Back to the Good Fortune Diner

by Vicki Essex

  “Thanks. That’s cheery, knowing so many of us are doomed to relationship failure.”

  He gave her a stern look. “You’re not selfish. You’re focused on surviving. We went through a lot of shit as kids, and you dealt with the situation however you could. Maybe it meant you closed yourself off emotionally from other people, but who’s to say being alone isn’t what’s right for you?”

  She pictured a lifetime of quiet solitude in her stuffy apartment. The idea had suited her just fine two months ago, but now, she wanted more, yearned for it. A handful of awkward first dates and impersonal work-related get-togethers did not constitute a social life. She hadn’t been able to admit it to herself until now. Work alone was no longer enough to fulfill her. Unfortunately for Tiffany, work was all she had.

  Her brother’s next words pierced her heart. “However it happened, Chris fell in love with you. It wasn’t a mistake and you didn’t trick him into it. So now, there’s only one question you have to ask yourself. Do you love Chris?”

  She stared. She didn’t know the answer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHRIS FOUND SIMON IN HIS ROOM, lying on the bed with Clover curled up on his belly. He had a book propped open on his chest, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed.

  “Wuthering Heights, huh?” Chris noted from the doorway.

  Simon let the book fall against his chest and blinked rapidly. “It’s. So. Boring.”

  He laughed. “We’ll rent a movie version. I thought you might want to work downstairs at the table. Grandpa’s finished watching Jeopardy!”

  “It’s okay.” He yawned. “I’m going to finish up these chapters. I’ll probably pass out while reading anyways.”

  A mew from the corner of the room had Chris glancing over to the towel-filled basket where the little black kitten named Mack peered up. He hopped out of the basket and galloped to Chris’s feet, rolling over to chew on his big toe. Chris scooped up the troublemaker and rubbed him behind the ears before putting him back down. “Still no takers, huh?”

  “No.” A guilty look stole across Simon’s face. “I asked around at school, but no one wants him.”

  Chris didn’t believe that for a minute. All the other kittens had been snatched up by Labor Day. He didn’t blame Simon for wanting to keep him, though. Mack was so full of personality, even Chris had grown attached. “Well, he’s good company for Clover, I guess.” The little gray cat watched her brother frolic, thoroughly unimpressed as Mack wove around Chris’s ankles purring loudly.

  “If you have any questions about your homework, you’ll let me know, right? We can go looking for the answers on the internet together.”

  “Sure, Dad.” Simon resettled Clover and picked up the book once more.

  Mack followed Chris down the stairs. His father sat at the kitchen table, a bunch of papers and folders scattered across the surface and a small collection of pill bottles on top of those. He squinted at the label of one, holding it up to the light.

  “Need help?” Chris asked cautiously. When they’d come back from the hospital after the surgery, William had been infuriated by how much his son and grandson hovered around him. But a minor infection had weakened him, and the cocktail of medications he took had some powerful side effects. He could barely get out of his chair without assistance now, and had to rely on them for help with even the simplest tasks.

  William shoved the pill bottle at him. “I don’t see why they can’t print this stuff in bigger letters with clearer instructions. I might as well be reading Chinese.”

  Chris ignored that little dig and helped him with the pills, taking out the prescribed doses of each and lining them up on the plate in front of his father. Mack hopped onto the table and batted the pill containers around until Will grabbed him by the scruff and put him forcibly in his lap. The kitten curled up and promptly fell asleep.

  William grumbled at the rainbow of capsules. “From steaks and burgers to this.” He took them two at a time, swallowing them with water.

  “I’m sure the doctors will take you off these once you’ve shown improvement.” He hoped so anyhow. His father had been so tired since the surgery. “Can I make you some coffee?”

  “Can’t have that. I have to lower my blood pressure, remember?” He rattled one of the bottles. “I think there’s some green tea on the counter there. Sunny sent it to me. Said it would help.”

  Tiffany’s grandmother had spoken to his dad? More shocking was the fact that his father was listening to her. “I didn’t realize you knew Sunny.” He found the sachets of green tea and brewed a cup.

  “She plays mahjong down at the community center sometimes. Taught a bunch of other folks, too. I figured, she looks pretty healthy. And five thousand years of Chinese medicine can’t be wrong. Look how many people live there. The medicine’s not killing them, that’s for sure.”

  Chris pursed his lips, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue.

  His father chuckled. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I thought I could make you laugh, but I guess you miss her too much.”

  Chris made himself busy clearing the kitchen counter. “Miss who?”

  “Don’t be coy, Christopher.” He sipped the tea, his face brightening as he took a second bigger gulp. “Have you talked to her?”

  Chris didn’t want to talk about Tiffany. Since that awful night in the hospital, he couldn’t decide whether he was mad at her for not telling him about the job interview or mad at himself for the way he’d reacted. “I gave her last paycheck to her parents. They’ll forward it to her.” The paltry sum he’d sent made him feel queasy. Even with a modest bonus, which he’d included because he knew she hadn’t been honest on her time sheet, he hadn’t felt right paying her when she’d given him so much. He brewed a second cup of tea for himself to settle his roiling stomach.

  “Now you’re being plain stubborn. I realize things didn’t end well, but you and Simon both have to forgive her at some point.”

  “I’ve forgiven her.” He simply wasn’t sure he could ever forget the way she’d treated him. He and Simon both deserved more than to be cast aside, but she’d made it quite clear they didn’t fit into her life. That she didn’t need their opinion on how to run her affairs.

  And she didn’t. They were both adults and responsible for themselves. They didn’t owe each other anything, despite what they’d shared. She’d never made any promises. In fact, she’d been explicit about her intentions from the get-go. “I thought you were mad at her.”

  William lifted a thin shoulder. “I was. I got over it.”

  Chris snorted in disbelief. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” Will replied evenly. He folded his hands in front of him. “She’s not Daphne, you know.”

  “I know that.” He hadn’t meant to snap. He repeated more calmly, “I know that.”

  “I don’t think you do know.”

  “What do you want me to say, Dad? That there was nothing I could have offered to keep her here?” The fist around his heart squeezed and he laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know why I ever thought she would stay.”

  “I don’t see why you’d think she wouldn’t stay.”

  Chris glared, then confusion struck him. Was he being sarcastic? He reexamined William’s double negatives.

  The old man put down his mug wearily. “Listen, son.” He rubbed at his chest above the stitches. “Looking death in the eye makes you think about things. About how you’ve treated people, how they’ll remember you when you’re gone. I don’t want to die with you hating me.”

  Chris stared into his father’s pain-filled face. “I don’t hate you, Dad.”

  “Well, I sure don’t make it easy to like me.” He held his gaze. “I’m proud of you, Chris. Proud of what you’ve done for this farm, for your son. You did right by them both...and by me, even when I’ve been at my worst. You don’t owe your old man a damn thing. I’ve been a son of a bitch at times. I know it. But I always believed I was doing it for the right rea
sons.”

  Chris swallowed dryly. He was really starting to worry something was wrong with his father.

  William went on huskily, “I know I’ve been hard on you since your mother passed. Losing her...well, it hurt all the time. If I hadn’t had you to look after, I probably would’ve drunk myself into the grave. Fact was, I didn’t know how to be a father to you without your mother around. She was supposed to give you all the softer things a child needs. And my job was to make you tough.”

  His dad almost never talked about his mom. She’d died suddenly of a brain aneurysm when he was six years old. Chris’s memory of her came in little snatches, her presence almost entirely faded from the homestead all these years later. Nothing of hers had remained in the house after she was gone. Not even photos.

  The grim twist of his father’s lips softened. “It was my duty to raise you to be the man I couldn’t be after she was gone. I was dying a little every day seeing you grow up. You look a lot like her, you know. I think I took that out on you, too. You were here and she wasn’t, and it pissed me off every day you defied me.”

  Chris remained silent despite the old anger boiling up inside. He told himself firmly this wasn’t about him. His father needed to get this all out of his system.

  “When you told me you were haring off to college...I was crushed. I didn’t want to be alone here.” He shook his head. “I never meant to make you feel worthless. As if your dreams didn’t matter. When you came back and Daphne moved in and had Simon...I didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or miserable. I could see it in your eyes, too. Your entire future...gone. All because of her.”

  “Daphne didn’t get pregnant on purpose, Dad.” It had crossed his mind over the years, though. He knew she could be manipulative, and she hated being left behind. Their last time together, she’d told him she wanted to feel him without any barrier. And he’d given in. Nine months later, he realized what a mistake that had been. Still... “I can never regret Simon.” He said it with conviction as fierce love burned away all doubts in his mind. “And Daphne...she didn’t know what she wanted in life. She thought all she wanted was me, but that turned out not to be good enough.”

  “She did the best she could,” William declared, “but it wasn’t enough in my books. All I’ve ever wished for was for you and Simon to be happy. I thought that would only happen if we could get back to the way things were when my Emma was still alive. At one point, I thought I should remarry, have a woman around the house to be a mother to you. But I couldn’t do it. I was married to the farm, to the life me and your mother had built together. When you came back from school and started changing things...I didn’t know what to do.” He waved his hand. “I’m starting to ramble. Seems I am starting to get old.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I haven’t heard you talk about Mom before. I don’t remember much but...I miss her, too.”

  William’s lips twitched. “Listen. I know how much you gave up for your son. I don’t know that I gave up nearly as much for you. But you have to stop pining for the things you could’ve had and look forward to the things you can earn. You need to dream again, son. I remember when you used to ride that damn motorbike of yours and tell me you wanted to drive across the country. Would you believe I once thought the exact same thing about my bicycle?” He laughed.

  Chris grinned, having a hard time imagining his dad as a young man, much less one riding a bicycle.

  “You’ve accomplished all kinds of things I could never begin to think about. All these projects of yours...this crusade to save the planet...you’re good at it. But I want you to start thinking about your future.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Simon will be going to college soon. I know you’ve been worried about money, so I’m thinking we should sell the farm.”

  Chris straightened in his seat. “What?”

  “We’ve got a lot of land here, good equipment, a good staff and clients who trust us. Someone out there must want to buy a certified organic farm business. I even put some numbers together for you.” He slid a folder toward him, and Chris opened it. Inside, his father had compiled a full report about the market value for the property and the business. They wouldn’t be rich, but they would have enough to start over, be comfortable for a while and send Simon to college anywhere in the world. That was worth a fortune, as far as he was concerned.

  “I don’t know what to say.” His thoughts whirled. He thought about what he could do with his life, what he might accomplish. The world had been offered to him on a silver platter. All the duties and chores and long, hard hours with the animals and the mud and the sun...he could give that all up. No more waking up before dawn. No more shit to shovel.

  But the thought of leaving the Jamieson farm in a stranger’s hands set off alarms in his brain. His hands clenched over the tabletop as if someone might steal it out from under him.

  “You don’t need to make a decision about it right now,” William said. “But it’s on the table. I want my grandson to find his way in the world and be the best at whatever it is he wants to do. I don’t want him to be held back by a piece of land and an old man’s stubbornness.” He eyed his son critically. “The same goes for you, Chris. You’ve done well here, make no mistake about that. And you’ve made this your living now. I would be happy if you wanted to keep the farm. But I can tell you we don’t always want what we think we want.”

  They finished their tea and his father retired for the evening. Chris picked up the folder, its weight more substantial than the pieces of paper within. William had given him everything he could possibly want. Except for the one thing he couldn’t have. Not if he stayed.

  And even then, he wasn’t certain she’d want him.

  He stared at the folder. He had a lot to think about.

  * * *

  “I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE you managed to pack a three-piece suit in your duffel bag for a soul-searching road trip,” Tiffany said, watching Daniel iron his rumpled white dress shirt.

  “Maybe I’m an international spy and I like to have a lot of disguises on hand.” He hung up the now-crisp shirt and started on the red silk tie he’d wear to the job interview. Isaac had hooked him up with the HR department at Halo. There was an opening in the accounts department that Daniel was probably overqualified for, but he needed a foot in the door. Though he’d stopped driving, he still needed to find his place in the world. Nothing said settled like a nine-to-five daily grind.

  Tiff watched him from the futon he’d been sleeping on all week, piles of manuscripts nearly burying her. If he were lucky, he wouldn’t have to spend another night on that spine-twisting torture device starting Monday. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m happy to have you here for as long as you need to stay, but if you get a job in the city, it means you won’t go home.”

  “I need to do this,” he told her, though it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself, too. Isaac had stuck his neck out for him. He was not going to throw this opportunity out the window.

  It took forty-five minutes to get to Halo headquarters, which was located in the financial district. Daniel thought about what neighborhood he might afford an apartment in, but didn’t want to jinx things by planning too far ahead.

  He was ushered up to the twelfth floor of a sterile-looking glass-and-steel building where he shook hands with a primly dressed woman in gray and a man in shirtsleeves. They told him they were impressed by his background, and were a little surprised he’d spent all this time working at the family restaurant, but they said it “shows loyalty and dedication, a firm work ethic and the willingness to take on any responsibility.”

  Translation: whipped.

  They asked all the requisite questions he had prepared answers for: What are your worst qualities? Where do you see yourself in five to ten years? Why do you want to work for us?

  It was this last question that stumped him. The correct answer should have been “because I want to grow with a successful company and add my unique experience to help the company grow.”
Typical interview rhetoric.

  Instead, he blurted, “Because I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Excuse me?” the primly dressed woman said, glancing up.

  Daniel opened his mouth, looked to the equally befuddled man. What was he saying? He should laugh it off and pretend he had a quirky sense of humor. Time slowed as he looked out of the glass-walled conference room at the blue and gray cubicle walls. Drones in suits sat hunched at their computers. The fluorescent lighting sent a harsh glare over the pale face of an office clerk who walked past. He made bleary eye contact with Daniel, and continued on, zombielike.

  Suddenly, Daniel wanted to take his answer about the next five to ten years back. Because he knew exactly where he’d be in that time. He’d be here, walking around like that guy, in a slight daze, heading back to his cubicle to stare at some spreadsheets. He would have a chance to move up the company ladder, but would that matter? It would be the same thing at a different desk. He’d be a suit who played with numbers.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just realized I have another appointment.” He got up and shook their hands, then left the building and the miasma of despair he hadn’t noticed before. He was going to have to apologize to Isaac about this.

  The farther he got from the office, though, the more he knew it was the right decision. Enjoying the sun and the unseasonably warm September weather, he walked all the way to Chinatown and decided to have lunch at a popular barbecue and noodle house.

  He’d been to this restaurant as a student because the food was cheap, the service fast. The waitress recognized him instantly. She asked after his family and whether he’d married yet, then speedily brought him his meal: noodles in soup with roast duck and a plate of gai lan. He relished the simple flavors of the egg noodles and broth with scallions, the tender, juicy meat of the slowly roasted duck. The parboiled leafy green gai lan was slightly bitter, but still crisp. He removed his tie and jacket, the steam from the front counters warm and redolent with spices and cooking oil. He ate slowly, every bite kindling a memory not only from his college years, but from his childhood, as well.