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The bottom line is that this was the overall right choice for my family's appearance. Being a single dad, staying in a wholesome suburb instead of a penthouse on the twentieth floor of some modern building; it just presents a much better image.
Especially with this ridiculous custody battle going on. I still cannot believe that Karla is pushing so hard to try and get custody of Taylor. She never has been interested in being a mom! It was always and still is only about the money for her. I thought the court would take one look at her history of drinking and drug use and dismiss the case, but of course, she had fabricated a bunch of absolute bullshit to try and make me look bad, spilling the stories over into the media and actually managing to win some of those blind social media junkies over to her side. It is causing havoc for my family and it's even worse for my son. I even had to find him a new daycare after the reporters started swarming outside the one he was attending when one of their employees leaked the fact that he was enrolled there.
My blood begins to boil at the thought of it and as I pull up into my new driveway, I feel a scowl etch its way on my face. Whatever. I will take her down in court. Piece by piece. No matter how long it takes or how much it will cost, I will do it for my son. Because he deserves the world, and I will make sure he gets it.
I park my Pontiac and pull up the hand break. One really good thing about living in the suburbs is the space. I will have so much more space to do what I love. The only other thing besides spending time with Taylor that brings me some joy in this world is working on my classic cars. I will even be able to bring a few of them out of the warehouse and with a driveway this big Taylor and I can spend some time outdoors. I can teach him about how the engines work while I am rebuilding them. I know, he is too young really, but I think it is a great way for us to spend quality time bonding. I think he will grow to love these classic cars as much as I do and one day it will be 'our thing'.
My next-door neighbor is getting into her car. I watch her close the door and start up the engine. She looks sour. Scowling and grumpy. She might have actually looked quite pretty if she had bothered to brush her hair and look more presentable. As she drives by, I see her saying something but don't quite make out what it is, then she laughs again and drives off. Whatever. I do not actually have to like my neighbors. In truth, I want nothing to do with any of them. It is just Taylor and me. We have a beautiful big house, and we can hide away from the world in here.
Turning to look at the house, I sigh. Well, it will be beautiful when all of these renovations are finished.
I walk into the large sunlit foyer of our new home. Strange to think that I always thought that the adventure of moving to the suburbs would be one undertaken with my wife, as a family. Guess you can never really trust anyone. Never put your faith in anyone. People change and people screw you over every chance they get. The world is about money and status and nothing else, unfortunately. This is the dark reality of human nature.
The movers are still busy unpacking boxes. They were supposed to be done within the hour, but it was a mess.
"Where is the manager?" my voice comes out snipped and angry.
The young man carrying a box towards the kitchen jumps and almost drops everything. Is everyone completely useless?
"He's --- uh --- he is ---" The kid stammers over his words so much I feel instant irritation.
"Forget it. I will find him myself."
The kid practically runs away from me.
I need to make sure that even if the rest of the house is not ready today, at least Taylor's room has to be.
"Mr. Johnson!" I stride into the room and the manager of the moving company immediately stands up from what he was working on and walks over to me. "Yes, Sir. Welcome home, Sir."
At least this man has some manners.
"Why are we running late? I was told you would be done before lunchtime?"
"Well, Sir, we were not aware that the builders would be here while we were trying to unload everything and it has slowed us down somewhat, but we will only be a few more hours. It will be finished today."
"I don't care for your excuses Johnson. I paid you to do a job. Now make sure it is done!"
The manager just nods. Good. I am so high-strung right now that if he had dared to try and spit out another reason or excuse for why the job was not going to be done on time, I might have had to kick him out right then and there.
I look around. I cannot face talking to the builders now. I do not think the site manager is here anyway. Making my way upstairs to Taylor's room I go through the list of things I have to do today. I have done something I pretty much never do; I took the day off for the move. It is stressing me out though and my phone has not stopped buzzing all day. My assistant is handling most of it, but people in my business do not take time off. Ever. From a very young age, it was pounded into my mind that business was life. And everything in my life revolves around my family's tobacco empire. And my son.
My father choosing to retire last year cannot have come at a worse time with the divorce and the media drama that comes with it, but I have no choice but to take over and keep things going strong. It is my job. The eldest of my parents' two sons and the only one the family can truly rely on.
It is my duty.
I am the face of the family and the face of the company, and everything is on my shoulders.
Opening Taylor's bedroom door, I feel relief to see that it is fully set up. He has chosen a 'universe theme' and the interior designer has actually done a decent job. A dark blue accent wall painted with galaxy swirls and a giant moon lamp over his bed plus a few other planets and some lights that look like stars and blue swirling galaxy printed bedding on his little bed. He is going to love it.
I cannot wait to see the look on his little face when he sees his new room. At least that is one less thing to worry about.
My mother would never approve of a bedroom like this. Even for a three-year-old! When I was growing up, my bedrooms had all been crisp and white, spotlessly clean and organized to the point of being almost military.
It is just how we were brought up. But I want more for my son. I want him to have a home, not just a place to sleep, but a welcoming and safe space. I have never felt at home anywhere. I grew up having everything but feeling very little. We were not allowed to play or laugh loudly or express happiness or our fears and thoughts. Children are to be seen and not heard. We were taught that someone was always watching, someone was always recording or taking photos, and therefore our behavior was of paramount importance. That's just the way it was.
But for my son, I want him to feel like this is his space. His bedroom and his home. A secret pocket away from the prying eyes of the world where he can just be himself.
It is very important to me.
