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End of story.
From my deck overlooking the lake, I survey the party going on on the lawn inside the heated tent. The fact that I haven’t had to lift a finger to make Jewel and Vince’s wedding happen—I delegated everything to a very eager wedding planner and her small army of workers—has shown me something.
I’m missing out on connection.
My whole life I’ve been dictated to, and dictating is about all I know how to do. Directing, negotiating, getting what I want, making things happen. But I haven’t put my soul into any of it. I don’t have any real relationships.
And I need to fix that, starting with the person who should have been a top priority from the beginning.
I dial her number.
“Daddy? I’m kind of in the middle of something…”
I’ve never used a firm “dad voice” with Ridley before, but here goes. “Ridley, come home. Now. We need to talk.”
* * *
First things first, I apologize.
“I’m sorry for never saying no to you.”
I don’t think Ridley, my party-loving socialite daughter who’s never been deprived of a thing her entire life, understands at all what I’m doing.
At first, she simply cuts her eyes around my office, as if she’s looking for the hidden camera. “What’s going on? Are you dying? Is that why we’re in your office? Because you’re cutting me out of the will?”
I have to laugh. “What? No, I’m not dying.” I proceed to confess to her all the ways in which I’ve done her a disservice. Given her things she didn’t earn. Paved a golden path everywhere her feet have trod and never giving her a sense of appreciation for what she has. Most regrettably, never nipping her bullying problem in the bud way back in preschool.
And then, I drop the bomb about Hunter and me.
Not surprisingly, my daughter listens to my story in shock and horror.
“What are you going to give me to keep this story quiet?” she asks.
I rub my face in exasperation. But then again, this is what I do. I negotiate.
“Did you not hear a word I said? Where did I go wrong with you, Ridley? Was it when I bought you a pony when you asked for one at four years old? Was it the front row Beyonce tickets at the age of nine? Was it the credit cards?”
She sighs and crosses her arms. “Daddy, come on.” Her pouty lip and professionally shaped eyebrows indicate she is judging me, dismissing me, as perhaps she should.
“Ridley, I love you. And I don’t want this to affect your senior year any more than I want it tainting Hunter’s senior year.”
She looks at me skeptically. “So?”
“So, if the story gets out, it will be embarrassing for you as well as for her,” I say.
Ridley’s eyes dart around. “Hmm. I don’t think that’s correct,” she says. “This is way worse for you and Hunter.”
Her lip curls because she’s got me where she wants me. Or, she thinks she does.
I clear my throat and gaze at the floor of my office to keep her from seeing my smile. Regaining my composure, I deliver my final offer. After all, negotiating is one of the only useful life skills I’ve taught her. “If this story gets out, in any form, I don’t care if you are the source, or Hunter or your mother or the ghosts of Greenbridge are the source. You, my dear daughter, whom I love very much, will be cut off.”
She smirks. “Really. Well, go ahead and cut me off. I’ll stay with Mom, and she has plenty of money. Not to mention Grandpa. And how am I supposed to stop Mom from blabbing this all over the PTA meeting when she finds out about it?”
I take a step closer. “Because despite all her faults, she has compassion. Something we perhaps failed to teach you. She would not want a student to suffer embarrassment because of her idiot ex husband. Also, grandpa’s money is in a trust, and you won’t see it until you’re twenty-five. And guess what? Grandpa can change the terms of that trust whenever he wants, with a single word from me.”
I’ve just delivered a lot of information, and she takes a moment to absorb it. “I have compassion,” she says.
I nod. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Now think carefully about what I’ve said.”
