Chapter 8 Tyson
When I get back to D.C. on Sunday night, I head straight into the office. After finishing a few tasks for partners I don’t hate, I clean out my desk, boxing up all my personal belongings. Around two in the morning, I send the last email from my computer—a letter of resignation to the managing partner of the firm. I apologize for my abrupt departure, citing personal reasons.
The next morning, I call my father and ask if he can meet me for dinner. I tell him I have something important to discuss—and that I’d rather do it just the two of us. He knows what this means, of course. That it’s a topic I’m not ready to share with my mother.
At his suggestion, we meet at his private club. I arrive early, which to him is on time, and we are promptly seated by one of the more obsequious staff members. My father takes the fawning in stride—deflecting it graciously—but it all feels so over the top, and I can’t help wondering why he enjoys such a stuffy, snobbish scene. The food is top-notch, but to me, no rib eye is worth the foolery that comes with it.
I wait until he is on his second scotch to break the news: I quit my job; I broke up with Nicole; and I’m taking a few weeks to travel with Hannah and Lainey. Before I can think better of it, I debrief him on their respective situations.
“So let me get this straight,” my dad says, stroking his beard and pausing for what feels like forever.
I brace myself, knowing that the longer the silence, the worse it’s going to be. “Now that you’re unemployed and single, your plan is to waste money and time, road-tripping with two lost souls?”
I stare back at him, debating whether to stick to the big picture or dive into semantics. For some reason, I can’t resist the latter.
“I wouldn’t characterize it as road-tripping,” I say.
“It’s a goddamn boondoggle,” my dad scoffs. “And your friends sound like they belong on The Montel Williams Show.”
“That show was canceled fifteen years ago, Dad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually.” I shake my head. “Lainey and Hannah aren’t airing their dirty laundry on television.”
“But their problems are so—”
“Real, Dad. They both have legitimate problems.”
“They’ll both be just fine,” he says. “Trust me.”
I sigh, knowing what he’s getting at—that Hannah and Lainey enjoy certain privileges that don’t belong to us.
“Moreover,” he continues, “I’m not concerned about the well-being of your friends. I’m concerned about you. And I just don’t understand why you’d want to get mixed up in all of that drama while turning your back on an esteemed and lucrative job—”
“A job I detest, Dad.”
“A job you have because your mother and I put you through law school and college and fourteen years of private school before that.”
“So you’re including Montessori preschool in the guilt trip here?” I smile, doing my best to diffuse the tension.
It backfires.
“I’m glad you’re amused,” he says, stroking his beard again.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
He raises his hands, palms out. “You know what? Let’s forget your education. Let’s talk about ours for a second. Let’s talk about your mother and me. Let’s talk about your grandparents—three out of four of whom went to college—”
“I’m aware, Dad—”
“Do you have any idea how rare that is—”
“Yes, I do,” I say. “And I’m proud of them.”
“You don’t need to be proud. You need to be grateful.”
“I’m proud and grateful,” I say. “I’m just not sure what any of that has to do with my life right now—”
“You’re not sure what your grandparents’ blood, sweat, and tears have to do with your ability to nonchalantly walk away from your law firm?”
“I’m not doing anything nonchalantly,” I say. “I’m just asking why their education means I have to be miserable in my job—”
“Why do you think they call it a job, Tyson?”
“You and Mom love your work.”
“Mom does. I’ll give you that. But trust and believe, I’d rather be doing a lot of other things.”
“So why don’t you do them?”
“Look, son. Your mother and I sacrificed for you. We invested in you. And you’re throwing away that investment—”
“I’m not throwing anything away. It’s time for me to make a change. And it happens to coincide with my friends needing me. Hannah’s in a dark place right now—”
“And I feel for her—”
“No, you don’t,” I say. “And that’s fine. There’s no need to sit here and pretend you care about either of them.”
“Fair enough. But I do care about you—”
“I’m fine, Dad. Especially now that I resigned,” I say. It’s the truth. In fact, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
Several seconds pass before my father clears his throat, then says, “So is this why you and Nicole broke up? Because I know she wouldn’t put up with you traveling with two females—”
“Nicole and I weren’t right for each other.”
“You’re dodging the question.”
“Okay, fine. Yes. She’s not thrilled with my female friendships. But more important, Nicole and I want different things.” I pause, then say, “She wants your life.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning things like this club,” I say, glancing around the room.
“Oh. You don’t enjoy this club?” he snaps back.
“It’s nice,” I say. “It’s very nice…. I just might want another kind of life.”
“Oh? And what kind of life is that?”
“I don’t know, Dad. That’s what I need to figure out.”
He sighs so loudly that it sounds like a groan. “So you’re taking this trip to find yourself?”
“That feels dismissive.”
“I’m not dismissing you. I’m just asking you.”
“Okay. Yes. I’m going on this trip, in part, to take a step back and figure out what I want my life to look like. So, yeah, I guess you could characterize that as ‘finding myself.’?”
He stares at me, then shakes his head.
“Why is that so wrong?”
“It’s wrong because you don’t come from generational wealth and the mindless sense of security that comes with that. You don’t have the luxury of that kind of fallback plan.”
“Dad, I understand what you’re saying. But I do have a fallback plan. I have my degree—two degrees—and I have plenty of money saved and invested. And isn’t that the point? Didn’t you and Mom and your parents work hard so that I don’t have to feel trapped? So that I can be in the position where I can go find myself if that’s what I need to do? Aren’t you the man who taught me that ‘necessitous men are not free’?”
“That’s true to a point, son. But quitting your job on a lark—” He pauses, shaking his head. “That sort of entitlement feels disrespectful. To your mother and me. To your grandparents. To their parents.”
“It’s not a lark, Dad. It’s something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”
I almost mention Summer—and our pact—but can’t bring myself to share that much. It’s too risky. If he dismisses my feelings about her in any way, the conversation could really take a bad turn. I can’t let that happen.
“Look, Dad, I’m sorry you don’t agree with my decision, but my friends aside, this is something I need to do. For my own mental health.”
My dad stares at me, then slowly nods. It’s hard to argue with mental health, even for his generation.
“Just remember where you came from, Tyson.”
“I will, Dad.”
“And remember there’s a difference between your history and your legacy. Your history is what happened. Your legacy is what you set in motion.”
I nod again.
“You are my legacy,” he continues. “And I’m proud of you. I also want you to be happy. But your decisions—the ones you make today and tomorrow and the next day—will ultimately impact your legacy. What do you want that to be?”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dad. I promise.”
“Good. Thank you.”
I pause, then give him a half smile. “Now,” I say. “Can I just ask for one small favor?”
My father shakes his head. “Nope,” he says with a chuckle.
“You don’t even know what I’m gonna ask!”
“Oh, yessir, I do,” he says. “And the answer is no. You’re telling your mother all on your own.”
“Dang. Can you at least give her a heads-up?”
“Sorry, son,” he says. “I’ve got enough problems.”
The night before I fly to Dallas, I find my mother in her office. With a working fireplace, an extensive library, and a West Wing–style desk I used to play under when I was a kid, it’s my favorite room in their five-story Kalorama townhome.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, standing in the doorway, inhaling the musty scent of old books.
“Well, well,” she says, putting down her pen, then taking off her reading glasses. “Another country heard from.”
I smile at one of her favorite expressions and ask if she has time to talk.
She nods and says, “You know my door is always open.”
This is true—both literally and figuratively. No matter how busy my mom has been over the years, she’s never made me feel like I’m interrupting her. I take a seat in the armchair facing her desk.
“So I think you may know why I’m here,” I say, crossing my legs, then uncrossing them.
“I may have an inkling.”
I hesitate, wondering who her source is—my father or Nicole—and what exactly they told her.
She holds my gaze for several long seconds, her expression inscrutable. “So you’re really doing this?”
The question feels a little bit like Are you still beating your wife? so I clear my throat and ask for clarification. “Doing what, exactly?”
“Quitting your job, breaking up with Nicole, and traveling with two females?”
I fight the urge to look down. “Yes. I need to figure some stuff out,” I say. “This feels like the best way.”
“Hmm,” she says, nodding.
“I just need some time away. With old friends,” I say, deciding not to delve into Hannah’s and Lainey’s issues. I know that angle will fall as flat with her as it did with my father.
“Everyone has stuff to figure out, Tyson. We can’t just run away from our problems.”
“I’m not running away. I’m just taking a little time for myself.”
“Okay. Well, you’re grown,” she says with a sigh. “It’s your life.”
“I know, but I don’t want you to be upset with me—”
“I’m not upset. But I am worried. And a bit disappointed.”
“Please don’t worry, Mom,” I say, although her disappointment is what hits me the hardest. I can’t stand letting my mother down. For some reason, it feels even worse than letting my father down.
“I’m your mother. Worrying is part of the job, Tyson,” she says.
“I know. And I’m really sorry. But it’s all going to be fine.”
She gives me a look, then says, “It won’t be fine with Nicole. Yourealize that, right? She’s not going to sit around and wait for you.”
“It’s already over with Nicole, Mom. It was over the minute I went down to Atlanta.”
“Well, it will be even more over if you go on this trip. Death-knell over.”
“I know,” I say, nodding, although a small part of me thinks that if we were really meant to be, we could overcome just about anything.
She stares at me a long time, then says, “Can I ask you a question?”
I nod, bracing myself, somehow knowing it will be a challenging question without an easy answer.
Sure enough, she says, “Does this trip have anything to do with Summer?”
I look at her, shocked. It’s been years since we’ve discussed Summer.
My throat tightens as I slowly nod. “In some ways, yes,” I say.
She holds my gaze, looking deep in thought.
“You can’t change the past, Tyson,” she says.
“True. But I can learn from it.”
She gives me a curious look, then says, “Meaning what?”
“Meaning I need to do this,” I say, treading carefully.
“And you need to do it with Lainey and Hannah?” she says. “You have so many other friends who might be able to support you more.”
I nod, knowing what she’s getting at—that I have Black friends who are more settled and arguably better equipped than Hannah and Lainey to understand me.
“I know, Mom,” I say. “But I made a promise to them. And to myself.”
She nods, then says, “Well, I’m proud of you for being a man of your word. You’re a good friend.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Maybe not the best boyfriend,” she says with a smile. “But a good friend.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Nicole. I know how much you like her.”
“I do,” she says. “But maybe not for the reasons you think…I just know how much she loves you.”
“She told you that?” I ask, surprised.
“Not exactly. But she understands that you have some unresolved emotions,” she says, confirming that the two of them have recently talked. “And she really wants what’s best for you. That’s love.”
“Dang,” I say under my breath.
“And for the record,” my mother says. “I want that for you, too.”