Chương 4
My mother froze with a plate in her hand.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I know.”
“Sit down anyway.”
The sharpness returned instinctively.
Then she caught herself and softened her voice.
“Please.”
Alexander took off his coat.
Rain had darkened the shoulders.
He handed it to no one, carrying it over his arm instead.
“I haven’t eaten either.”
My father seized on that.
“Then stay.”
“Richard,” I said.
He looked at me.
It took him a moment to understand that I had not called him Dad.
His expression tightened.
“We have plenty of food.”
“I know.”
The turkey sat in the center of the table, carved badly by Logan despite my mother’s insistence that my father do it ceremonially.
Steam no longer rose from the mashed potatoes.
The green beans had begun to wrinkle.
Everything looked less elegant than it had two hours ago.
Alexander leaned closer to me.
“You choose.”
It was quiet enough that only I heard.
I hated him a little for making me choose.
Leaving would have been easier if he had simply swept me out.
Staying felt pathetic.
Leaving felt theatrical.
My mother was watching me as if my decision might affect the structural integrity of the house.
Maybe it would.
“I’ll sit for ten minutes,” I said.
My father exhaled.
Alexander nodded.
“Ten minutes.”
We sat.
My assigned chair had apparently become the one immediately to my father’s right.
That had been Vanessa’s seat.
She moved without complaint.
When I glanced at her, she gave me a tiny shrug.
The expression said more than an apology could have managed in that moment.
My mother placed turkey on Alexander’s plate.
Then potatoes.
Then stuffing.
Then green beans.
“Diane,” he said.
She stopped with the spoon hovering.
“Yes?”
“I can serve myself.”
“Of course.”
She sat down.
Nobody knew how to restart Thanksgiving.
Uncle Peter tried.
“So, Alexander, how’s the market treating you?”
Michelle closed her eyes.
“Peter.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“I’m making conversation.”
Alexander cut into the turkey.
“It’s overcooked.”
My mother went pale.
I stared at him.
He looked at me.
Then the corner of his mouth moved.
I kicked his shoe under the table.
He coughed into his napkin.
My aunt Claire laughed first.
Then Vanessa.
Even my father smiled reluctantly.
“The turkey had a complicated afternoon,” I said.
Alexander took another bite.
“I stand corrected.”
Something in my chest loosened.
Not much.
Enough.
Sophie leaned across the table.
“Are you really marrying Aunt Emma?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vanessa nearly dropped her fork.
“Sophie.”
“What?”
Alexander considered the question seriously.
“Because she makes my life harder.”
Sophie frowned.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s excellent.”
I shook my head.
“She’s eight.”
“She asked.”
Sophie looked at me.
“Do you make his life harder?”
“Constantly.”
“Mom says marriage is already hard.”
Mark choked on his wine.
Vanessa covered her face.
“Can we please discuss literally anything else?”
For a few minutes, the room became almost normal.
Children complained about vegetables.
Someone asked for salt.
Uncle Peter started telling a story about a parking ticket and forgot the point halfway through.
I ate three bites of mashed potatoes before realizing how hungry I was.
Then my father leaned toward Alexander.
“About Horizon.”
The table tightened again.
Alexander put down his fork.
“No.”
My father blinked.
“I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You were about to.”
A muscle moved in my father’s jaw.
“I was only going to say that Whitmore Development submitted a revised proposal last week.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“I’m not discussing procurement at Thanksgiving.”
“This isn’t technically a procurement discussion.”
“It became one the moment you said Horizon.”
My father sat back.
The rejection embarrassed him more than it should have.
I recognized the posture.
Shoulders squared.
Chin slightly lifted.
He was the same man who used to come home after meetings with banks and tell us everything was fine while unpaid bills sat beneath a fruit bowl.
My mother stepped in.
“Richard was just making conversation.”
Alexander looked at her.
“No, he wasn’t.”
The directness startled everyone.
It startled me too.
My father’s fork clicked against his plate.
“This is my home.”
Alexander nodded once.
“Yes.”
The agreement left my father with nowhere to go.
I put my napkin beside my plate.
“Alexander.”
He turned.
“Don’t.”
He studied my face for a moment.
“All right.”
My father noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He leaned toward me.
“Emma, could I speak with you privately?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
His eyebrows rose.
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“Because I know what comes next.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
My mother glanced toward the children.
“Perhaps this isn’t the place.”
I looked at her.
“You made the kitchen the place two hours ago.”
Vanessa whispered, “Emma.”
Not as a warning.
More like a plea.
I pressed my lips together.
The children did not need this.
Neither did twenty relatives who would replay it at Christmas.
I stood.
“Fine.”
My father rose immediately.
We went into his study.
Alexander stayed at the table.
That surprised my father.
It surprised me too.
He closed the study door behind us.
The room smelled of leather and the cedar polish he used on the built-in shelves.
A stack of folders sat on his desk.
The top one bore the Hayes Capital logo.
I looked at it.
My father followed my eyes.
“It’s not what you think.”
“That sentence has never improved anything.”
He rubbed his mouth.
“You knew I was bidding on Horizon.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I told you I was working on a hotel redevelopment in Manhattan.”
“You never said which one.”
“You didn’t ask.”
His face hardened.
“I’m your father, Emma.”
“And I’m your daughter.”
He stared at me.
I could see the moment the sentence reached him.
His shoulders lowered half an inch.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
May you like
“Make me into some monster because your mother asked you to help with dinner.”
I laughed once.
