Chapter 33
Oliver watches Isaac Durbin saunter toward home plate with a bat slung over his shoulder. “Perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon,” he states, taking a bite from his hot dog.
“Agreed,” I say. “Thanks. I really appreciate this.”
“No thanks necessary. You’re doing me a favor. Been a while since I made it to a game, and the regular season is almost over.”
“I meant the foundation help,” I tell him.
Oliver grins before taking another bite. “I knew what you meant, Flynn. Plenty of time to discuss all that after the game.”
“Sounds good.”
Three innings later, I hear an uncertain, “Hey, Flynn.”
I glance left, right at my cousin. Perry is standing at the end of the aisle we’re seated in, part of the prime section right behind home plate.
“Hey,” I reply, startled by his sudden appearance.
I haven’t seen Perry since the dinner I had no clue he’d be attending.
We’ve only crossed paths with each other a handful of times since he moved to New York after law school.
He didn’t grow up in this city, like I did, and he’s in a different income bracket.
Our only overlap is our fathers, who aren’t exactly close.
He’s here with a woman I don’t recognize. They’re holding hands, so I presume they’re dating.
“This is my girlfriend, Macie,” Perry confirms.
I aim a polite smile her way. “Nice to meet you.”
“Uh, so we’re actually headed for those.
” Perry points at two open seats about two-thirds of the way down the aisle I’m in.
“We got a last-minute deal since the game already started and weren’t sure what side of the section to come down.
Then I was pretty sure it was you, so …” He smiles awkwardly. “Mind if we go past?”
I’m still processing the surprise of randomly running into my cousin, so it takes a second for his request to register. “Oh, right. Of course.”
I stand, seeing Oliver do the same in my peripheral vision. “This is Oliver Kensington. Rory’s dad. Oliver, this is my cousin, Perry, and his girlfriend, Macie.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Oliver says graciously. “Enjoy the game.”
“Thanks,” Perry replies, then continues down the row, saying, “Excuse me,” to each person.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him and Macie sit down about fifteen seats away from us. She whispers something to Perry, and he smiles at her.
I look back at the field.
“Long story,” I say to Oliver, who’s likely wondering why I just treated a relative like a casual acquaintance.
His kids are close with their cousins. Rory is serving as Lili’s maid of honor, and Wren is a bridesmaid. Kit and Bash are two of Charlie’s groomsmen.
“I’ve got a few of those.” He glances over. “You want to talk about it?”
I shrug. “Not a whole lot to say. I let my dad’s opinions become mine. He and his brother have a weird dynamic, and I let it become ours too.”
Oliver nods. “Been there.”
“You have?”
“Oh, yeah. I grew up believing there was the wrong way or there was Arthur Kensington’s way. No exceptions. Made a mess of my relationship with him and with Crew for a long time.”
“What changed?”
“What changed?” He tugs the brim of his ball cap down with his left hand, balancing his beer on his knee with his right.
“Nothing? Everything? It felt like being on a hamster wheel. I was always running, trying to get everything done, and there was never any end in sight. But it was hard to stop. Easier to keep moving. Keep trying. I got older. I got tired of being pitted against my brother. I met Hannah. I acquired a new perspective, I guess. One with a lot more nuance.”
“And your dad? Did he … understand that?”
Oliver exhales. “My dad has two sons, two daughters-in-law, and five grandkids. If you asked him what his greatest achievement was? One company. Kensington Consolidated is his legacy. There’s no separation between the personal and the professional for him.
He doesn’t believe in distractions or rearranging priorities for people.
Kensington Consolidated isn’t a business; it’s his purpose.
And he should be proud of it. What he accomplished with the company was extraordinary.
It’s the reason I have the life I have. And if I’d lost Hannah when Wren and Rory were little, the way he lost my mom … ”
He pauses, taking a sip of beer.
“I have sympathy for him. But ambition isn’t an excuse for being an absentee parent.
Neither is loss. They’re explanations, but they’re not excuses.
So, no. I don’t think he fully understands.
But he’s tried to. He stepped aside as CEO.
He doesn’t say he’s disappointed or offer unsolicited advice about company decisions.
Would we have a better relationship if I’d continued making the exact decisions he did?
Undoubtedly. But that’s not why you’re supposed to have kids—to populate the planet with miniature versions of yourself. ”
I nod. “My dad … he’s never been absent.
The opposite. He’s over-involved. He wants to have a hand in every choice I make.
He pushed me to go to law school. More than pushed—he basically forced me to go.
I went, and I did really well, and he’s doubting I passed the bar.
He’s constantly waiting for me to mess things up, even when it’s associated with something he approved of—especially when it’s associated with something he approved of—and it’s exhausting. Like I lose either way.”
“Have you told him any of that?”
“I’ve tried to. He knows I want him to back off.
I have messed up, and he had to bail me out from mistakes.
It’s not like there’s no precedent to him expecting disappointment.
For a long time, it felt easier to leave that as the default between us.
But I get so sick of it, you know? Sick of always having to be on guard, of waiting for him to cut me down again. So, it’s … yeah, it’s a mess.”
“I wish I had some brilliant insight that would fix everything, Flynn. But my best advice is, be as honest as possible. Let him see how his attitude affects you, even if your instinct is to pretend everything is fine.”
“We’re not speaking right now actually.”
My parents weren’t at the Kensington Consolidated gala. Not that I saw at least. Which should have been a relief—and was—but was also strange. Did they not come because they were respecting my boundaries? Did they just happen to have a conflict? I can’t find out without speaking to one of them.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oliver says sincerely.
I shrug. “It’s been fine. Peaceful.”
“I can’t say I wouldn’t have tried the same strategy if I hadn’t had to see my father at the office every day,” Oliver says. “But keep in mind: The longer you wait to say something, the harder it can be. Don’t let the silence last too long if you can help it.”
I nod.
“And if you need to talk to someone else, I have season tickets for all of New York’s sports teams. So, we can really do this anytime.”
I smile. “Thanks, Oliver.”
He smiles back, then glances at the field. “What do you think of Corbin Gallen?”
I settle back in my seat, following his gaze. “I think he’s overdue for a homer.”
Oliver tilts his beer at me. “Here’s hoping.”