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Charlize: I hope everything is going well with your meeting. I’ve already dealt with a thousand emergencies and am ready for my gala girl days to be over.
Owen: We ran into some problems. I’ll get there as soon as I can.
“Charles,” Poppy says. “A minute please.”
I spend five minutes with my cousin who has a question about her stocks. I then make my way to my mother who waved me over with a look on her face that says “I desperately need you to solve another problem for me.”
I always thought my mother was calm and unruffled when it came to her galas. She has planned so many of them over the years and is well-known for smoothly run events. It turns out Joan Cohen gets in as much of a flap as the rest of us do in life.
I help her with the new situation and after that, I help her with at least five other situations.
I was wrong about gala girls in so many ways.
They’re not about social climbing.
They’re about taking charge and getting shit done.
At eight p.m., Mom looks at me questioningly. “Where is Owen? I haven’t seen him yet.”
“He’s stuck in a work meeting.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” she says, like out of all the things I could have said, this is the one thing she would have expected me to say.
I guess itdoesmake sense. Because that’s the experience she’s always had with my father.
I glance at the table my father and brother should be seated at currently. Neither has arrived yet. And if I know anything, my father probably won’t turn up. My brother may, but he’s increasingly started to follow in our father’s footsteps when it comes to family functions. And while this isn’t a family function, I don’t think he should promise her he’ll attend something if he doesn’t care about honoring that promise.
I’m not mad at Owen for working tonight, but this conversation is stirring up a lot of feelings for me. Growing up without seeing very much of my father still sits deeply in me, and not in a good way. When I have children, it will be with a man who better manages his time between his work and his family.
I’m disappointed for Mom that her husband doesn’t show up for her, but I don’t say anything to her. This is how it’s always been, and she’s obviously made peace with it.
My brother arrives just before 9:00 p.m. and I run into him as he makes his way to the bar. Unfortunately for him, I’ve spent the last hour thinking about the fact my father rarely makes it to Mom’s galas. And about the fact her son is now treating her the same way. This means I approach him in a slightly antagonistic mood.
“It’s lovely of you to show your face, Nate.”
He comes to a stop. “Am I detecting some animosity here?”
“Let’s just say it would have been nice for you to make it on time to a gala you know is important to your mother.”
He lifts his brows. “Since when do you say things like that? And since when do you care so much about galas?”
“Since today. I never knew the work that went into these events before. Mom works hard on them, and I think she’d appreciate it if you and Dad cared enough to turn up on time. That’s all. Just show up when you say you will.” I might have grumbled about coming to Mom’s galas in the past, but at least I attended them.
“Don’t take your issues with Dad out on me.”
“I’m not.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“You’ve always thought he worked too much.”
“Yes, and I recall you feeling the same way when we were growing up.”
“Well, we’re adults now, and in case you didn’t know, adults have to fucking work.”
“Fuck you, Nate. I work.”
