Aidan
“Want another espresso martini?” the bartender of The Food Market in Columbia asks as I glance up from my copy of Winging It With You by Chip Pons.
I drank that a little too fast. I guess my sips were actually gulps. I’ve been trying to distract myself by reading, however I’ve reread the last sentence at least five times.
I’m not a big drinker. While I’ve inherited a high tolerance to alcohol, I usually only have one or two drinks, rarely more than that.
But I’ve got a pretty good reason to drink right now.
I’ve got dinner with my parents.
Fuck, I’m having dinner with my parents.
The only good thing about tonight is that I’m not paying for my dinner or the espresso martinis.
My mother came up with this whole dinner charade when my parents were getting divorced when I was thirteen.
She wanted to keep up the idea that we were still a family, even if it looked different. It helped when I was a teenager.
Now, I dread them.
“Yeah sure, might as well have another,” I say to the bartender.
He makes me another, and I bring my lips to the rim of the glass. Before I can suck down any of the delightful coffee and alcohol concoction, a soft hand rests on my shoulder. I flinch slightly but somehow manage to not spill any of my drink.
“Aidan, honey! You’re here early. Is your father here yet?”
I swivel on the bar stool to find a short, plump woman with graying dark hair and a broad smile. Magdalene Talbot. My mother. “Hey Mags. It’s just me so far.” She insists that everyone, including me, her only child, call her Mags.
She slides onto the nearest bar stool. “Well good.” She orders a pinot grigio and then turns to me. “Now I get to catch up with my honeybee. How are you?”
I nod. “Fine. I joined a—”
“What are you guys doing here?” A smooth voice croons at my shoulder, interrupting me before I could tell Mags about my foray into local politics.
She and I swivel on our chairs to face my father. Dan Talbot. My stomach drops.
He raises his hands. “Don’t we have a table?”
“Hi Dan, we just got here early and ran into each other,” Mags says, bringing her hand back to my shoulder.
Her gaze flits from my dad to me. “You know, every time I see you two, I’m struck by the fact that you look more like brothers than father and son.
” The bartender slides over her glass of wine and she takes it in with her free hand.
She’s right. With the exception of his wrinkles, gray streaked hair, and lack of glasses, I look a lot like my dad.
We have the same facial structure, lean build, and brown eyes.
He even grew a mustache after he saw mine a few months ago.
At least we differ in our clothing preferences.
He leans toward tailored suits and spotless polo shirts, while I wear soft knit sweaters and wrinkled linen shirts.
Unaware of my unease, Dan gestures toward the host stand. “Shall we?” He calls over his shoulder to the bartender, “We’ll carry the drinks over to the table.” He walks off, leaving mom and I clutching our drinks.
Mags’s thumb brushes along my shoulder. “It’s just one dinner. You will live. This is good for us.”
“Is it? I’m an adult and I don’t need my parents to put on a united front,” I mutter.
Mags takes a sip of her wine. “It’s tradition.” She hands me her wine glass and hops off the bar stool. I carry her drink and mine to the corner table that Dan reserved for us.
“So, Aidan,” he begins. “How is work going?”
I can hear the criticisms that will follow. How is babysitting a bunch of teenagers? Do you regret not following in my footsteps?
I take in a breath and reply, “Fine, fine. Busy. We’re getting ready for finals in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to summer.”
He opens his mouth, and I physically cringe, steeling for the cycle to unfold itself.
“That’s nice. Any fun plans this summer?” he asks.
Wait, what did he just say?
That was a normal person’s response. This isn’t right. He’s probably going to yell at me later. This is a trick. Or a test.
I lift one shoulder, trying to hide my shock and look as nonchalant as I can. “I’m not sure yet. A lot of relaxing. I might get a summer job.”
My gaze darts to my father, expecting some sort of barb or sharp words regarding how I don’t work hard enough.
He only nods and says, “Good plan. What sort of job do you think you’ll get?”
“Uh,” I croak out. “I’m not sure yet.” I wonder if he’s going to ask me to work at his law office.
“Isn’t there a cute little bookstore in Summerville?” Mags asks. “You’d like working there.”
Dan grins. “Yes, you’d definitely like that.” There’s no bite of edge to his voice. It’s like he’s stating a fact.
I flinch, expecting something else about reading. Growing up, Dan always wanted me to read important texts, like self-help books on gaining success or public speaking, finding my desire to read fiction reprehensible.
But the verbal slap never comes.
The waiter comes by to take drink orders, interrupting our conversation.
Mags and I order water to accompany our drinks, and Dan orders a diet soda.
I study him for a few seconds before staring down at my own drink as the waiter goes over the specials.
He ordered a diet soda. A diet soda. No expensive scotch. I didn’t even know he liked soda.
I blink a couple of times and glance over at Mags. She shrugs and says something about the weather.
Silence falls over me.
My gaze darts between both of my parents, confusion rising.
My stomach flips multiple times as the anxiety builds.
Something’s not right. Things aren’t going to schedule.
We’ve skipped the first lecture about me and my bad choices.
We should have at least one statement bragging about his girlfriend, and then we’ll have the second “I’m so disappointed in you, Aidan” lecture.
Small talk about the weather isn’t slated until after the uncomfortable silence that follows.
Did my father fall into the faerie world and get replaced with a kinder version of himself?
“So, Dan, how’s Stella?” Mags asks, mentioning his most recent girlfriend. Honestly, I wish she was here. She’s a nice person and makes things less awkward.
He shrugs. “We broke up some time ago.”
Typical. So typical of my father to date a great woman and then dump her unceremoniously. She probably was no longer serving whatever need he was hoping to fulfill. I could say something. I could say how disappointed I am in him, how great Stella was, and how he ruined it.
But I do not. One, I would be acting like him, which I avoid doing in most aspects of my life. Two, I want to avoid the “My Life is None of Your Business, Aidan” lecture. Which turns into the, “Why Do You Criticize Our Son?” remark from Mags.
Dan starts talking, “She broke up with me.” His gaze falls to his lap. “Because I fucked it up.”
I choke on my water. Is he telepathic? Who even is this man? Changeling Dan is scaring me.
Before I can process the statement further, the waiter comes by and takes our order. I get street tacos and brussels sprouts, the cheaper options. The last thing I need is Dan to criticize me for ordering something expensive.
“Hmm…” he mutters when it’s his turn to order. “I’ll have the same thing.”
I blink and make eye contact with Mags. She shrugs and rolls her eyes. The waiter leaves and she turns to face my father. “I’m sorry to hear things with Stella didn’t work out. But how are you?”
His gaze falls to the table. “I’m alright. I’ve been going to therapy and that’s been helping.”
“What?” Mags and I say simultaneously.
“Wait,” I remark, courage building in my chest. “You said that therapy was for weak minded individuals that couldn’t fix their problems on their own.
You railed on me when I went to a counseling center in college because I was stressed out over finals.
” I plant my hands on the table. “You’re going to therapy? ”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, taking up the defensive stance that I know too well. “Do you have a problem with me going to therapy? I thought you’d be pleased.”
I blink and study him for a moment, my jaw slack. “I-I-I am. I’m very happy you’re doing this.” I let out the breath I was holding. That explains why he’s acting so differently. “I just was not expecting it, and I’m a little shocked.”
He nods and then proceeds to tell us about how Stella left him because he was too critical and tried to control her. I don’t have to look over at Mags to know that she’s just barely holding in a laugh. I can imagine the words Stella used with him.
Our food arrives in the middle of his story, and Mags and I eat in silence while he continues.
Dan talks about how he was drowning his sorrows at a bar in Georgetown when a stranger walked up and started talking to him.
That stranger turned out to be a therapist and Dan started having sessions with him.
He recaps some of the discussions he’s had so far.
“I’ve given up drinking,” Dan says at the end of his story.
I scrunch my face. “You gave up scotch?”
Mags gawks. “But you love it!”
He takes a sip of his diet soda. “Turns out, it was a coping mechanism for the insecurity I’ve been experiencing. Or that’s what my therapist told me.”
I gulp down the rest of my espresso martini. I believe him. His therapist definitely told him that. In fact, I think my therapist told me the same thing.
“I’ve realized that I’m the reason why things are, well—” Dan says once the plates are empty. He turns to me. “Shitty.”
My mouth drops open, and I wonder if I’m dreaming.
He continues, “Would you be willing to work on our relationship?”
I study my father for a moment. I want it. I want us to have a good relationship. I don’t expect us to magically be best friends and play catch next to a cornfield. But it’d be nice to not have a nausea every time I see him.
I want to trust him. I really do. It’s been thirty-two years of constant verbal abuse.
Do I open myself up to him and maybe finally have a decent relationship with my father?
Do I open myself up to the potential that he’ll revert to his old habits and lash into me because I live with a roommate and can’t afford a place of my own?
“I need time to think about it.” I finally reply. “It’s a lot to process.”
“I understand.” He clasps a hand to my shoulder. “I appreciate you thinking about it.”
I let him hug me when we say our goodbyes. Mags whispers, “I’m proud of you” when she hugs me. She suggests we have our next monthly dinner in Summerville.
I’m alone. Except for the other patrons that are coming in and out. In the now waning late spring light, I step aside from the foot traffic and close my eyes. I tip my head back and breathe in the smell of flowers, fried foods, and beer.
With a sigh, I lower my head and open my eyes.
My gaze lands on a person sitting on the bench across the way.
Her golden-brown hair is swept back into a loose braid that drapes over her shoulder, and she’s wearing a floral sundress with a deep square neck.
Her legs are crossed and she’s frowning at her phone.
As I step towards Charlotte, I can’t help but smile.
My weirdest night ever just turned into my best night ever!