“But, how could they not be impressed by having one of the world’s most successful writers as a son?” I ask, wrinkling my nose in confusion.
Sighing, he looks back at me. “They would have preferred to have two versions of my older brother Greyson. Easy to lead. Does what’s expected. Says the right thing in every occasion.”
“Ah, I see,” I say, even though I don’t see how any parent could be disappointed to have him for a child.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s fine, really. We were never close to begin with so it isn’t like I lost anything I once had.” He looks suddenly shocked. “Well, I didn’t expect that to pop out of my mouth. What is in this wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle and pretending to exam it.
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Shall I lay down on the couch, doctor?”
I give him a thoughtful look. “Won’t work. You were talking about the fact that you never had your parents’ approval. Tell me more about that.”
“It’s really not worth talking about. Not every family is close-knit. It’s not a tragedy.”
“I’m not sure I’d agree with that.” I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine. “I’m sorry, Pierce.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t make them the way they are.”
“Still,” I say, giving his hand a little squeeze. “I don’t think it would have been very nice to grow up in your home.”
“Guessed it in one,” he answers with a wry smile. “What about your family? You seem like the well-adjusted type who probably has supportive, wonderful parents who doted on you day and night, hung on every word, and celebrated every tiny success.”
“Yes, I did, but my parents died when I was seven,” I say, doing my best to look okay with it.
“So not such an ideal upbringing then,” he says, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. He flips his hand so he’s holding mine now. “I’m sorry to have assumed.”
“That’s okay. You said I seem well-adjusted so I’ll take that as a compliment.” We share a moment of pure connection, then without thinking about it, I launch into an overview of my childhood—the perfect life, the car accident, the quick move to Santa Valentina Island with an uncle we’d never met, and my odd-but-kind-of-cool upbringing at the resort.
When I’m done, he looks at me for a long time before saying, “What was the hardest part of losing them?”
Oh, so we’re doing a deep dive, I guess. “So many things. Being pitied isn’t fun, I suppose. Making everyone you meet feel sad when they ask about your parents,” I say with a little nod. “But I suppose the worst bit is the wondering. Would they be proud of me? Would they have liked me as an adult? Like,really likedhanging out with me, you know? What advice would they give me when I mess up or when I couldn’t figure out what to do with my life? Just never knowing and having to sort it out for myself,” I say, taking a sip of wine. “That, and my mom's spaghetti sauce. I can still taste it but I haven’t managed to recreate it, no matter how hard I try.”
“Is that why you wanted to become a chef?”
“Maybe,” I answer with a sad chuckle.
“But you figured the rest out for yourself in the end. I suppose a person has to,and can, when they come to the biggest truth of life–that you can’t actually rely on other people.”
Wrinkling up my nose, I say, “I don't think that's the truth at all. Youhave torely on others—that’s one of our basic human instincts. We’re pack animals.”
“Not me. I'm more of a lone wolf,” he says, looking down at our intertwined hands for a second, then pulling his hand away in favour of holding his wine glass.
“I thought wolves were pack animals.”
“Not this one,” he answers, taking a sip. “This one doesn’t rely on anyone and never will.”
“Well, in case you haven't noticed, you've been relying on me and I don't think I've let you down. You and I have been relying on Alfred and Phyllis and the staff back at the resort to keep us fed and they haven't let us down. And from the sounds of things, you rely on your friend, Zach, quite a bit too.”
“Yes, well, this is what I would call an extraordinary circumstance,” he says, holding up his casted arm. “Besides, you’re all being paid.”
Ouch. I take a deep breath but say nothing as I try to let the sting of his words fade.
“I didn’t mean it that way. You’ve been lovely and I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing to help me. I only mean that in my experience, money breeds reliability better than any other form of motivation or attachment.”
My heart breaks a little at this glimpse into his fractured soul. “How very sad.”
“Please don't tell me you're feeling sorry forme. Believe me, Emma, I want for nothing.” He takes a long swig of the wine, but when he lowers the glass, something in his face says that it tasted sour.
