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“Did you get the numbers I sent you?”
“Yes.” He turned back to look at me, all the warmth out of his eyes.
“I’m sorry I messed up before. I’m not sure how I missed that column.”
He didn’t brush it off. His stare remained cold. “An apology is a waste of time. Just don’t do it again.”
I didn’t interpret that as an apology is unnecessary. I interpreted that as I don’t want to hear excuses for your shortcomings.
“You know, I’ve been doing those numbers for a long time and never made a mistake.”
He looked out the window again. “Let’s not discuss work. We’re going to the opera.”
“And that would be fine, but I can tell you’re pissed off.”
He let out a sigh before he looked at me again. “You really want to do this right now?”
“I think you’re overreacting.”
“Scarlett, you want this job?” he snapped. “Then you can’t make a mistake.”
“Well, I’m pretty much doing the work for free, so maybe you should appreciate the fact that I do it at all.” I didn’t know what possessed me to say that, to fire off on my father without any thought to the consequences.
His eyes widened by my rebuttal. “Excuse me?”
“Just something you should keep in mind before you snap at me. You belittle me for the one time I’m not perfect, but never compliment me all the other times I do things right. I’m the only person you trust to see these numbers, so maybe you should be kinder to me about this.”
“Be kinder?” he asked quietly. “Sweetheart, you want this job? You think I make mistakes?”
“I bet you’d make a mistake if you did paperwork all day. It’s called human error—and I’m human.”
“What has gotten into you? I’ve never heard you speak to me this way?—”
“And I’ve never heard you speak to me this way,” I shot back. “If anything, I’m doing you a favor doing all that shit for you on a meager salary, so you’ve got a lot of gall to berate me for it when I’m basically doing it for free.”
He stared at me for several seconds, like he couldn’t believe a word I just said.
I couldn’t believe I’d said it either, but now I had to hold my ground.
“You want more money? Is that what this is about?”
“I’m not asking for more money. But I’m asking you to have some perspective. Just remember that I do a lot for you because I want to, and it’s pretty fucked up to give me shit the one time I mess it up. That’s all.”
He stared for several seconds before he looked out the window again. “You’re right, sweetheart. I apologize.” Now he sounded like himself again, genuine and open. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind…and shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “Let’s just forget about it.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I understand if you’re no longer interested in attending the opera with me.”
It was hard to stay angry at my dad, especially when he looked at me like I was the light of his life. “I’m sure, Dad. It’s water under the bridge.”
We sat together in the private box on the balcony and watched the opera. There were seats behind us, but my father booked the entire balcony so we didn’t have to share the space with anyone. Our drinks were constantly full because the server only had two guests to wait on.
My father had been taking me to the opera since I could remember. It was hard to understand a word they said, but the emotion was unmistakable. Powerful voices reverberated through the theater, and everyone seemed mesmerized by the performance.
The curtains closed, and then intermission arrived.
“I’m going to powder my nose.” I headed downstairs and was able to beat the crowd of women who had the same idea. I did my business, washed my hands, and then looked at my appearance over the sink.
