Chapter Eight Nate
Chapter Eight
Nate
It’s unusual that I haven’t seen or spoken to my father in four weeks—not since the day he and Mom arrived unexpectedly at my apartment and met Sienna.
The circumstances weren’t ideal, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since, wishing I hadn’t picked that day to bring up the possibility of quitting law school.
I should have let them meet Sienna without any preconceived notions about her likability, according to their grand plan for my life.
But here we are, a month later, and it is what it is. Mom finally called me two days ago because she couldn’t let my twenty-fifth birthday pass without the traditional Palmer Family Birthday Brunch.
As I wait for my older brother, Arthur, and his wife, Alex, to pick me up with their kids and chauffeur us to our childhood home at the head of St. Margaret’s Bay, I wonder if my father expects me to bring Sienna.
Mom said she was welcome, but I’d made a conscious decision to go alone.
Not because I don’t want to be with Sienna on my birthday.
It’s quite the opposite, and she’ll be driving to St. Margaret’s Bay later to pick me up.
And that’s when I’ll feel better about turning twenty-five—when I see her face and hear her voice.
But this morning . . . let’s just say I want to keep her out of the eruption that is almost certainly going to occur.
Rain is falling hard when Arthur pulls up to the curb outside my building in his minivan.
I venture outside and make a run for it, splashing through puddles until I reach the vehicle.
As if by magic, the side door slides open, and I climb over the back seat to the rear.
It takes a few seconds for me to get settled before I look up at my nine-year-old nephew, who’s sitting beside me, staring.
“Hey, Andy,” I say. “What do you think about this rain?”
“It’s wet,” he replies, and I laugh heartily.
“I can’t argue.” He’s a good kid. Reminds me of myself at that age.
I sit forward to peer at the twins, my four-year-old nieces, in matching pink booster seats in the row in front of us. “Hey, girls.”
“Hi, Uncle Nate,” Jessie replies while Amy quietly draws a circle on the foggy window.
From the driver’s seat, which seems a mile away, my brother glances over his shoulder at us. “It’s time to wish Uncle Nate a happy birthday. Everybody ready?”
The whole family begins to sing. “Happy birthday to you . . .”
When they finish, my sister-in-law, who’s a doctor of Shakespearean literature and bears a striking resemblance to a young Michelle Pfeiffer, turns in her seat. “Congratulations. Today, you’ve lived a quarter of a century. Something to think about.”
“Believe me,” I reply, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”
“Yeah?” Arthur flicks the blinker, checks his mirrors, and pulls onto the wet street. “Digging deep, are we?”
“You could say that.” I tug at the shoulder strap and buckle myself in.
Arthur glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Does it have anything to do with the plumber’s daughter?”
Alex punches him in the arm. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just teasing,” he replies, leaning away from her in defense of another blow.
My gut tightens into a knot. “Her name’s Sienna, and she’s an interior designer.”
“I know, I know,” Arthur replies. “We’ve heard all about her—that she started her own company, which I think is impressive for someone her age.”
Working to ignore what I perceive as something patronizing in his tone, I follow Amy’s lead and draw a face on the foggy window. But I make it frown.
Arthur increases the windshield wipers to full speed as he moves through a busy intersection. “Why didn’t you bring her?” he asks.
He watches me in the rearview mirror, and I can tell he’s fishing for dirt.
I’m surprised he hasn’t brought up the ugly sticking point of my desire to quit law school.
Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe Dad was too embarrassed to mention it—because in his mind, it reflects badly on him.
It makes him look like a failure as a father because somewhere along the line he missed the mark.
He didn’t instill the proper amount of discipline and ambition in his younger son, and now he’s losing control of my trajectory through life.
I wonder if my father blames himself at all for how I turned out.
I was the third child they’d never intended to have.
A “happy accident,” my mother always said.
But most of the time I was left to my own devices, which I now see as a blessing.
I was free to be creative and do my own thing—because Dad couldn’t be bothered to be an influential presence.
I was simply an afterthought, at least until I started rebelling in high school.
Then he put me in the front seat with him, which worked for a while.
I did what he wanted me to do. But it was never enough and never what I wanted.
“She had something for work,” I lie. “But really, I just want to get through the day.”
“That’s probably wise,” Arthur says, still fishing. “Wait until you’re sure about this girl before you lock horns with Dad. Because if she’s not the one, believe me, it’s not worth it.”
I listen to my brother’s advice in silence, because I don’t trust Arthur to take my side in anything. When it comes to Dad, he’s always toed the line. Besides, I agree with him. Not much in life is worth going head-to-head with my father.
But some things are.
Clouds, dark and dense, hang low over the bay as we turn onto the long paved driveway to my parents’ house. The twins have fallen asleep in their booster seats, and Andy is engrossed in a handheld Nintendo game.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment to summon the courage to face my father, which isn’t an easy thing when I’m arriving in the back seat of my brother’s perfect life.
Arthur finished law school with honors and became the youngest partner of the criminal law division in my father’s firm.
The cherry on top was his marriage to a scholarly intellectual with the prestigious title of doctor.
Alex may not have been a brain surgeon, but in my father’s eyes, she was perfect because she was willing to stay home with the kids, teach them how to read above their grade level, make the house pretty, and look spectacular on Arthur’s arm.
Sometimes when I’ve watched her leave their house to go running with her earbuds in, I’ve wondered if she’s happy.
Meanwhile, my sister, Caroline, the eldest, left home at the age of twenty-four to marry an ambitious member of Parliament in England.
Mom and Dad were very proud, and I’ve often wondered if she’s been happy with that decision.
Unfortunately, I’ve never had the chance to ask because she never comes home. Maybe that says it all.
Arthur pulls up in front of the massive oceanfront home. I look out the van window, streaked with water, at the gray cedar shakes, the broad windowpanes, and the landscaped, porticoed entrance with white columns and slate stairs leading to the front door.
I hate that I feel a surge of pride in the Palmer home and that, for a fleeting second, I wish I had brought Sienna—to show her everything I’m willing to give up for this crazy dream of mine. But the feeling soon passes when I imagine what’s about to transpire. I don’t want Sienna here for that.
It’s still drizzly outside when both doors of the minivan slide open. Arthur and Alex pull the sleeping twins out of their booster seats. Then Andy and I climb out.
“Welcome, everyone,” Mom says as we all pile up the stairs to the front veranda. She pinches the cheeks of each twin. “Come inside before you turn into a couple of ducks. I have crackers and cheese on the table.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Arthur gives her a kiss as he passes by.
Once everyone’s inside, she and I face each other on the veranda. “Happy birthday, Flapjack,” she says with affection. It’s been her pet name for me for as long as I can remember.
We hug and make our way inside.
After we’ve all removed our wet shoes and rain jackets, Mom leads us to the kitchen, where she’s prepared an incredible spread on the marble island—bunches of grapes and cheese on a bamboo platter, a bouquet of chocolate-dipped strawberries on sticks in a crystal vase, sweet Devonshire cream, and the sterling silver coffee service.
“Help yourselves,” she says, “but don’t fill up too much. We have eggs and bacon to come, and fresh blueberry waffles.” She swings to Alex and speaks slyly. “Mimosas for the grown-ups?”
“That sounds marvelous,” Alex replies and sets Jessie down.
Before I touch any food, I wander to the wide bank of windows and take in the view of the bay, ashen and thunderous with violent whitecaps. It’s not lost on me that my father has not yet made an appearance.
Turning to the others, I ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“In his office.” Mom playfully rolls her eyes. “He had some work to finish, but I’m sure he’ll be out as soon as he smells bacon.”
At least twenty minutes pass before my father comes lumbering out of his office like a bear.
Before saying hello to any of us, he complains to my mother about one of the partners at the firm.
Then he waves Arthur to the back hall, where he vents for another five minutes.
Eventually, he emerges to greet his grandchildren, his daughter-in-law, and lastly me. The birthday boy.
“Why didn’t you bring your new girlfriend?” he demands to know, as if I’ve done something completely senseless.
“She had work,” I reply. “A new client.”
He slaps at the air dismissively and turns away. “Where’s my mimosa?”
With flawless precision, my mother hands him his morning cocktail in a flute. “Here you are, darling.”
He raises it in the air. “Welcome, all, and happy birthday to Flapjack.”
“To Flapjack!” Arthur and Alex say in unison, also raising their glasses.
I paste on a smile. “Thanks, everyone.”