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“Okay,” I said softly. “I understand. We won’t speak of it.”
“Thank you.”
Just then, the elevator doors slid open. Wally emerged, backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked exhausted. I couldn’t help but notice the handful of pamphlets in his grip.
“Hey,” he greeted, looking between us suspiciously. “How’ve things been here?”
“Uneventful,” I lied fluidly. “Your father was just reading me my horoscope.”
Wally gave me an amused look. “You don’t believe in that crap.”
“True, but we were bored and I didn’t want to hear him read last week’s baseball statistics.”
“How was the group presentation?” Jesse asked.
Wally’s whole demeanor shifted when his father addressed him. He was suddenly very stiff and still, peeking at Jesse like a schoolboy being scolded. “It was fine. We won’t get the marks back until next week. I’m sure I did well, though.”
Jesse nodded his approval. “Good.”
“What do you have there?” I asked Wally, looking at the pamphlets.
He immediately stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “Nothing.”
“What are you hiding?” Jesse asked curiously, though he used a more serious tone than was necessary.
“It’s nothing important,” Wally answered in a small voice. “Just information about culinary schools in the area.”
“This again?” Jesse snapped. “I thought we agreed to drop this.”
“I didn’t agree to drop anything.”
“You’re not going.”
Wally’s jaw tightened and released before he spoke. “Dad, can’t we talk about this?”
“We’re not having this discussion—” Jesse tilted his head in my direction “—in front of our guest.”
Wally stepped forward, holding up a pamphlet. “Just hear me out, okay? There’s this great program in New York. Tuition for a full-time program would cost a fraction of what it’d cost to send me to medical school. The deadline to apply is next week, so I thought I could fly out and—”
Jesse rose from his seat, slow and in control and brooding. I remained seated, awkwardly trying to shrink into myself. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to see this side of him. It was like staring at an eclipse, frightening yet beautiful. He overshadowed the little moon that Wally was, staring down his nose at his son with a level of frustration I’d never witnessed. Even when I disobeyed his orders and ran out to help him when we were being attacked at my apartment, Jesse never got this upset with me.
“Do you honestly think cooking food all day is going to help you make a living? Long hours stuffed inside a hot kitchen, doing the bidding of others. Does that sound like a career to you? You may as well flip burgers at a fast-food joint because there’s literally no difference.”
My ears burned with second-hand embarrassment for Wally. The window to excuse myself had long since passed, so I was stuck here, longingly looking in the direction of the guest bedroom and wishing for an escape.
“You’re too smart to work in a kitchen,” Jesse continued. “You’d be wasting your talents. Wouldn’t you rather be saving lives as a doctor than having patrons snap their fingers at you because their steak’s undercooked?”
Wally stared at his father for what felt like an eternity. The pamphlet he had was now a crumpled mess in his fist.
I’d seen him stressed before. We were classmates in a couple of introductory courses in our first year of college, so I got to see firsthand how he dealt with extreme pressure. Last-minute cram sessions were a breeze for him. No question too complicated, no essay answer too long. But this?
This was white hot rage.
He stormed off, muttering under his breath. When he slammed his bedroom door closed, it shook the whole penthouse.
I looked at Jesse, frustrated. “Where’s the harm in at least listening to him?”
He shook his head. “This is a family matter, Vivian. I’d prefer it if you didn’t get involved.”
