My father arrived on the scene later in the day, his trip to Italy cut short when the negotiations for a luxury property chain broke down and he had to return Stateside to secure the acquisition. I requested a meeting with him only after I heard the deal was done. He’d be in a good mood, and that would give me a better chance of getting him on my side. I’d always been closer to my father than my mother. He was more approachable and pliable, and I knew my father loved me. But years of infidelity had fractured what little family unity we’d had, and over the years, I’d watched him slowly drift away.
When I stepped into the study, my father was in his leather wingback chair, his jacket tossed aside. He poured a measure of Louis XIII into a tulip glass and swirled the amber liquid like it was more valuable than the air we breathed.
“One hundred years in the making,” he said, lifting it to his nose. “A drink for men who build empires, not waste them.”
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “And what about the daughters of men who build empires? Do we get to build anything of our own, or are we meant only to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?”
His eyes flicked to me, amused. “That’s option number two. Option number one is still available to you. There’s no need to fight it. Go back to Juilliard. You love music. And you’re a beautifully talented pianist.”
“But I’m not exceptional—like those who earned their spot. I don’t belong there.”
“You’re a Carver, my love. There is nowhere you don’t belong.”
I stepped farther into the room, finding my courage. “I don’t want to be a concert pianist, Daddy. I want to go to nursing school. Help people. Do something real. I want option number three.”
“At what point did nursing enter the conversation?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by it.”
“Have you?” His gaze lingered, assessing. “Since when?”
“Since the gardener collapsed. You remember—I helped him until the ambulance arrived. Mrs. Alvarez said I stayed calm. She said I should be a nurse.”
My father frowned, searching his memory. “When was this?”
“I was twelve.”
He lifted his glass, then stopped and set it back down with care.
“I don’t recall you ever mentioning an interest in nursing.”
“I didn’t think it was something I was allowed to say.”
The pause stretched. His fingers rested on the stem, unmoving.
“When I was your age,” he said at last, “I wanted to be an architect. Not hotels—buildings. Bridges. City skylines. I sketched blueprints in the margins of my textbooks. Your grandfather called them doodles. He told me I could draw all I wanted, as long as I drew for our properties.”
He took a sip, his gaze far-off, remembering. “So I went tobusiness school. I did what was expected. And eventually, I came to see that he was right.”
“Right?” My voice cracked. “About crushing your dream?”
He turned toward me, his expression almost sad. “No. Right that duty outlasts passion. Passion fades. But duty—duty builds legacies.”
“And how is going to Juilliard building my legacy?”
“See, Michelle, you are looking at this all wrong. It’s not about you; it’s about the family. Juilliard is prestigious. It’s what’s expected of a family like ours. When you shine, we all shine. Now, no more discussion. Enjoy your summer in California. Practice hard. And then, come September, you will return to school with your head held high. That’s your duty, my dear.”
I felt the weight of the words pressing down on me like stones. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t even angry. He was just… immovable. And somehow, that was worse.
Melanie joinedme at the pool later in the afternoon. She didn’t greet me, of course. She made a whole production of laying out her towel, ordering a new margarita because the first one wasn’t blended to her liking, and working sunscreen into her skin, flattening the fine hairs on her arms with practiced, almost performative care. Only once she was perfectly basted and arranged did she bother to look my way.
“Congratulations, you troublemaker, you,” she said, lowering her sunglasses. “You’re such a disappointment that Mother and Daddy are suddenly my fans.”
“Then they obviously haven’t met Gavin the Martian yet.”
“No, but this could be the right time to introduce him.”
“And they only know the half of it. If they found out what I did last night, they’d tack a poster of you on the wall.”
