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“I don’t want to play a part in the gentrification of communities, I don’t want to play the social game of making friends and enemies. I don’t want to take on jobs from the highest bidder, mafia and other criminals included. I want to design buildings, fix bridges, hell, I’d even be a landscape architect if I knew I could avoid having to brown-nose to people like you.” Shit. All things considered, I had done well sounding impassive and purely logical.
My mom let out a small gasp.
“People like me?” Dad asked.
I stood. Leveling the playing field. “You’re good at what you do, I can admit that. But I want my job as an architect to be one that makes a difference, not just cash changing hands. Not just relationships formed to make stepping stones to success.”
Dad threw his hands in the air. “That’s all it is! A series of negotiations to move you from one stage to another. You act like taking this internship is tethering you to some evil corporate entity.”
“I’m not convinced it’s not!”
“Is this about Karina?” Mom asked.
“What? I fail to see how working for her father’s company is related to the fact that it is simply a job I do not wish to take.” I felt my voice rising, my blood heating. I needed to rein it in otherwise I’d hear the “we’ll talk when you calm down” line.
“I know you and Karina have had your ups and downs, but I really thought you could be more mature about this,” my dad said, easily taking the bait from my mom.
“It’s not about some toxic relationship, it’s about the fact that I don’t want to be bullied into taking an internship and job that I know is not right for me.” I could see it all too clearly, resenting the job I’d wanted because I wasn’t actually given a chance to do my job well. I was already convinced I’d never put pen to paper with that company. It would only be emails and budgets and making shady deals for shadier corporations. I’d always think about the Cristo internship.
“Bullied?” Dad took a gulp of the whiskey. “Is paying for your fancy apartment and fancy school bullying you?”
“Would you have supported my choice to go anywhere else?”
“Of course!” my mom said. “But it didn’t make sense for you to go anywhere else!”
“I have supported you in the decision to forgo law in order to pursue the architecture thing.” My dad pointed a finger at me, his voice rising with each word. “I have supported you in waiting for your internships. I have found you reputable companies, people who want to hire you! I have set you up for a goddamned great future and you think Ibullyyou?” He stormed into his office, returning a moment later with a stack of papers clutched in his fist. “Here you go! You take over the loans! You finish paying off the semester. It’s all on you.”
“Randy—”
“No,” my dad turned to my mom. “He wanted this.”
“I didn’t!” I threw my hands up in the air, walking over to the bar cart just as my dad had. I poured a measure of whiskey, threw it back, and poured another. “I wanted to go to Boston! I wanted to study old architecture, restoration—”
“The degree you are getting covers that!” my mom said.
“I know!” I threw back the rest of my drink, inhaling the caramel aroma. “I wanted to go where the old buildings were. It doesn’t matter.” I shook my head. “We’re getting off topic. I wanted to go there, but you didn’t want me to. Look where I ended up? Right whereyouwanted me.”
The air went still, the only sound was the ticking of an old grandfather clock my mother had inherited.Tick, tick, tick.I could have stood there all night.
It was my dad who finally broke the silence. “While you’re under our roof, I reserve the right to prevent you from making irreversible mistakes.”
“Good thing I don’t live under your roof.”
“I pay for the roof you have!”
“Then don’t!”
“Please,” my dad scoffed. “You’re going to go out and get a decent job while you finish the last month of school where they are working you easily eighty hours with your capstone?”
“I can make it work, I have some things saved up.” It was true.
“Yeah, that’s just enough to cover the last bit of your tuition that I won’t be paying. Good luck, kid.”Kid, not son.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, because it all would come down to that anyway. I needed them, I was too tied up in their plan to break out now. Just a little too late to grow that backbone.
“Finish what you started.” Dad slapped me on the shoulder, like he could already see my defeat. “I’m proud of how hard you’ve worked. I want to see you finish strong. Take the internship and finish out the year with our help. You don’t need to be obstinate about this.”
“What brought this on anyway?” my mom asked, finally letting her grip loosen on the poor wine glass. “I know you’re still seeing Eliza Walsh.”
