by Tijan
“Yeah, that skirt looks great with the YSL gray silk cami.”
“I can’t wear Gucci anything when I’m just packing up a few things and dragging a suitcase around on the subway.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to pay my rent, but something had stopped me giving notice on my apartment. I’d waited a long time to live in Manhattan and work at King & Associates—I just wasn’t ready to let it all go yet. Reluctantly, I put the skirt back in the closet.
Grace appeared at the door to her closet and rested against the door frame. “You love me, right?”
I snapped my head around at her. When Grace started a sentence with that preface, I knew the follow-up wasn’t something I wanted to hear.
I turned back to the racks of clothes. “I don’t know, it depends what you’re going to say next,” I replied.
“Well, I was thinking that while you’re in Manhattan, maybe you’d want to call your father.”
I turned to look at her, completely confused. “And why would I want to do that?”
“To get some answers. Hear what he has to say.”
“Why would I give him any of my time or energy?” Just because Grace seemed to be reconsidering her relationship with her parents and their money, didn’t mean I had to.
“Honestly?” she asked. “Because I think you spend far too much of your time and energy on him. Everything you do seems to be a reaction to your father.”
I looked up from the stack of T-shirts I was examining. “How can you say that? I haven’t taken anything from him since college.”
“You think ending up at King & Associates, working for the only place in town that didn’t work for your father, had nothing to do with him? You walked out of a job you supposedly loved because of him.”
“That wasn’t about him, it was about Max,” I replied. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
She pushed off the door frame and stood in front of me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “It was about a business decision Max made regarding JD Stanley—your father’s business. Despite your desire to avoid him, he’s everywhere in your life, pushing you down one path or another, whether it’s to avoid him or show him his mistakes.” She released her hands and splayed out her fingers. “Aren’t you exhausted with it?”
I was stunned. Was that what she thought? I sank to my knees, cross-legged. “You think I have some kind of warped obsession with my dad?”
Grace followed me to the floor. “Look, you’re not Kathy Bates Misery obsessed, but yes, I think you let him consume too much of your life, your energy . . .” Grace paused. “Your happiness.”
I looked up at her. I wanted to see doubt in her eyes but there was none. And I knew she did love me and I knew she wanted the best for me. “But he abandoned me and my mother. Fucked every woman in the tristate area. And all his sons work—”
“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying get some kind of closure so you can let it go. Don’t let it rule your life. You’re an adult.”
“Just like that, let it go?” He was always going to be my father, and he was always going to be an asshole. I didn’t see that changing.
“Well, clearly it’s not that easy—we’re not in a Disney musical—but maybe have a conversation with him. Tell him how you feel. I don’t see how you’ve got anything to lose. This is ruining your life.”
I snorted. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve got it wrong, but you’re talking to me from the floor of my closet.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re convinced your father is trying to ruin you. Well, you’re letting him.”
I lay back on the floor, needing to think. Was I letting my father run my life? By not taking his money I thought I was doing the opposite. And I’d done well in my career without him. I’d resigned because Max had put business before me. My father wasn’t the issue there . . . Except it was JD Stanley’s business we were talking about.
“I’m not saying your father isn’t an asshole. He’s not going to win father of the year anytime soon. And I understand that when you were little he let you down again and again.” He had let me down. “And I’m not saying you have to have some kind of idyllic relationship. Just accept the reality of the situation and get on with your own life. I think a conversation with him might help.”
She was right. Since I’d moved to New York, my thoughts of my father had gathered like waves heading for shore. Turns out they’d just hit the beach.
My obsession with King & Associates had genuinely been all about Max King. It had nothing to with my father or the fact Max didn’t work with JD Stanley. But part of me had always known going to business school had been about proving to him he was missing out on knowing me, and I was just as good as my half brothers. And Grace was right, part of the reason I’d resigned had been about my father not wanting me—the bruises he’d formed being pressed by someone else this time.
My disappointment at my father wasn’t going anywhere. It floated around me like a bad smell, influencing me so subtly I didn’t realize his hold over me. Grace was right; he had far too much power over my here and now.
“You have to deal with the root of the issue,” Grace said. “My grandma always said, ‘If you just chop the heads off of weeds, they come back.’ So far, she’s never been wrong.”
Maybe if I just got it all out—raged at him—it would be like expelling poison and I’d be free. I had nothing to lose by confronting him, telling him how I was feeling—how he’d made me feel.
I jumped to my feet and scanned her racks of clothing. “Which one is the YSL vest?”
Even though I had no money, no job, and the fare would be something approaching the amount of a small car, I’d taken Grace’s suggestion and grabbed a cab into Manhattan. I stepped onto the sidewalk, the heat almost unbearable, next to my father’s Upper East Side brownstone.
I had no idea whether my father was in. Even if he was, he might have company or be busy. I probably should have called first, but I couldn’t bear the idea he’d tell me no, and I was sure to chicken out if he suggested another time.
I walked up the stoop and rang the bell. Immediately footsteps scuffled behind the door.
“Hello?” My father’s housekeeper squinted at me.
“Hi, Miriam, is my father home?”
“Harper? Good God, child, I’ve not seen you in years.” She bundled me into the hallway. “You’re looking too thin. Can I get you something to eat? The soup I’m making won’t be ready for a few hours, but I roasted a chicken yesterday. I could make you a sandwich.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” I hadn’t expected the warmth, the welcome, to be treated as if I were family. “It’s nice to see you looking so well.”
“Old, dear, that’s how I look, but that’s what I am.” She began to make her way down the hall, beckoning me with her. “Let me call upstairs to his study.”
I couldn’t hear my father’s reaction to my arrival, but the conversation was short and didn’t seem to involve any cajoling to see me.
“You can go up, lovely. It’s the second floor, first door on your right.”
I smiled and took a deep breath. I was really doing this.
Climbing the stairs, I looked toward the top. My father stood there, looking down.
“Harper. How lovely to see you.”
He acted as if it wasn’t completely ridiculous for me to be here. I’d been to this house three, maybe four times in my entire life, and not once in the last five years. “Thanks for seeing me,” I replied. I didn’t quite know how to handle the welcome.
“Of course. I’m delighted.” As I reached the top of the stairs he grasped me by my upper arms and kissed my cheek. “Did Miriam offer you something to eat or drink?”
I chuckled despite myself. “An entire roast dinner if I’d wanted, I think.”
“Good, good. Come in.”
We went into his office, a room in all pale blues and whites that reminded me of the ocean. It had been gi
ven a makeover since I’d been here last. I took a seat in the chair opposite his desk. He sat, then stood again. “Sorry, we shouldn’t be across a desk like this. We can go downstairs. Or out in the garden. I didn’t think.”
He was nervous. I wasn’t. I rarely saw him ruffled—he always acted as if everything was playing out exactly as he’d planned.
“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. “Here’s good.”
He sat back down. “If you’re sure. Miriam sent you up here because I’m not as good with the stairs since I injured my knee playing tennis last summer.”
I couldn’t ever remember my father being so open, sharing anything so personal with me before. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, but I’m getting older and my body doesn’t bounce back in the way it used to.” He leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, it’s very nice to see you.” He nodded as if he were trying to convince himself. “We didn’t really get to speak as much as I’d hoped at lunch. How are you? Are you enjoying being in New York?”
I felt as if I’d gone to the theater and during the intermission come back to my seat to find I was watching a completely different play. My father was talking to me as if I’d been away for the summer rather than absent from his life.
“Everything’s good.” I twisted my hands in my lap. “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m here—”
“I don’t blame you for King & Associates canceling our meeting, if that’s what you think. I should never have asked for you to be replaced. I just thought it would be easier if . . .”
“What?” Easier? Easier for him maybe.
“But all’s well that ends well. You’re here.”
The conversation wasn’t going as I’d planned. I’d expected to ask him questions, for him to answer in half-truths and lies and I would call him on it. I had no idea what was going on. “I’m not following you. King & Associates canceled their meeting with you?”
“Yes, which is fine. We have excellent in-house resources.”
Why would Max do that? JD Stanley could have made him considerably richer than he already was.
“Yesterday.” His eyebrows pinched together. “You didn’t know?”
Thoughts of Max canceling the pitch created a swirl of guilt in my stomach. Wasn’t that what I’d wanted? I shook my head. I needed to focus on the here and now, not get distracted by thoughts of Max. “Can I ask you a question?”
My father looked a little uncomfortable but nodded.
“Why didn’t you offer me a job at JD Stanley?”
There. It was out. And even if I didn’t get an answer, I still felt a sense of relief from finally asking the question.
My father’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. He sighed and his head fell back on the chair. For a few awkward seconds we sat in silence before he finally said, “Look, I know I haven’t been a very good father.”
I’d never expected to hear those words. My stomach swooped and instinctively I glanced around for a trashcan, looking for something to throw up in. I’d opened a door and there was no closing it now—I’d lost control of this situation and felt as if I were tumbling down a rabbit hole.
“I never got it right with my kids when they were young. I didn’t have much of a relationship with any of your mothers, and I always felt like a fraud whenever I spent time with any of you. It was easier to throw money at a situation and go about my day.”
“A fraud?” I asked. Wasn’t that really him simply saying he felt uncomfortable and so took the easy way out?
He raised an eyebrow. “No one could ever describe me as a family man, and your mother was a good person.”
“I know.” I didn’t want him talking about my mother. “She did the best she could.”
“Which was pretty damn good given the way you turned out. You’re a beautiful, bright, accomplished woman. And I can take none of the credit.”
We could both agree on that, but it was uncomfortable to hear it. I’d expected an argument, for him to justify what he’d done. Instead I was getting a mea culpa. I didn’t know what to do with that.
Was he just telling me what I wanted to hear?
“It’s a shitty excuse, but I guess I didn’t feel I could do anything but make the situation worse. The best way I knew how to contribute was through money.”
Did he know he’d also contributed to my insecurity, my pain, my lack of trust? He focused on what he gave rather than what he’d taken away.
“And I was young and I was working twenty hours a day and . . .” His eyes went wide. “You know. I liked the women. So I guess I felt like a hypocrite then, trying to play the family man.”
“I guess the first time you got a girl pregnant that would make sense.” My mother had been the first woman he got pregnant, but he should have learned his lesson.
He nodded. “You’re right. I haven’t just made mistakes in my life, I’ve repeated them. But I have to answer to my other children about their situation. I’m describing my reasons for acting the way I did with you.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
He sighed. “Why would I offer you a job when you so clearly held me in contempt? It was different with your brothers—they allowed me to make amends.”
I laughed. “Right. So this is my fault.” Typical. I’d expected him to shift the blame so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“I’m not blaming you, but somehow I built a relationship with your brothers.”
Jealousy tugged at me. Why had they ended up with a father?
“I’d hoped we would do the same, but while you were at college, you cut off all contact.”
“And you threw money at the situation by setting up the trust?” I asked.
“I guess. I thought that at least if you were okay financially for the rest of your life then I didn’t have that guilt to live with.”
“So it wasn’t because I’m a girl? Woman.”
“What?” He chuckled, a look of surprise on his face. “Of course not. You made it clear you didn’t want a relationship, and if I’m going to be completely honest, I didn’t want a constant reminder of how I’d failed with you. It’s hard knowing your kid hates you, sees you as some kind of monster. Even harder to know it’s in some ways justified.”
I couldn’t speak. Had I let the lack of job offer fuel my resentment? Or had those feelings been there all along? “Is that why you told Max to drop me from the team?”
He took a deep breath. “Partly. But also because I couldn’t engage a company for a large amount of money when my daughter was involved in the account.” He held up his hand, indicating he hadn’t finished. “I know I employ my sons, but I don’t manage them, and their salaries are considerably less than what I would have spent with King & Associates.” He swept his hand through his hair. “I should have mentioned something at lunch, or called you afterward. It was just that things were civil between us and I didn’t want to ruin that.”
He laughed and put his head in his hands. “It’s like I lose all sense of judgment when it comes to you. I get things wrong however hard I try.”
Everything he said made sense, but instead of feeling relieved or happy, I felt cheated. As if someone had stolen my justification for hating him. He’d fucked up, gotten it wrong. But the way he explained it, his actions no longer sounded malicious. He was either the best liar I’d ever come across, or he was just a flawed human being. Maybe there was a bit of both there. It was as if I’d been suffering a chronic pain for years and, now it had just disappeared, I’d forgotten who I was without it. My hatred had become such a part of me that without it, I didn’t quite know what to do. Still, Grace was right; I felt lighter from talking to him.
“I never wanted to hurt you, but I just didn’t know how to avoid it,” he said.
I squinted, trying to rid my eyes of the forming tears. He had hurt me. Over and over. But I didn’t think he was lying when he said it hadn’t been intentional. I nodded. “I believe you.”
He pinched
the bridge of his nose. “I can’t tell you—” He paused and just nodded. “I’d like a chance to do better, if that’s something you’d be interested in? Maybe we could spend some time together, have dinner or something.”
He was asking for a chance to make amends. Even now when I’d not spoken to him for years. He didn’t blame me, didn’t express any resentment—he was just sad and regretful and it neutralized my anger toward him.
I took a deep breath and stood. “I need a chance to digest this.”
He stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked around his desk toward me, his gaze trailing the floor. “I understand.” He thought I was giving him the brush-off, when really I was fighting against years of rejecting him before he could reject me.
“Maybe I can stay for a drink and a sandwich next time.” My words pushed out of my dry throat but I was determined to speak them. I couldn’t say it but I was sorry. I’d held on to the feelings I’d had as a child and given them adult importance and justification. And although those feelings hadn’t just disappeared, I saw them for what they were—pointless and unhelpful. He’d been right when he said I’d seen him as a monster. I was old enough now to know that fear of monsters was as much about imagination as reality.
He lifted his head. “I would love that. You just decide when.”
I turned and we headed out of his office.
“Maybe next weekend,” I said.
“I would like that very much,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.
As we got to the top of the stairs, I turned to him and smiled. “Save your knee—I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“Oh, yes and one final thing,” I said as I gave Grace a rundown on the conversation with my father. Good friend that she was, she’d handed me a glass of wine within ninety seconds of me walking through the door. “He said Max canceled his appointment.”
Had Max done that for me? I tried to think of other possible motivations. I knew how much he wanted JD Stanley as a client.
