by Tom Lally
Once everyone finally sat down, I reached into the middle of the table for the chicken breast before hearing my brother say, “Wait.”
I paused with my arm stretched across the table.
“Wait until we say grace,” he said.
I forgot that my dad, Grace, and Pierce were each oddly religious.
“Oops. Sorry,” I said.
“Grace, would you like to say grace this time?” Pierce asked.
“Why yes, Pierce. Thank you,” she said giggling.
We each grabbed each other’s hands. My sister and I did it out of politeness. Brock did it because he was in his girlfriend’s parents’ home. My father did it because church ‘saved him’ after my mother passed. Pierce prayed because he considered himself something of a regional God and Emma did it strictly because Pierce did. Grace prayed because of her family upbringing. Her name wasn’t Grace due to familial legacy or even its attractiveness, but for the Grace of God. She wore a cross around her neck every day and tried helping me recover my lapsed Catholicism. She and my father used to force me to church with them when I was in high school. After the six straight months of snoring in the back pew, they realized that not even God could save me.
“Oh, heavenly spirit. We thank you for the food we are about to receive as a consequence of your blessing O’ Lord. To you, we thank for the nourishment of our bodies and warmness in our hearts as we all are able to be here on this lovely day. Thank you, Father. Amen,” Grace finished.
“Amen,” we all said in unison.
Pierce reached for the chicken first and gave a piece to everyone except me. I had to say his name six times over the table chatter before he wanted to listen. He loved that petty bullshit.
Riley immediately knew what he was doing. She quickly grabbed the noodles and dunked about half of the bowl on my plate. We quietly giggled and I shoved a forkful into my mouth so no one would see how much I had.
These dinners usually turned out the same way and this one wasn’t an exception. My father and Pierce would talk business on one end of the table. Emma, Riley, and Grace would talk fashion and Riley’s job on the other end of the table. Emma played with her bracelets and let her blonde hair fall from the bun she had it in before. She reminded me of a younger version of Grace. Emma had quit her job as a nurse once Pierce started making seven figures. She was going to end up like the rest of the Goldencrest wives, unemployed, uninteresting, and vaguely inebriated.
Brock politely spoke in both conversations. I wished he sat on the other end of the table. I liked him. He was a photographer from Venice, California. Riley and he met on her first large-scale photo shoot for a magazine. His wardrobe was that of an artist. His jeans were tight and rolled up at the ankles, just above a pair of brown, scuffed boots. His red-and-blue checkered flannel was tucked into his pants. His dark brown hair was neatly combed to one side and his face had pronounced stubble. I found myself jealous of his life. He was making money doing what he loved. He was happy with his life and he managed to mingle in all types of company effortlessly. He was perfect for my sister and it made me even happier for her. They were the ideal couple despite what others at the table may have valued.
I found myself stuck nearest to the women’s side of the table as usual. I liked to sit next to my sister even if that meant I had to deal with listening to what the different styles of the respective seasons were. It beat listening to two grown men rifle on about the stock market, the country club, Donald Trump’s appeal, and their clients, otherwise known as their ‘custies’. I ate quickly. It was abnormally fast, but mentally appeasing. I knew the second I was done, I could quickly say thank you, and return to the patio for a post-dinner cigarette. Riley used to try to involve me in conversations, but she learned that I’d rather leave then feign interest.
“Thank you, Grace,” I said and stood up once I finished eating.
“Wait, Drew,” my father said.
“Yes?” I said.
The whole table silenced for some reason and the spotlight made me nervous.
“Pierce and I were talking. We thought you might like an internship with Paul Shapiro this summer. You remember my friend Paul, right? Either way, Pierce did it when he was your age and loved it,” he said to me.
“I’m not interested in Wall Street,” I said.
“Well, now, Drew, this isn’t a request. You need a plan moving forward. You’re currently unemployed and doing what?” he asked.
He snapped his fingers a few times as he tried to come up with the answer.
“I’m going to school,” I said.
“But not working,” my father continued, “and what’s your next move?”
“I’m gonna find another job in the summer,” I said.
“And after that, what’re you gonna do? Write the great American novel?” my father asked.
“I don’t know. Afterwards, I’ll try my hand in writing somewhere I guess,” I said.
“Drew, there’s no money in writing. Mom wrote book after book and she barely made a goddamn cent,” Pierce butted in.
“Money isn’t my goal, Pierce,” I said.
“What is then?” Pierce asked.
“Fulfillment, I guess. Happiness,” I said.
My father laughed as did my brother. The rest of room sat in awkward silence.
“Will you guys leave him alone?” Riley said as she stood up.
“Drew, I will not allow my son’s life to be ruined by immature values. I’ve already decided to tell Paul you accepted the position,” my father said, ignoring my sister.
“You did what?” I asked.
“Drew, you’re taking this job. I’m tired of trying to plead with you. You’ll one day learn that supporting yourself is the key to happiness. Not slaving away at a career you’ll never succeed in,” he said.
“What the…” I was interrupted.
“End of discussion. I don’t care what you have to say,” he said.
The room was deathly silent and all eyes were pointed at me. I felt like I was being portrayed as the boy who couldn’t grow up, and I was learning the hard way. I stared at the floor for a second. My shoulders sagged and I exhaled one defeated breath.
As I left the room, I heard my father say, “One day, you’ll thank me.”
I put my plate on the counter and rested my hands against its cold, marble surface. I stared at the window above the sink and my reflection appeared. For a few seconds, I daydreamed about smashing my father’s face into his plate, hearing him gasp and yelp while his teeth shattered against his food.
“What the fuck?” I asked myself.
I could hear Riley arguing with Pierce and my dad.
“Why not let him do what he likes?” Riley yelled.
“Why are you always sticking up for him? He’s young and naïve. He doesn’t know what he should do,” my dad yelled back.
“So you’re just gonna tell him what to do?” she yelled.
“This will help him. He chain-smokes and hangs out in the basement all day. He doesn’t do anything else,” my dad said.
I left the kitchen before anyone could see me and returned to the patio. I took my cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one. The saliva in my mouth had become thicker as I tried to thwart the inevitable tears.
Our backyard extended nearly thirty yards before hitting the beach. I could see the water calmly swelling as it was pulled in by the tides. I walked on the cement that covered the perimeters of the pool and reached the lawn. A slow breeze ruffled my hair and sent embers flying from my cigarette.
The tears started to stream down my face like a waterfall. I was gargling mucus and my chest was pulsating to account for the gasping breaths I took. I walked to the edge of the lawn where the grass became sand and sat on the small ledge that looked like a mini hilltop. I sat with my legs bent and curled my arms around them. I buried my face deep inside my crumpled body and wept. It felt like I was there for hours, though it was probably only ten minutes. The cigarette I’d been hold
ing had burned itself down to the filter though I’d only taken two pulls.
I could hear footsteps coming from behind me. I knew it was Riley immediately and didn’t turn my head. She just sat next to me while I lit another cigarette.
“You okay?” she asked, folding her legs so her red shoes were wedged beneath her knees.
I nodded, wiping my nose with my hand.
“They don’t know how talented you are,” she said.
“I’m not. Even if I was, they wouldn’t care,” my voice stammered.
“You are talented, Drew. Dr. Merriweather has told you. I’ve told you. We aren’t lying to you,” she said.
“Thanks, but I don’t think I can do this anymore. I can’t do that internship,” I said. “I’ll lose my mind.”
“It’s still a long way’s away,” Riley said.
“I couldn’t stop puking before I went to work as a waiter. How the hell am I gonna go to an office with people I don’t know? I don’t even like finance,” I said.
I could feel Riley’s hand rubbing my back.
“Why do I have to be the one who thinks like this?” I asked her.
“Drew, you’re not alone,” she said.
“It doesn’t feel that way,” I said.
Riley hugged me tightly, quietly hushing me while the wind blew her hair into my face.
***
The party started to leave after everyone finished eating. They had work the next morning and needed to get back to Manhattan. Nearly an hour and fifteen minutes away by car, that meant that when 8:15 came, everybody was long gone.
Riley had a hard time saying goodbye as I walked her to the door.
“How long are you gonna be away?” I asked.
“A month at most,” she said. “But don’t hesitate to call.”
Riley was heading to Europe for a magazine shoot. She’d gotten the call from her agent a few weeks ago. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so excited.
“Don’t worry about me. Go have fun. I’ll be fine,” I said.
“Still call. I want to know how you’re doing,” she said.
“I will,” I said.
She hugged me tightly again. Pierce gave me a cold handshake and Emma gave me another reluctant, half-committed hug. Brock invited me to his and Riley’s apartment anytime. I had been attending Redding College in Manhattan since the start of my sophomore year and hadn’t once stepped foot in their apartment even though it was close to campus.
I watched as Brock’s Jeep pulled out from the driveway, followed by Pierce’s Mercedes as they exited through the gate. They disappeared behind the bushes lining the front of the house. I hung my head in relief and pain. One car I was happy to see leave, the other I wished hadn’t.
I walked into the kitchen and found my father leaning against the island bar. Grace was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes and dirty silverware. My father sipped scotch from his tumbler. I walked over to Grace and started helping. I could feel my father’s cold stare. Grace was quiet and the uneasy feeling of undissolved tension arose.
“Drew, we need to talk,” he said, sipping his scotch again.
“What about?” I asked.
I thought that maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was going to apologize for what had transpired over the past few hours.
“About your psychiatrist,” he said.
“What about him?” I asked.
“You’re not going to see him anymore,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
My body instinctively swung around so I was then facing him.
“Drew, this isn’t working for me. I’m not paying some doctor to give my son medication that’s not working. You don’t need that psychiatry bullshit,” he said.
“It’s not about you,” I yelled. “It’s making a difference for me.”
“Obviously. You don’t do anything. Instead, you waste my money complaining to some douchebag in Barrington,” my dad said. “I’m not doing it anymore. Cancel your next meeting, tell him thank you if you want, I don’t care. I already took your medication.”
“No, I need to stay on that,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” he said.
“I need those,” I yelled. “They’re helping me. If you spent…”
“Don’t raise your voice with me,” my father interrupted. “This is my house, these are my rules, and this is my decision. Your pills are gone. I flushed them down the toilet.”
I stood silently for a few seconds. I could feel the tears returning and worse yet, my father noticed them.
“What, are you gonna cry?” he asked and then walked towards me.
I remained silent but immediately stared down at my feet to avoid his anguish.
“Are you gonna cry?” he asked again.
I could see his dress loafers nearly standing on top of my sneakers.
“Look at me,” he said. “Look at me!”
He slapped me across the face. The force swung my head so I was looking over my own shoulder. I slowly turned it back to my dad’s glare. His eyes were fierce. They had lost their boring brown color. I swore they looked black.
“You will learn the hard way from now on. I’m tired of waiting for you. Look at you now. You look like a pussy,” he said. “I’m not doing this anymore. Understand?”
I didn’t speak. I just glared at his chest to avoid eye contact. He put his drink on the counter near the sink and grabbed me by my shirt. He lifted the fabric so I was standing on my toes. I grabbed his hand and he violently pulled my face towards his.
“Do you understand?” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” I said as the tears rolled down my cheeks.
He let go of my shirt and pushed me into the counter. He quickly chugged the remainder of his drink and started to walk out of the kitchen.
“Grace, grab your coat. We’re going to the club for a drink,” he said and walked away without a response.
Grace silently put the remaining plates in the dishwasher. She refused to acknowledge me and hummed as she followed my father out of the kitchen. I stood shell-shocked, waiting for the front door to close. Instead, I heard it slam a few seconds later. Then, the car engine ignited and I could hear the tires of my father’s car squeal as they tore out of the driveway. I slid down the counter until I sat on the floor with my legs straight out in front of me. A tear ran down my nose before it fell to the floor.
***
Around 9:30, I left my house and wandered down the beach aimlessly. I found myself chain-smoking while tears continued to stroll down my face. I was glad to see that no one was on the beach. I needed to be alone. I’d finally grown tired after walking for a while and I found a trio of rocks that led out roughly twenty feet into the ocean. Higher than the tide and flat, the rocks were a perfect place to sit and let the calm waters of fall act like they could solve life’s problems. I looked off into the darkness and pondered what to do next. My father’s voice crept through my ears. My face didn’t hurt anymore, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. My heart was rushing and I momentarily paused, hoping that I would fall off of my couch and wake up. Instead, a small spray of water ricocheted of the rocks and gently landed on my face. I knew everything was real then.
Riley wouldn’t be home for a month. I was being forced to become a banker. I couldn’t monetarily afford to see my psychiatrist again. My medication was gone. My family either worried about me or found me a black sheep amongst the Thomas name. I grabbed another cigarette from my pocket and went to grab my lighter when a wave crashed harder than any other before had. It wasn’t a giant, but nevertheless, it was a violent wave considering the past twenty minutes had just been therapeutic. The water crashed over the rocks and onto me. My feet were soaked as were my jeans. My cigarettes were ruined. My lighter had fallen from my hand. The water had knocked loose remnants of my cigarette into my mouth.
“Come on!” I yelled at the ocean before retreating back to the beach.
I stood on the sand
, shaking the water out of my hair and checking to see what damage I might have missed. I went to spit out the cigarette contents still caught under my tongue, but the wind returned. It caught my saliva and flung it back towards me, landing it perfectly centered on my shirt.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked aloud and looked around as if my audience would sympathize with me. I rubbed it off with my finger, but only managed to smudge it against my chest. I couldn’t help but stare down at my sneakers. With every ounce of pressure I put on them, water would bubble through the tongue and over the laces, further dousing my sock which made that horrible ‘squishing’ sound.
I started to walk back towards my house. I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t know what else to do except get out of those clothes. I walked for a few minutes, passing the houses that I wished I lived in, pondering a normal family life that resided within before my sneaker stepped on something. I looked down and found a glass beer bottle, broken into several, jagged pieces. The moment hit me like the wave a few minutes before. I picked up one of the pieces, examining it for a short time, but then an urge sprouted. I walked over to the shore and washed the glass to see its pointed edges. Nothing mattered to me anymore. That was something I had never felt before in my life. Liberation, to a degree at least. I turned my left-hand palms up and stared into the water, contently thinking, This is it.
Chapter 4
I woke up and was staring at a white ceiling. My mouth was dry and my arms felt numb. I felt too weak to lift my head. The sun shone in through the windows, hurting my eyes.
“He’s waking up. Drew? Drew?” someone asked.
I saw Riley’s face peer over mine.