Chapter 13 #2
“She loved it so much.” My shoulders squeeze together remembering how hard she clapped at the end of the story.
“It was Goldfish McSweeney and she read a book about squirrels, so Gemma was in heaven. She couldn’t stop talking about Goldfish’s orange wig.
They had a bunch more scheduled but they were cancelled.
The Hamptons isn’t the most inclusive place in the world. ”
“That sucks. I expect that kind of thing where I’m from, but I thought up north things were more open.”
“Not always. But I tried to make up for it. I hosted a costumed story hour and the kids had to come dressed as their favorite thing in the kitchen. It was kind of hysterical.”
“How did you come up with that idea?”
I shrug. “Gemma is really curious about different objects and what they do so I thought it would be fun. She came as a mop, one of her friends was a whisk, another came as a sponge.”
“What were you?” he asks.
“A toaster. I was wrapped in aluminum foil and when you pushed my arm down I tossed two pieces of bread in the air. I went through an entire loaf.”
“Brady,” he stops walking. “You are so good at the kind of stuff.”
“Wasting food?” I ask and keep walking.
“No. Making things fun. I bet all the kids in town love you.” Hayes catches back up to me.
“We have had requests for another party but the nanny came back just before we left on this trip and I need to find something to do with my life.”
“Maybe you found it?”
“This is a great summer gig. I couldn’t say no. But I can’t really see myself becoming a top tier influencer.”
“No, not that. You’d be a great teacher.” Hayes says each word deliberately.
It’s not the first time the thought has crossed my mind.
I’d love to be with kids every day as a kindergarten teacher but there are too many reasons why that wouldn’t work.
It’s a lot of responsibility and you have to be, well, responsible.
That’s never been my strong suit. I’m great for a good time but not being on time.
Not to mention my parents would lose it.
I can’t even imagine asking them to pay for me to go to school to get a teaching certificate.
They’d be so disappointed. My entire life has been set up to follow one career path in the family firm.
“There are lots of reasons that won’t work,” I say, hoping he doesn’t press.
“Like what?” It sounds like he really wants to know. I pick the easiest to confess.
“Could you imagine my mother meeting someone at one of her events and telling them that I spend my day in a room begging kids not to eat paste?” The very thought of the smell of a fresh jar of paste makes me smile, but I’m in line to step into the family firm and be a good steward of the family fortune.
The Gibsons have been lawyers for generations.
Our family’s wealth has been built on the legal profession.
Am I really prepared to break the mold with a jar of finger paint and those little scissors with rounded edges?
Hayes doesn’t say anything. I know he thinks I should stand up to my family more. He must think I’m so weak. Maybe I am. But then he surprises me.
“It’s taken me a while to understand that whole dynamic with your family. I think I realize that you just want to keep everyone happy. You’re a people pleaser.”
“I can’t deny that,” I say. I hate the term people pleaser. It makes me sound like a cartoon, but I can’t help admitting the term fits.
“But Brady, what if the person you wanted to please was yourself? Or what about pleasing a room full of kids who have the best kindergarten teacher in the world?”
“I never thought of it that way,” I say and walk in silence next to him for a few blocks.
The road slopes downhill and as we approach the end of it the number of tourists surround us increases.
We turn the corner and Trafalgar Square appears.
The fountains create a cool splash of water for tourists and Nelson’s column rises above.
Hayes takes out the camera from the media kit and I stand in front of the fountain so he can get a few shots of me hamming it up with tourists around, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said.
What if the people pleaser in me started pleasing myself?
Maybe that’s what he wanted when we were together.
Maybe he wanted me to break free from my family’s expectations and stop pleasing them.
A group of pigeons surrounds me looking for their next snack.
There have been way too many feathers today.
I take a step forward and the flock that was pestering me flies off in a whirl of motion.
I think about how well taken care of the ravens in the tower were, eating prepared meals of meat and vegetables, but they had their wings clipped.
These pigeons don’t know where their next meal is coming from, but they can fly anywhere in the world they want.
Do I want to be a raven all my life, or try being a pigeon?
Or maybe what I really want is to be dressed in ostrich feathers reading to kids.