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Dad’s shoulders stiffen. “She’s a political speech writer.”
“And?”
“She spends her entire time working at charities.”
“I’m aware, Dad. I’ve been going there with her.”
He glares now. “As part of King’s attempt to scrounge up your image?”
There’s absolutely nothing I can say that’s going to change his mind or make him acknowledge how ridiculous this conversation is, so I don’t bother with pretenses anymore. “Are you demanding I step down or asking?”
“Asking.”
“Then my answer is no.” I walk towards my desk and sit down. “If you want to fire me, then get on with it.” We both know he won’t. Someone out there will outcry that he’s a horrible parent for leaving his son during his “time of need” or whatever suits their article. I tilt my head as I study my father. “Do you even care that I might have been sexually assaulted?”
For the first time in a long time, I watch the anger inside my father’s eyes build monumentally while his face remains passive. He cares. Deep,deepdown, he does. His priority has always been the image he presents, but I suppose it’s counterintuitive to have your image colliding with a false one. “I love you.”
Those three words dangle between us on a brittle string. We don’t say it often. Probably a handful of times since I’ve been alive. In our world, love is a dangerous thing. Easily manipulated and taken advantage of.
I love youmeans sharing power. Acknowledging a weakness that family will always take precedence over the business. Sometimes we forget about the order in which things should go.Case in point this earlier conversation. This is Dad’s olive branch in acknowledging his faults. He knows how devastated I was when I lost Bex, but he still puts the family image first. He would rather make the articles go away than admit he’s scared of what all this means. Which is utter bullshit, but thankfully he seems to be aware of it after I call him out for his callous comments.
“I love you too.”
“What is King doing exactly?” Dad finally asks, choosing to move further into my office and taking a seat in front of me. I guess he got all the hot air out of his system.
“We’re discussing coming out publicly about the ER trip I was immediately taken on when I was found. It’s an uncomfortable topic so King is trying to find someone with kid gloves to take on the interview.”
“And Bexley Hastings?”
“She’s a good person, Dad.”
The harsh lines on his face soften slightly. “I work with her father on occasion. He raves about her work.”
This is news to me. “They rarely speak.”
Dad gives me a pitying smile. “You’ve never lost the love of your life. Grieving, it’s not an easy thing to go through. There’s no right way to do it. Sometimes the grieving process creates strains on important relationships. And those relationships become fragile in response. When wanting to fix those relationships, knowing the people have been hurt, it becomes more difficult to put your foot first into trying to mend things. Bexley may feel at odds with her father, but he loves her unconditionally.”
“He should tell her that.”
“He should,” Dad easily agrees. “But like us, he has difficulty expressing himself.”
“You walked into my office without an appointment to act as though I’m a habitual drug user,” I snort. “You don’t have an issue expressing yourself.”
Dad shifts his weight in his chair, crossing his legs and tightening his navy vest across his chest. “I don’t believe you’re a drug addict. Never have. But I want this to go away, and yes my life would be easier if you stated you were going to rehab. However,” Dad prattles on before I can interject, “I understand how atrocious that sounds now that it’s been said aloud. We’re disregarding the beginning of this meeting entirely.” He pauses. “And I apologize for my assumption of Bex based on media articles instead of her person.”
“Fine.” There’s no point in arguing when I want to forget this entire conversation anyways.
“Now, are you sure Bexley isn’t after your money?”
“King is paying off her loans to help guide me in the world of philanthropy,” I state evenly. “Otherwise that’s about it. I think she’d rather light me on fire than take anything from me directly.”
Dad nods. “And how is she?”
I stare at him for several seconds trying to figure out what kind of question this is. “She’s fine.”
“And you? Your mother and I have a very direct recollection of what it was like when you came back from Las Vegas with a wife in tow. With a different last name, I might add.”
“She’s fine as well.”
