Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I sucked back another glug of wine, finishing it off, because the server was there with my next.
I handed her the spent glass, nabbed the new one and took a glug of that too.
“Is this upsetting you?” he asked. “Unduly?” he went on, since the question he asked was already answered with my recent actions.
“No. You know Mom and I have never really bonded. But yes, that lengthy of a betrayal is hard to wrap my head around. Not to mention, I loved Uncle Adam and I’m shocked and hurt he would do this to you. To us.”
“Oddly, that’s the part that’s hardest to take. Losing my best friend.”
I could imagine.
“I take it Adam wants her,” I noted.
He nodded.
“Motherfucker,” I said under my breath, feeling for Aunt Naomi too, because she was a sweet lady, and no woman deserved that. Then I drank more wine.
“Elsa,” Dad rebuked. “You’re a lady.”
“I’m a modern woman, Dad, and we call them like we see them.”
He took in a very deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “The truth is, I haven’t even liked your mother for a long time. Our paths diverged somewhere along the line, but whenever that was, it was quite some time ago. So long ago, I don’t entirely remember what brought us together in the first place. I know that sounds harsh, and it has to be hard to hear—”
“Dad, it’s not news. This may sound harsh and be hard to hear too, but you tried to hide it, and you weren’t very good at it.”
He nodded morosely. “I’m sorry about that too, bubbeleh. But she’s been unhappy too. So really, as much of a shock as this is, it’s a good thing.”
“It’s not a shock either, Dad. I’ve been wondering when you’d split up since forever.”
His expression made it clear he didn’t like that.
The server showed with our entrees.
I wasn’t hungry.
“Eat,” Dad encouraged, picking up his cutlery. “You don’t remember to eat. It worries me.”
I wasn’t as excited about it as when I ordered it, but I picked up my fork and knife to eat it.
“So, she’s moved in with Adam?” I inquired.
“Yes, now that he’s settled. They’re in a walkup in Bushwick.”
“Awesome for her,” I muttered sarcastically and took a bite of my chicken parm.
“She’s nervous about speaking to you,” Dad said.
Still with the sarcasm, I asked, “Really? I wonder why.”
“Elsa, she’s your mother. The only one you’ll ever have.”
“Since we’re bandying around extreme honesty tonight, Dad, she hasn’t been a very good one. And her cheating on my beloved father for twenty years doesn’t help.”
“She had talent and ambition, and it never worked out for her. And then she sees you, who is the spitting image of her, captain of the debate team and president of the student body, making a name for yourself within a year of graduating college, and she has a blind eye to how much work you put into all that. She just sees that everything you touch turns to gold.”
“I’m not competition with her for a spot on the chorus line, Dad. I’m her daughter.”
“That’s fair,” he murmured. “Even so, I urge you to cut her some slack.”
I put some chicken in my mouth and chewed angrily.
“All I wanted was to keep my father and grandfather’s firm thriving,” he said. “To find a beautiful woman and make beautiful babies and buy a condo in Palm Beach. She wanted more, and I don’t blame her. I also don’t blame her that the bitterness crept in. It’s natural.”
I wasn’t going to get into that.
I was thinking about his firm, which was medium sized, but he’d kept true to his goal. It had always thrived. We didn’t need for anything, or want for much, growing up.
However, Dad had put three kids through college, one through grad school, and I knew he had hefty accounts set aside for Emilie and my weddings. Further, Dad was no stranger to charitable giving. Or political. And he had a big heart and strong ideals, so he could be generous.
“This settlement you intend to give her, is it going to be comfortable for you?” I asked.
He put his fork and knife down and picked up the glass of wine he ordered to have with dinner.
He didn’t answer until he took a sip and put it back.
“I’ll have to delay my retirement for a few years.”
My fucking mother.
“How many?” I pushed suspiciously.
“Honey, I don’t work construction. I sit at a desk. It won’t be hard for me to work until I’m seventy. Seventy-five even. And I enjoy what I do. My clients certainly will be pleased I intend to tack a few years onto my tenure. And it’ll give me a chance to give changeover plenty of time, then take a back seat and just do the work and let your cousin take over management. He’s very new now, but by then, which, mind you, is years away, I’ll have had the opportunity to be certain it’s in good hands.”