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“Is he in?” I asked her. Nora nodded and I sat back, watching the sights and sounds of the city race by outside of the window.
The day after the first Games of Love meeting in the studio, I’d called Nora. I wanted to see the smug look on my dad’s face fall away when I told him of my brand new “relationship.”
For months after my college graduation, Elias Lennox had made it his mission to hound me over my love life. It was ridiculous to me, but he seemed to take it very seriously. For him, a continuation of his name was vital. Despite obtaining my bachelor’s degree in business, without a wife and a family, I could kiss my inheritance goodbye. My father needed someone to pass his success to and he was adamant that I should continue our lineage.
After my mom left, I quickly realized that my dad was not the same man he was before it happened. He needed even more from me, held me to an even higher standard. Her leaving us had changed him in the worst way and gone was the thoughtful man who planned out each of my birthdays and loved my mother and me with everything he had. The man he had become was cold and aloof, only smiling when the business situation called for it. He was Elias Lennox and sentimentality got you nowhere in the real world. Everything my father did, every move he made, was calculated and deliberate. It was hard to imagine that his encounters with me were anything more than going through the motions. For years he had only truly been a father to me in name. I didn’t want to tell anyone that he was my father, even now, for fear of the comparison between the two of us.
Nora pulled the car into a familiar, brightly lit parking annex and shut off the engine. She hummed as she waited, just like always, and I grabbed my computer bag and shoved my untucked shirt into my slacks.
Nora chuckled. “He does the same before every meeting.”
I raised an eyebrow at her when I was done, finding it hard to imagine my straight-laced father ever doing something so chaotic. Nora shrugged, smiling a little, and disappeared into the covered stairwell to check our car in at the lobby.
I slung my computer bag over my back and squared my shoulders, trying to invoke the confident air of the Lennox family name. The office building was buzzing with suit-clad businessmen and women, sitting at sleek desks, and sliding fingers quickly over tablets and phone screens. The entire place was utilitarian and functional. My father had designed most of his buildings himself. This one was home to his main office and many of his employees, accountants, and interns worked here. I saw one, sad little holiday wreath hanging over the outside door and a length of silver garland wound around the banister of the sleek staircase that led to my father’s huge office. I nodded at passersby whose faces flickered with recognition as their eyes looked me over on my way up. Yes, I’m his son. Yes, we look alike. I rolled my eyes at their stares and kept walking. I jogged up the staircase, dodging a tiny assistant with curly hair that I vaguely recalled dating once or twice and then ignoring, and a hulking, red-faced driver, as I did.
The long door handle was cool beneath my hand and I winced as I opened the door, remembering many a hazy childhood memory from this very office. There were towering black bookshelves covering every wall and uncomfortable black leather chairs scattered purposely around the room. To my immediate surprise, there was a tall, thin Christmas tree in the corner, twinkling with silver lights and cold, metallic baubles. I heard a dry, painful cough and my attention snapped to my father who sat looking over documents on his desktop computer. As always, he tried to act as if his sickness didn’t exist, and he was just as strong and sure as ever. I knew that even on his deathbed, years from now, his pinched face would still hold that holier-than-thou expression.
“You’re late, Connor,” he groused without looking at me.
I sighed, dropping my laptop bag into one of the chairs and walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the skyscrapers and glittering glass of nearby buildings. There was a sprawling, unmatched view of the grey city beneath the skyscraper, the cars honking and moving, and people walking on their way to and fro. I used to love watching the world below the building when I was a kid, pressed against the glass like my life depended on it and staring down in awe at the roving lights of New York City. My father didn’t seem to have much time for me back then, and I learned very quickly to make my own fun. He had often worked late hours and when I wasn’t shoved into the arms of a new nanny, I was stuck in his business tower, bored out of my mind.
