Chương 11
“Are you giving career advice now?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“You already own a hotel.”
“That sounded like an insult.”
“It was preventative.”
She handed me the receipts.
“One guest knocked over a centerpiece.”
“Broken?”
“Only the vase.”
“Charge?”
“Event damage.”
I glanced toward the ballroom.
“No.”
Priya stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“Eat the vase.”
“Jake.”
“It’s sixty dollars.”
“You told me not to let family make you sentimental.”
“That was before the public confession.”
“That is exactly when sentimental decisions become expensive.”
I looked at her.
She looked back.
“Fine,” I said.
“Charge the vase.”
“Thank you.”
“I hate when you’re responsible.”
“It’s one of my worst qualities.”
We walked toward the office.
Halfway there, I heard my name.
Robert caught up with us.
“Jake.”
Priya looked at me.
“I’ll be in accounting.”
She disappeared before I could stop her.
Coward.
Robert stood with both hands in his pockets.
He looked uncomfortable without a drink.
“I owe you an apology.”
I rubbed the back of my neck.
“This seems to be the evening for those.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He looked toward the office corridor.
“Can we sit somewhere?”
I led him into my office.
It was not impressive.
People expected hotel owners to have offices with leather furniture and skyline views.
Mine contained two mismatched chairs, a printer that jammed when it sensed weakness, and a mini refrigerator full of sparkling water I kept forgetting to drink.
Robert picked up a framed photograph from the shelf.
My parents stood beside me at twenty, all three of us squinting into sunlight at a county fair.
He stared at it longer than I expected.
“I haven’t seen this picture.”
“I found it in a box after I moved.”
He put it back carefully.
“I should’ve been there more after they died.”
I sat behind the desk.
“You said that earlier.”
“I didn’t say enough.”
I looked at him.
Robert lowered himself into the chair opposite me.
“We told ourselves you wanted space.”
“Sometimes I did.”
“That made it easy.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“Too easy.”
I waited.
“I kept hearing you were working at that motel.”
“The Red Cedar.”
“Right.”
He winced.
“I thought you were stuck.”
“I was.”
“And instead of helping, I judged you for it.”
There was no comfortable response.
So I gave him the true one.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“You and Diane talked about me like I was a cautionary tale.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“At Thanksgiving, you told Emily she should finish graduate school so she didn’t end up ‘drifting like Jake.’”
Robert closed his eyes.
“I said that?”
“You were carving turkey.”
He looked down.
“That’s ugly.”
“It was memorable.”
“I’m sorry.”
I leaned back.
Part of me wanted to punish him.
Not with cruelty.
Just with detail.
I could have listed every remark.
Every missed call.
Every holiday invitation that arrived through someone else because contacting me directly apparently required too much effort.
I had stored those things with the efficiency of someone who claimed not to care.
But looking at him now, I understood something I did not particularly enjoy.
Emily had learned her obsession with appearances somewhere.
So had I.
Her version wore designer dresses and threw parties she could not afford.
Mine bought a failing hotel and refused to tell the family until they accidentally rented the ballroom.
Different costumes.
Same stupid stage.
“I didn’t tell you about the hotel,” I said.
Robert looked up.
“No.”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted this exact moment.”
He frowned.
“What moment?”
“The one where you found out after it was too late to pretend you always believed in me.”
The words sounded harsher once they were outside my head.
Robert sat very still.
I looked at the printer.
Its little green light blinked patiently.
“That’s not the whole reason,” I said.
“But it’s part of it.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
“I don’t know if it’s fair.”
“It is.”
“I wanted you to feel stupid.”
He gave a tired smile.
“I do.”
“That doesn’t feel as good as I expected.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
I laughed.
So did he.
It was small and uncomfortable and probably healthier than either of us deserved.
A knock came at the door.
Emily stood there.
Her shoes were in one hand.
Barefoot, she looked shorter.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Robert said.
“No,” I said at the same time.
She rolled her eyes.
“Great.”
She stepped inside.
“The band is doing requests, and apparently my friends have decided humiliation is now the official theme.”
“What happened?”
“Megan requested ‘Material Girl.’”
Robert covered his mouth.
I failed completely and laughed.
Emily pointed at me.
“You’re a terrible person.”
“Probably.”
She looked at her father.
“Mom wants you.”
“Why?”
“She says you told Aunt Susan I was unemployed before she could.”
Robert stood.
“I didn’t.”
“Then apparently Aunt Susan has developed clairvoyance.”
He sighed.
“Your mother is going to kill me.”
“Take your drink.”
“I lost it.”
“That tracks.”
He headed for the door.
Beside Emily, he stopped.
“I’m not disappointed in you.”
Her expression tightened immediately.
“Dad.”
“I know.”
“No speeches.”
“Okay.”
He kissed her temple.
Then he left.
Emily watched the doorway after he was gone.
“He means well.”
“So did half the people who made us insane.”
She looked at me.
“That sounded personal.”
“It was.”
She stepped into the chair Robert had vacated.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
From the ballroom came a muffled burst of music and somebody shouting Trevor’s name.
Emily looked at her shoes.
“I really was awful to you.”
“Yes.”
“I mean before tonight.”
“Yes.”
She glanced up.
“You could make this slightly harder for me.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“What?”
“Efficiency.”
She snorted.
Then her face grew serious.
“I used to tell myself I was teasing.”
“I know.”
“You weren’t laughing.”
“No.”
“I noticed.”
That surprised me.
“Then why keep doing it?”
May you like
She turned one shoe in her hands.
“Because everyone laughed.”
