Tess #2
Weirdly, when I’d swallowed, I found I wanted to talk about it.
“He and my mother were never married. They sort of did the common law thing for a minute, but they broke up when I was four. Besides sending child support, he was never the best at staying involved after that, and then when he got married later on it was like the string was cut altogether. As though it was an either/or type of deal. Like he had to choose between her and me, and he chose her. I haven’t spoken to him since. I think I was twelve?”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you.”
I shrugged like it hadn’t hurt as much as it had. Like it didn’t still hurt. “My mother married the year before I graduated high school. A little late for a father figure, but he’s a good man. He fills the role well enough.”
I regretted it as soon as I’d said it. Not because it wasn’t true—Bruce was a good man, and for all intents and purposes, he did fill the role of what I imagined a father should be. He’d taught me to change a tire and balance a checkbook. He gave the “respect my girl” speech to my prom date.
But that wasn’t all the truth. It had been hard for me to be fatherless—envying friends who got to go to daddy-daughter dances, always feeling as though no matter what I did or accomplished, I had failed at keeping the interest of the one man that should have been easiest to win over.
It had been hard, too, to be inextricably tied to a culture that I knew absolutely nothing about. Sure, I could have learned about Iran on my own, but that wasn’t the same as learning it from someone who lived it.
Wanting for some reason to share more, I chose that to expand on since it was the easier thing to admit.
“It would have been nice to have someone to talk to about the experiences that come with having a Persian name and Persian coloring. Someone who could relate, I mean. Like, I get pulled out of every airport security line for a ‘random’ pat-down. And every time someone hears Turani they have to ask about my ethnicity. Which is also a weird thing because I’m white, right?
But I’m also ‘other,’ and there’s no box to mark it on any of the forms, so where does that leave me?
Minor inconveniences. I’m not complaining that I’m treated unfairly.
It would just be nice to have someone in my life who has the same experiences. ”
I shook my head, realizing the fault in the desire. “Of course, my father was born and raised in Iran, is much darker than me, has the accent, and practices the culture. His experiences are probably nothing like mine.”
“But it would be nice to know.”
“I guess it would be nice to know him period.”
Scott ran his hand lazily down my torso, over my hips to my thighs and back again. “I don’t know. If he’s anything like my father, you may be better off not knowing him.”
“Not knowing your father would mean not knowing this life.”
“Would probably be worth the exchange.”
His touch was distracting, but not so distracting that I didn’t catch that he was looking for sympathy. Now this was like the players I’d met before. “Is the rich, white boy boohooing about his rich, white life?”
“Hey, that’s a little unfair.” His hand stopped its journey, but it settled on my hip so I didn’t mind too much. “I acknowledge that I’m privileged, yes. It doesn’t mean that every day is all jet planes and champagne. I don’t get everything I want. I have obligations that feel oppressive.”
“Such as?” It was hard to believe he really knew oppression. The glimpses I’d had into Kendra’s life seemed to show that money might not buy everything, but it sure bought freedom.
He didn’t even have to think about it. “My job, for one. If I’d wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer or an entertainer, I would have been disowned.
The only choice for me was to go into the family business.
My path has been laid out from the day I was born, whether I agree or not.
SIC is the source of any money I hope to inherit, and that means I have to ‘put in the time,’ according to my father.
So here I am, VP of image and outreach, which was not my first choice.
Not even my tenth choice. But it’s my title because PR is where my father wanted me, so now I’m stuck there until he decides I’m worthy of something better. ”
I could see it would be hard to walk away from the lifestyle he’d gotten used to, but if he did, he’d still probably be better off than most people I knew. In other words, he still had a choice.
I had a feeling bringing that up would be too confrontational for a first date, though, and definitely off limits for any booty call.
I chose another aspect of his speech to remark on. “Careful. My degree is in PR.”
His eyes widened as if he realized something he hadn’t before.
“That suddenly makes sense.” He seemed to tuck that thought away and changed gears.
“My degree is in business, and I’m not dismissing public relations as a career.
I’d maybe even enjoy it in another situation.
It’s one thing to sell a company or a product that can bring good into the world or make lives easier or provide entertainment.
It’s another to have to convince people that the man behind the company is not a complete piece of shit, contrary to the evidence. ”