by Jamie Knight
“There’s plenty of time for that left still, Charles, don’t worry. I’m not a dinosaur quite yet. But still, I do have something to say on that subject, and I suppose now is as good a time as any. Mariah, this isn’t just a regular dinner.”
I know that, Dad! I want to shout with excitement, but I hold it in. When he’d called - or rather, had his secretary Henrietta call - to set this up, she’d said it was a business dinner.
Dad, wanting to talk business with me? In person? That could only mean one thing. He wants to give me more responsibility with the company, maybe even take it over from him!
It makes perfect sense. I’ve been his go-to girl for years now. I followed him around the office on school vacation days, holidays, anytime I could. Not just during those cheesy “Take your daughter to work” days like the other kids. That was just another normal day for me. I learned everything I could from him…and tonight is the night I get to start proving it.
“I asked you here to talk about the business,” Dad continues. “Our business. I’m no dinosaur, but I’m also not getting any younger, and that means it’s time for me to think about what happens when I retire.”
Don’t smile, don’t smile, don’t smile, not yet, not yet, not yet, let him say it.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, and family has always been important to me. I know it might not have felt that way to your mother, what with the long nights at the office and all… but she just never understood these things like we do, dear. I want the business to stay in our family, you understand?”
“Of course, Dad. Of course!”
“So. That is why…”
Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes.
“…I want you to marry Charles.”
My brain short-circuits midway through processing that sentence. It’s so drastically different from what I was expecting, my neurons just sort of crash and fall all over each other, like tiny kittens who don’t know how to walk yet. Except this isn’t a cute YouTube video. This is my life, and it’s just caught fire.
Chapter 2
Mariah
“What?!” is all I can manage at first.
“Honey. You know how your mom and I used to say we wanted to give you a brother someday? Well, that went out the window when she took off on me, so I’ve moved on to the next best possibility: a son-in-law. And look, this will be good for you too! You always tell me that you're too busy to date! First it was school, now it’s work - and if I know you, you won’t slow down unless I give you a reason to. And that reason is Charles.”
“I don’t - I don’t even know Charles! You just waltzed in here with him twenty minutes ago, and now you’re ready to marry me off?”
“I want the business to be in the best possible hands. Charles has experience, he has smarts, he has dedication - ”
“I have all those things too! And I’m your daughter!”
“Mariah. Do not raise your voice to me.” My dad’s eyes glint with that steely look that used to terrify me when I was younger. It either meant someone at the company was getting fired, or I’d done something that was very, very much against the rules in our house.
“Oh, I’m sorry, is my tone upsetting you? Well, I’m upset too, Dad!”
“Why, sweetie? This is a great - ”
“It’s not great! None of this is! I thought we were having dinner here tonight so that you could tell me that you wanted me to take over the business!”
“You?” Dad looks genuinely taken aback. “What on earth would make you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I spent my whole life following you around, idolizing you, learning from you? I got a degree in business because it’s what you did, and I got it from the same school you went to! I work in your office! How much clearer could it possibly be that I’m the best person for the job?!”
“But, Mariah. You’re only twenty-one. And you’re my daughter.”
The way he says daughter, like it’s a bad taste on his tongue, twists my stomach into knots. I can feel the hot prickling behind my eyes that means I’m going to start crying. I hate that. My dad’s the only person on the planet who can get this kind of reaction out of me, and he’s the last person I want to be reduced to a blubbering mess in front of.
“So, what? And you want to pass me off to this guy? What, so you can just get rid of me?”
I’m standing now, trying to ignore the surreptitious stares from other diners. I see the host-guy hovering anxiously in front of his little podium, probably trying to decide if getting in the middle of this is a good idea or not. He will probably feel obliged to kick me out soon, if I don’t settle down and stop causing such a ruckus in front of the other patrons.
“Mariah, don’t embarrass me.” Now Dad’s standing too.
“It’s all right, Mr. Huston,” Charles says. “Your daughter’s feisty. I don’t mind that.” His look is close to a leer. I feel my lip curling in disgust.
Dad tries to gently take my arm and guide me back into my seat, but I brush him off. He meets my eyes and says, “Charles is a good businessman. I want him to be part of the family.”
“Well, if you love him so much, you marry him!” Even as I say it, I know how childish it sounds, but I can’t help it. This whole thing has suddenly become such a goddamn mess, and I’m about to burst into tears. I can’t let him see that. Through gritted teeth, I manage, “I have to leave.”
“Mariah Ellen Huston, you will sit back down at this table right now.” For the first time ever, that angry brooks-no-argument father tone that he’s using suddenly doesn’t have the same power over me that it used to.
“No. You know what, Dad? Fine. Hand off your business to some guy you just met. Make him your honorary son. Adopt him if you want, I don’t give a shit. Just stay out of my life!”
I head out the door, and refuse to let myself look back.
Outside, I rush down the sidewalk and turn into the first alley I hit. That’s when I start crying. Deep sobs, hard ones that steal my breath and hurt my chest. What the hell just happened? is all I can think. I don’t understand why Dad would do this to me. I just don’t.
“Pull yourself together,” I say out loud. “Use Scotch tape if you have to, but just do it.”
That’s a saying my mom used to have: Scotch tape fixes anything, so even if you’re falling apart, just ask to borrow some Scotch tape and get on with doing what you’ve got to do.
So, that’s really that. Dad wants to turn over the family real estate business to some random guy, and he wants me to be said random guy’s token trophy wife. No way in hell is that happening. I’m better than that, and if Dad can’t see it…
Then I’ll just find someone who can.
Chapter 3
Wesley
“This used to be fun, you know.” I lean on the balcony rail and look down at Rufus, the family dog. “You understand how that is, right, buddy? I mean, you must remember what it was like before they cut your balls off.” Wilson licks my hand and woofs softly. “That’s what I thought.”
I return my gaze to the sprawling garden that is my parents’ backyard. They’ve had this country house since I was in college, and nowadays they spend most of their time here. Mom’s the one who loves the gardens - Dad just sits in his study all day long, smoking cigars and sipping the latest imported scotch while the maids clean the mansion around him.
“I mean, I’m telling you it used to be fun around here, Rufus, but I’m not sure how true that actually is. The only times I remember being really happy in this place are the instances when I’d sneak off all on my own for an afternoon and just be quiet and alone.”
Looking down off the balcony, I see my mother appear from among the flowers and hedges. She waves up at me and I wave back.
“Wesley, dear, it’s almost dinnertime! Come on downstairs and sit with us!” she calls up.
“Of course!” I call down. “Let me just freshen up!” She smiles and goes inside, and I turn to Rufus again.
“Well, nothing for it then. Dinner it is.” Rufus’ ears perk up at the mention of food, and I smile ruefully. “Yes, bud. You get dinner too.”
I just wish I was as excited about this as the dog is. I go into the bathroom and splash some water on my face at the gold-filigree sink, then catch a look at myself in the mirror. “You’re thirty-eight years old, Wesley. You’re an adult. You can do this.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to ignore the streaks of silver that seem to get more and more prominent every time I look. Brushing the pollen dust off my blazer, I sigh and head downstairs.
The massive dining room in this house is yet another thing I will never understand. There’s a chandelier on the ceiling that just makes me think of Phantom of the Opera, and never once have I seen the absurdly long mahogany table actually filled with people. It’s always been just me, Mom, and my father. Today’s no exception.
When I enter the dining room, it’s just Mom, sitting in her usual place just to the right of the head of the table. I slide into my usual seat on the left, and ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s finishing a business call. Or sneaking a cigar. Probably both.” Mom’s smile is wan. “He’ll be in any minute.”
I almost wish he wouldn’t be.
“I’ve done it, Maureen!” That booming voice, echoing around the room as the door opens, makes my jaw tighten. There he is: Barnaby Drive, or, as everyone calls him: “Mister Drive, sir.” I thought his first name was Mister until I was nine years old. I still find it hard and a bit off to call him Dad.
“Done what, dear?” Mom inquires as he seats himself at the head of the table.
“That old stick-in-the-mud, Martinsdale. He’s going to sell. Do you know what that means?”
Neither of us attempt to answer. There’s no point trying to get in the way of one of my father’s rhetorical devices.
Sure enough, he barely takes a breath. “It means that parcel of land out on the edge of Durham that I’ve been after for two years finally belongs to the company.” He lets out a long, contented sigh. “As I’ve always said, persistence pays! And so will this deal!” His laugh is harsh, devoid of mirth.
The staff chooses that moment to arrive and deliver dinner: roasted boar with a number of fixings, wine, and more. I murmur a quiet thank you to the two servers.
“Wesley, there’s no need for that!” he booms. “They’re only doing their jobs, and they’re already grateful for the opportunity besides.”
“Just being polite, Dad. I’m the guest, after all.”
He ‘harrumphs’ and spears a chunk of meat onto his plate. “That’s your problem, son. You’re soft. Thanking people like that makes them think you don’t believe you deserve what they’re giving you. Do you think I thanked Martinsdale when he sold to me just now? Or my tenants, when they pay rent, do I send thank-you cards in the mail? Absolutely not!”
I stare at my plate. This Friday is just like any other Friday, then. Silly of me to think it might end up differently.
“Dear, it’s fine. Come now, let’s enjoy dinner.” Mom has always tried her best to deflect my father’s barbs, but she always steps in too late, once they’ve already landed. “Wesley, how is that lady friend of yours doing? Catherine, was it?”
“Catherine is a business associate, Mom. She’s part of the office. And she’s doing just fine. I’ll let her know you asked.”
“So, what you’re saying is, we can expect to keep seeing you showing up alone for the foreseeable future, son?” Dad chews loudly, and I bite my lip.
“I don’t date people in my company, Dad. We’ve talked about this, it’s unethical.”
“Ethical. Hah! If I’d been entirely ethical, your mother would still be a secretary! And I wouldn’t have earned half of the success I have, either. The business, this house, all of it, I built from scratch! By the time I was your age, we were already drawing up plans for the office building downtown. And you don’t even have a date.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t bring her here.” The mumble slips out before I can stop it.
“What’s that now?” Dad sets down his fork.
“Wesley, sweetheart, why don’t you tell us what else is going on in your life? There must be something.” There Mom is again, trying to head off the storm clouds with a shitty umbrella.
“What’s going on with me?” I ask, throwing Dad’s rhetorical device back at him. “Well, I’m thirty-eight, I’m one of the most successful self-made real estate agents in the city, Forbes put me on their Forty Under Forty to Watch List this year, and I’m not a bitter old prick!”
My father barely reacts. “Forty Under Forty, huh. What’s that, the poor man’s version of the Top Entrepreneurs list?”
“Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it, Dad?! Every single time we have this discussion, you always find something to criticize or belittle. I’m sick of it! I’m leaving.”
I stand up, tossing my silk napkin on the table. Who the hell uses silk for napkins, anyway?
“Go ahead then. Go home. Go back to your apartment in the city that you bought with money from the trust fund I gave you. Ungrateful brat.”
I want to fight him, tell him how wrong he is, that I pay for that apartment, and most other things in my life, with money I make myself. But that’s just a black hole with no light at the end of the tunnel, so I walk out of the dining room instead, fervently wishing that the chandelier above the table would crash down like Phantom of the Opera. That would teach him.
I head down the hallway towards the front of the house, and hear footsteps behind me. “Wesley, wait!” I sigh, and turn to face my mother.
“What, Mom? What should I wait for? For him to care? To listen to me? To believe me when I say I’ve earned what I have? Nothing is ever good enough for him.”
“Don’t talk about your father that way, Wesley. Please, come back and finish dinner with us.”
I laugh. “You know what, Mom? I have to pass. I have a headache.”
“Oh, please. That excuse didn’t work to get you out of high school gym, it won’t work now.”
“No, Mom, really. I have this splitting headache that just won’t go away. I’ve had it for years now, actually, and it begins and ends with that old bastard! From now on, don’t bother setting a place for me at these precious Friday dinners. I’m too old to listen to this shit on repeat any more.” With that, I leave her standing in the hallway.
Heading back to the city, I do feel the slightest pangs of guilt, but I push them down. If Mom wants to enable Dad’s narcissism, then she can have him all to herself; that’s just the end of it.
I can certainly find better ways of spending my Friday nights, that’s for damn sure.
Chapter 4
Mariah
I’m still seething by the time I get home. My plan’s only half-formed, but I know the first step. So, I head to my room and pull out the massive suitcase I haven’t used since that school trip to Germany in college. Why do so many schools send students to Germany? I never really got that.
I’m throwing clothes into the suitcase when I hear the front door bang open and footsteps coming up the stairs. “Mariah! Mariah, where are you?!” I don’t answer my Dad’s shouts.
He rounds the door and sees me packing. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“Exactly what it looks like!” I snap at him. “I spent years following you around like an obedient puppy, watching you, learning everything you would teach me - and now you want to marry me off so you can give our business to some guy you just met? I’m out.”
“You’re out?” For the first time, my dad looks incredulous…and confused.
“Yup! If you won’t take me seriously, I’ll find someone who will! I’m not just your little girl anymore. I have a business degree, and I’m good at what I do!”
Incredibly, Dad laughs. With real mirth this time. “Oh, Mariah, I know that. But look at you! You’re so impetuous and immature, is it any wonder I can’t give the business to you?”
�
�Immature and impetuous?” I stare at him, fury rising again, along with tears. I hate that. I hate that he’s the only person I’ve ever met who can make me feel so small and so childish.
“Exactly.” He places his hands on my shoulders and sighs. “I mean, look at you. I offer you a future on a golden plate, and you turn it down and start packing a bag? Come on now.”
“If I was a man, you’d call this daring.” I stare back at him. “I thought you of all people would take me seriously, Dad. Did you think I was just shadowing you at work, going to the same college, learning the same things, for fun? I did it so that I could be like you. I thought you knew that. I thought you believed in me! I guess I was wrong. What do I have to do to make you believe that I deserve this?!”
Dad steps back. Adopts his ‘thinker’ pose - hands clasped behind his back, head tilted up. Then meets my eyes, crosses his arms. “Fine.”
“What?”
“Fine. If you want to prove that you can handle this, that you deserve this business… you only have to do one thing.”
He’s got my attention. I stop throwing clothes in my suitcase long enough to ask, “What?”
“Simple. Sell a million-dollar house. And do it without my help.”
“And if I do that, you’ll leave the business to me?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I smile so wide that it almost hurts. “Deal?” he asks.
“Deal.” I stick my hand out, and after a slightly surprised pause, he shakes it.
“There. It’s official. No take-backs, and definitely no marriage proposals. Charlie can find his housewife somewhere else!”
I think for a second, and then keep tossing clothes into my suitcase.
“What’re you doing?” Dad raises an eyebrow.
“If I’m going to sell a house without your help, I can’t be staying in the same room I’ve had since I was a little kid. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it for real.”