Chapter 31
Julian
Sitting in my office, I stare at the screen, reading an email from a VR tech manufacturer trying to sell me on some virtual reality sex experience we could incorporate in the club.
For the most part, I’m excited about the idea—sex on the beach in Bali without having to get on a plane—but I don’t like this guy’s attitude.
He’s trying too hard to convince me his tech is up to speed, and it’s giving red flags.
“Next,” I mutter as I click the Delete button.
“Knock, knock.”
So lost in my work, I didn’t even spot the person standing in my doorway. Lifting my gaze, I stare at my dad as he leans against the doorframe.
“Oh, hey,” I say as I turn my chair to face him.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”
Well, technically yes. I am at work, but I can’t say that to him.
“No, just checking emails. What are you doing here?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives me a casual smirk. “Came to see if my son would like to have lunch with me.”
I clear my throat, ready to make some excuse about how I’m swamped with emails—I have two—or that I’m the only owner on staff right now during our weekend demos downstairs, which really doesn’t matter. We have two floor managers and a full staff to man the club.
Why am I avoiding him? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Yeah, sure,” I say as I stand from my chair.
My dad laughs. “Don’t sound so excited.”
I shove him playfully on the shoulder. “Let’s go, old man.”
My dad and I walk down rue des Abbesses, casually catching up on life. He tells me about the trip he and Mom are taking next week to London so she can meet some singer who wants to hire her for her songwriting team.
I reply politely, nodding along. I’m glad to see my mom has been working hard since Amelia and I grew up—even if Amelia has yet to move out. She spent our entire childhood so devoted us, and her music took a back seat. Now is her time.
“What about you?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“What about me?”
“Don’t you have any bucket list ventures you want to explore? Why don’t you take a trip for you?”
My dad lets out a hearty laugh as he claps a hand on my shoulder. We arrive at Le Consulat for lunch, and he waves to one of the servers he knows by name. Then we grab a table outside and sit across from each other.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
My dad leans back in his chair, staring at me over the table as if he knows something I don’t.
He’s always had a way of looking so wise, like he knows everything but refuses to share that wisdom with everyone else.
I wish I could live one day in my life as assured as my dad does, without an ounce of fear or anxiety.
I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever seen the man truly worry—other than the time we discovered Amelia’s shellfish allergy the first time she tried lobster, and he sprinted down the street with her in his arms to a nearby clinic.
Parental worry is one thing. But doesn’t he ever worry about things the way I do? About being enough. Getting his heart broken. Losing everyone he loves.
I’m assaulted by guilt at the realization that my dad has already experienced that. In a life far before mine, he did lose a child and his first wife.
“I laughed because the idea of me having any more ventures at this age is funny.”
“How so?” I asked. “You talk like your life is over.” My tone has grown sharp with annoyance.
My dad leans forward, his expression turned serious.
“Julian, you and your sister and your mother are all I want out of this life. My life isn’t over.
I hope I live long enough to see you become a father one day, if that’s what you choose.
But this is the part of my life where I get to just enjoy it.
I get to watch my wife fulfill her dreams. I get to watch my daughter come into her own. I get to watch my son…”
My teeth clench as I stare at him across the table, waiting to see what exactly my father expects from me. Run a successful club. Become a man. Make him proud. Inside, I’m begging him to give me something—a task, an expectation, an opportunity to impress him.
He lets out a sigh just as the server comes up to take our orders. I can practically feel the muscles between my eyes cramping as I scowl down at the table, glancing up only to put in an order for lunch and a drink.
When the man walks away, I stare at my father, waiting for him to finish his statement.
But he doesn’t. What he does do is smile coyly and say, “Your mother tells me that you introduced that handsome man that came to the party with you as your boyfriend.”
“Oh God,” I mutter with embarrassment as I cover my face.
“And your sister tells me that the pretty chef who catered the party is your girlfriend.”
“Let’s not have this conversation,” I groan.
“Okay, okay,” he relents. “If that’s what you really want.”
It irritates me even more that he doesn’t push the issue, respecting my boundaries. My knee bounces under the table as I stare unfocused across the street. What pisses me off even more is that I find myself opening my mouth and continuing the conversation anyway.
“His dad owns some big aviation company,” I say casually without making eye contact.
“Interesting. And does he want to follow in his father’s footsteps?” my dad asks with curiosity.
“Not at all,” I reply. “He’s probably the most independent thinker I have ever met. Half the time, the shit he thinks doesn’t make an ounce of sense, but he manages to sell me on it anyway.”
My dad chuckles softly, and I fight the grin that threatens to stretch across my face.
“And her?”
“She’s incredible. She has natural-born talent, a work ethic like you wouldn’t believe, but still somehow manages to think she’s not worthy of the success she’s earned.”
“Reminds me of your mother,” he replies.
“It’s infuriating,” I complain. “They both are.”
Tapping the ring on my middle finger against the wrought-iron table, I feel my dad’s eyes on me just as the server delivers our drinks.
“You love them?” he asks so nonchalantly it takes me by surprise. “Don’t you?”
I’ve never been in love in my life. I have never had a relationship or love talk with my family whatsoever, so sitting at a café in the middle of the day while my dad asks if I am in love feels jarring and surreal.
“Yeah, I do.”
He grins, lifting his champagne in the air. “Cheers to that.”
I smirk as I lift my glass and gently tap it against his.
The rest of the lunch is easy. We discuss things at the club.
We talk a little about his business partner Matis and his current late-in-life crisis.
We discuss Jack and what a pain in the ass he can be at times.
To my surprise, my dad doesn’t take the opportunity to cut his godson some slack.
He takes my side on the trivial shit like how stiffly Jacks signs his emails and how he’s so insistent on meetings being early in the morning instead of late in the day.
Last year, I made it my mission in life to make my dad just a little disappointed in Jack, the godson who came before me. The shining star in my dad’s eyes.
I had myself convinced that in order to make my dad proud of me, I had to be exactly like Jack. In my younger adult days, I did try. In fact, even I looked up to Jack. But then I never got the same praise or attention. And the pressure was debilitating.
It feels like a lesson I’m still learning, and we are nowhere near perfect, but I realize now that son and godson are not the same. My dad carves out time for me no matter what. He’ll invite me out to lunch and smile at the prospect of love in my life.
This whole time, he’s treated me like his son, and I’ve been expecting him to treat me like his protégé or apprentice.
Fathers are supposed to be proud of their sons. Their love is supposed to be unconditional. All the while, I’ve had the world’s greatest dad…and I thought there was something missing.
Once our lunch is finished, we stand up and head back toward the club so I can get back to work.
As we walk, I feel my dad’s hand on my shoulder.
It’s a feeling both comforting and terrifying.
This idea that his hand won’t always be there.
This feeling that no one’s guaranteed time with the people they love.
As we reach the club, we stop out front, and I turn to him with a heaviness on my chest that I need to get off. Out of the blue, I blurt out, “How do you do it?”
His expression remains mostly neutral as he waits for me to expand.
“How do you love people when the risk of losing them is always there? And I don’t just mean death, but how do you know they won’t change their mind or change their personality?
Why do we put ourselves in these positions, knowing that it could lead to excruciating pain?
Is this love really worth it? Is it good enough to make up for what living without it would feel like? Wouldn’t it just be safer to be alone?”
My dad doesn’t look one bit surprised by my sudden emotional rant or neurotic fears. He stares at me like a man with confidence and all the answers. Then he places his hand back on my shoulder and he squeezes it.
“When your mom found out she was pregnant with you, I was fucking terrified. For thirty years, I lived without love because I thought it was safer than losing another person the way I lost them. And it is scary, son. It’s terrifying.
I wish I had a better answer for you. I wish I could explain why we do this to ourselves when the pain is so great, but all I know is that the last twenty-seven years with you were far, far better than the thirty before you. So yeah, I’d say it is worth it.”
Tears brim between my lashes, and when my dad blinks, I watch a tear slip over his cheek. Without another word, I crash against him, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him in a tight hug. Breathing through the emotion currently threatening to crack me in two, I cry against his shoulder.