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"So, she was just there for the interview?"
"Yeah," I say. "She was." I don't go on to tell him that I actually met her previous to the interview, or that the interview had gone poorly, or that I’m thinking about calling her to see if she wants to have a second night with me. That's none of his business.
"Okay then," he says. "Well, I'm glad to hear that my news is not out though." He pauses. "It may come out sooner rather than later."
"Why?" I say. "Are you going to issue a press release or something?"
"No," he says, "My business is my business, but people might start asking questions if…" He pauses, and I frown.
"If what, Father?"
"If you become the new CEO of Pruitt Holdings."
"I'm not about to become the new CEO of Pruitt Holdings. I don't even work for Pruitt Holdings," I say, shaking my head. "You know this, Father."
"I know, but I would like to step down," he says softly.
I’m shocked. Never in a million years would I have thought that my father would willingly say he wants to step away from the business he put his life and soul into, the business that cost me my childhood and my mother her marriage.
"You look surprised. I don't blame you," he says. "Your mother thinks I've gone crazy."
"Have you?" I ask him. I’m grateful when the waiter brings me an old-fashioned. I pick it up and take a long gulp, thankful for the smooth liquid as it hits my stomach and warms me up.
"Nearly dying has given me a new perspective on life," he says. "I enjoy business. I've enjoyed it, but I've pushed your mother away. I've pushed you away. I've pushed my own desires away." He looks me in the eye, and he sighs. "I know you're surprised. I know you never thought you'd hear Cornelius Pruitt talk about feelings."
"And I don't really want to hear Cornelius Pruitt talking about feelings right now," I say, my heart pounding. This kind of talk is making me uncomfortable, and I want to leave the table. My father and I don’t have conversations like this, and at that moment, I'm grateful that we don't. My heart is constricting, my head is pounding, and my hands are clammy. I don’t like this feeling; it’s like I'm having an existential crisis. My father is making me uncomfortable, and I know I can't just get up and walk away.
"I guess I understand what born-again Christians feel like," he says, laughing.
"What are you saying? Have you found Christ?"
"I've always known Christ," he says. "Okay, maybe I haven't been the best Christian, but I've been a Christian. You know that."
"I mean, I know you've gone to church on Sunday, and I know that you tithe, but I can't say that I think you've done much for those less fortunate than us."
"I know," he says. "In fact, that's what brings me to my next point."
"Your next point," I say, taking another gulp of my old-fashioned. I look over at the waiter, point to my cocktail, and nod at him, signaling that I want another. I'm going to need many drinks today.
"I want to start a nonprofit," he says.
"A nonprofit? You?" Shock and humor have replaced my feelings of discomfort. My father is not the nonprofit sort.
"I'm not going to run it," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not going to be involved day-to-day. I'll hire people for that, but I do want to invest in lower-income communities. I want to invest in bringing educational resources to school districts that do not have the same amount of resources to buy their textbooks or pay their teachers better or?—"
"Okay, and you wanted me to help with that or something?" I cut him off. "Is that why I'm here?"
"No," he says, "you're here because I want you to take over Pruitt Holdings. You're here because I don't want you to make the mistakes I've made in life."
I take a deep breath. "Dad…"
"Listen to me," he says, shaking his head. "You're single, and I know you're living a great life. You're successful without me, without the company, but are you happy? Are you fulfilled? Do you go home at night and…"
"And what, Dad? Do I go home at night and wish I had someone there with me? Do I go home at night and wish that I could bang someone? Because you know I'm not a monk; I'm getting laid."
"It's not about getting laid, son," he says, shaking his head. "It's about waking up and seeing kids and hearing laughter and living a full life."
“Kids? Ugh.” I groan. I can't stand bratty-ass kids. I think about Zara and her two kids and the mess and noise they made. I think about her son splashing me in the water fountain. I want to laugh at how absurd it had all been.
