldn’t have any time to pursue my own path.
As I said, the place I found is perfect.
Well, it will be once the construction is complete. ”
“Construction?” My father asked.
“Yes. Building a hot shop is a complex task.”
“And what do you hope to do with this… hot shop?” My mother asked before taking the tiniest bite of a scallop.
“By the time it’s complete, it will be a fully professional studio and will help me achieve far more than I’d ever be able to in a rented space. It will be a dream shop that will allow me to create and sell works of art.”
That accusing brow of hers arched once more, but my father spoke before she could. “The construction? This is what you need the money for?”
“Yes. We have a contract, and they’ve already been working for about a month. The deposit I paid will run out soon, though, so I will need the remainder of the funds in order to continue the work.”
My father sat up straighter and cleared his throat. A move I knew meant I needed to brace myself. His tone was as firm and condescending as I feared it would be. “You’re saying that you signed a contract without having the money available to pay in full up front?”
It wasn’t like I was the first person to pay for something along the way.
In his world, it was one of the greatest crimes you could commit.
“I paid the deposit up front as was agreed upon. I’ve been saving for this, but I didn’t expect to find the facility I’m using.
It was too good an opportunity to pass up. ”
“And it couldn’t have waited until January when you would receive your annual?” His tone made me want to crawl under the table, but I stayed still and forced myself to sit up straighter.
“No. It couldn’t have. In fact, my annual wouldn’t have been quite enough to cover the rest of the costs as well as covering my expenses until I start making my own income.”
My father folded his hands and leaned closer, his eyes boring holes into me. “What exactly are you asking for… Son?”
“Two years advance. Give me two years, and I will forfeit the next five. Or ten. Whatever you decide is fair if I can just get two years up front.” There was no fair in any of this, but I would give it all up in order to make this happen.
My mother waved her hand in the air to get the attention of our server who had been keeping a polite distance. “I’d like a Bloody Mary, please.”
“Of course. Can I get anyone anything else?” The server looked around the table, and took a step back, separating herself from the clear tension.
“No.” My father and I both said in unison. As good as a stiff drink sounded, I wanted to keep as clear a head as possible.
As soon as she left, my mother focused on eating as if I had just asked for twenty dollars and not two-hundred-thousand. She chewed her food slowly and deliberately, drawing out the suspense, and making my chest tighten. When she swallowed, she folded her hands in front of her.
“Now, Jasper, dear…” Dear? Fuck. She only ever brought out the syrupy term of endearment when she was about to lay down the law. “I believe we’ve allowed your whims long enough. Now, enough of this hot shop nonsense. It’s time for you to make an actual contribution to society.”
This time I couldn’t keep a bite out of my voice. “Art is a contribution to society, just ask any of your friends that spend thousands on paintings and statues.”
My mother unfolded and refolded her hands. “They pay for well-known names. You’re being naive if you think you can make a living as an artist, especially if you think you can make the kind of money we’ve generously given you. It’s a hobby, that’s all.”
“Every well-known artist had to start somewhere. I’ve trained with some of the top people in glass.”
“Thanks to us,” my mother interjected.
I huffed in frustration. It was rare I spoke back to my parents, but I couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Sure, thanks to your support, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have knowledge and skills and the potential to become someone.
Even if I don't, even if I never become a successful artist, I won’t stop.
This is what I love doing, and I’m not going to change my mind.
It’s not a whim or a hobby. It’s what I intend to do for as long as I am physically able to do it. ”
My father slapped a hand on the table. “Enough!”
My heart stopped with the outburst, something that almost never occurred. My father was the type who didn’t need to raise his voice. His presence and demeanor often spoke loudly enough to get his point across.
My mother bobbed her head once. “Yes, I quite agree.”
“Agree with what?” I asked carefully, dreading the answer I already suspected.
“You’ll go to work like an adult and leave this foolishness behind.”
I muttered through gritted teeth. “And if I say no?”
“Then you are on your own to pay off the remainder of the construction costs. I will not sign off on an advance and neither will your mother.”
My stomach dropped and my vision blurred. “But I…”
“No. You will figure it out on your own, as you did when you signed the contract.” The finality in my father’s voice hit me like a punch to my soul. It didn’t allow for any kind of response. That was the end of the conversation.
I couldn’t handle sitting across from them any longer. Not when they were able to pull my dreams out from under me in one go. I tossed my napkin on the table and stood, not sure if I could even manage a polite goodbye.
“It was good to see you, Jasper. Do call next time,” my mother said as she stirred the celery around her drink. The two would sit there and continue on as if my entire world hadn’t just come off its axis.
With hot tears burning in the corners of my eyes, I fled the restaurant, fled my parents, fled the black hole that was attempting to swallow me. What was I going to do?