14. All Those Years, Wasted
ALL THOSE YEARS, WASTED
AIDEN
After another Friday and Saturday night spent alone, I’m almost looking forward to having dinner with my father and his family.
Emphasis on the almost.
Although we’ve been working together for a month now, our relationship is still pretty basic. He only really knows how to talk to me about work. Anything personal seems to be too hard for him. Although judging by how I’ve seen him interact with others at the office, that seems to just be how he is.
I try not to think about how sad it is that my interactions with him are no different from my colleagues. At twenty-nine, I feel like I should just accept by now that I don’t really have a father.
I decide to catch the ferry to his house in Bulimba. Now that I know my way around the city a little more, I’m determined to stop spending so much money on Ubers and take advantage of the public transport right on my doorstep. Although I do miss the reliability of the Tube in London.
A short walk up Oxford Street brings me to my father’s street, and now that I’m on foot, I’m taken aback by the massive houses that I’d failed to notice last time.
I knew he was well off, but I realise now that he’s obviously sitting on some prime real estate, and that same resentfulness I’d felt last time I was here rises to the surface.
I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to get past the fact that he gave my mother practically nothing to raise me while living such a luxurious lifestyle back here.
“It’s good to see you again, Aiden.” Like last time, Lisa is the one to answer the door.
She greets me with a smile, looking a little tired as she waves me through. I guess having toddlers in your late thirties is exhausting. After my interactions with my half-siblings last time, I’m not sure how I’d go in her position. Those two are full on.
“You too,” I reply, following her through to the kitchen.
I’m surprised to find my father standing at the stove. I don’t know why, but I just hadn’t pictured him as someone who does any of the cooking. At least he does some of the domestic stuff around the house, I guess.
I’d learnt last time that Lisa is an interior designer, but she’s been off work since the twins were born.
From what I can tell, she’s ready to go back to work, but Dad doesn’t want the twins in nursery.
I’d like to have kids one day - more than I realised, actually - but I don’t know how I’d feel about not getting to go back to work because of a lifestyle choice that my spouse had an issue with.
“Ah, you made it. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten,” Dad says, looking at his watch.
I’m only ten minutes late. “Sorry, I missed the earlier ferry.”
“Oh, you caught the City Cat? Why didn’t you drive?”
I look at him for a moment. “Um… I don’t have a car.”
“Don’t you? Why not? Brisbane is a car city, after all.”
Lisa and I exchange a brief look before I reply. “I’ve only been here for a month. It wasn’t really a priority. And I didn’t drive that much back home. ”
The fact that I still call London home speaks volumes about how I’m settling in here.
“Well, we should get you one. How have you been getting to client meetings?” Of course, that’s his actual concern.
“Ubers or taxis,” I reply with a shrug.
“That won’t do at all. I’ll arrange for you to get a company car this week.” He turns back to the stove, done with the conversation now that he’s made a decision, and I stare at his back.
I don’t really get what the big deal is. Wouldn’t the clients prefer to see me show up in a cab rather than some fancy company car?
“Um… do all the brokers have company cars?” I ask.
“No. Just the partners. But you’re a Sanderson.”
Great… more special treatment. Tara’s going to love this.
I consider declining the car, but I know it’s no use, as he will just do it, anyway. He’s completely oblivious to any of the politics in that office. What’s wrong with a healthy dose of nepotism, right?
As we sit down for dinner, I notice the absence of the twins finally.
“Where are the kids?”
“They’re with my parents for the night. Your father needed a bit of a break,” Lisa replies.
I don’t know why, but something about that rubs me the wrong way. It’s probably my own daddy issues, but it feels like he’s just going back to his usual habits, foisting his parental responsibilities off onto others.
“They can be a little rambunctious, and we were out for an event last night, so they offered to have them an extra night,” she continues, her gaze meeting mine.
I guess my thoughts were written all over my face, if she’s coming to his defence like that.
I nod, serving myself some salad before reaching for the pasta dish Dad cooked up. Too late though, I realise it’s covered in cheese. Not wanting to make a big deal, I serve myself the smallest portion possible.
Unfortunately, Lisa notices. “Are you not hungry?”
“Um… well it’s just… I’m allergic to dairy.”
Lisa turns to stare at Dad. “David. Why the heck did you use cheese when your son is allergic to dairy?”
Well, at least she has no problem on calling him out on a shitty parenting move.
“I forgot. Sorry. Although, to be honest, I always thought it was just your mother allowing you to be a picky eater.” Dad doesn’t look particularly concerned.
At the cavalier mention of Mum, I feel anger rising in my chest. “No. After having to call an ambulance for her baby because of an anaphylactic reaction, pretty sure she worked out it wasn’t because I was a picky eater.”
“Calm down. I was there. They told us you’d probably grow out of it.”
Mum told me about that. He’d spent most of the time in the hospital emergency department on the phone to his assistant, getting her to sort out work stuff he had to reschedule and barely paid any attention to what the doctors said about their two week old baby.
“Well, I didn’t. Still allergic.”
Lisa watches the entire exchange with wide eyes, her gaze shifting between us both.
“Well, have some more salad. I can probably rustle something else up as well.” He pushes the salad bowl towards me again.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
We lapse into silence while we eat. Lisa keeps casting looks towards her husband, almost like she’s seeing him in a different light. Mustn’t be nice, realising your husband is actually a pretty shitty father. Well, to his first born, anyway. I hope he’s at least better with the twins.
After a few minutes, it appears as though she can’t handle the silence any more. “So, Aiden. How are you settling in?”
“Good. I moved into an apartment in Kangaroo Point last week.”
She nods. “And work?”
I shrug. “It’s a bit of a learning curve, but I’m doing okay.”
“Should have gotten you onboard sooner,” Dad grumbles, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, I kind of had my hands full before,” I reply.
He tsks, concentrating on his food and failing to see the disgusted look on my face. “All those years, wasted.”
“I wouldn’t call caring for my sick mother wasted years.”
Yeah, Lisa is definitely seeing a new side of my father tonight. She looks horrified.
But Dad either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. “She could have had a carer, or lived in a facility. Instead, you lost those years that you could have been building your career back here.”
“In what world do you think she had the money for a carer, even with the NHS? And I sure as fuck wasn’t letting her live in extra-care housing.” I push away from the table, getting to my feet.
Lisa looks up at me. “Don’t go, Aiden.”
“Sit down, Aiden,” Dad says, sounding weary.
Like I’m the problem.
“I think I’m going to head home. I’ll see you at work, I guess.” There is no way I can continue to sit here, listening to him act like Mum was the problem.
Lisa follows me to the door. “I’m sorry, Aiden. I have no idea what’s come over him.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. That’s just who he is. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different.”
Walking back down the street, I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket, kicking myself for even considering trying to build a relationship with the only parent I have left.
I should have just stayed in London.