Simon was the eldest, the one I was most intimidated by. He seemed to have the perfect life with his perfect wife. Add to that, the perfect family of three beautiful children whom I got to watch growing up in front of me. It was fair to say I harboured a small measure of envy for my brother. Constantly reminded of Simon’s remarkable achievements in school and college, I’d tried my best to do the same to gain my father’s approval and love, but it seemed futile. Nothing I did ever measured up. When my rebellious nature came out in college, it distanced me entirely from my father and siblings.
A burning sensation rose in my chest as I regarded my brother and his family, which now made me feel dissatisfied with my own life. I knew I could never compete with that. I wasn’t ready for it. Or was I?
Sophia raised her eyebrows. “Are you planning another vacation soon?” She placed the cups she was carrying on the table and tucked a few loose strands of her blonde hair behind her ear.
“No, I am not,” I said, chewing on another piece of apple. “I’ve been threatened by Father to start working, or else…”
My father narrowed his eyes and uttered not a word.
I excused myself while the family continued to eat and took my coffee down to the lawn where the dogs were. Their relaxed ears and wagging tails made me leave my coffee and start playing with them on the grass. “I missed you guys!” I scratched their bellies while they pounced on me, their wet tongues slobbering excitedly. “You are such good boys!” Baxter and Dodger were the dogs my parents adopted as puppies three years ago. After them, the only ones I ever missed were the children and my mother.
After breakfast, my mother engaged me in a deep conversation in the library. She sat on the leather couch and straightened her skirt, the string of pearls around her neck glinting in the flickering light of the fireplace. “Now, Caleb, I know what happened between you and your father. You’ve had your share of fun, and I haven’t stopped you, but now I want you to start working at the office and help your brother and sister. You deserve an equal share of what we own, but that demands an equal contribution. And your father is serious. If you don’t step up, you know the consequences.”
I perched on the couch beside her and began thinking about how I could get out of this. Earlier, in the study, my father had given me a stern talking-to and made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate me pushing his buttons any longer. A recent debacle in Italy involving myself, several women, and skinny-dipping in a hotel pool at midnight, had prompted this final ultimatum: improve, or my inheritance would be out the window. He’d gone on to enumerate my other recent misdeeds, extravagant spending, and rebellious actions, then closed it out by looking up from the papers he was signing and pinning me with a glare.
“I want you to take this seriously. This is your only chance.”
“But what about the club?” I’d asked, tilting my head. “I need to make sure that someone is taking care of that as well.”
My father had financed the club on the condition that he hand-picked the manager, but I ran it, filling it to capacity several nights every week with big-spending VIPs and A-listers, keeping them entertained, and most importantly, ensuring they kept coming back.
My father sat back and pursed his lips. “Someone is taking care of it. You do remember Marcel, don’t you? Tall guy. Good with numbers. I hired him to run it for you if you recall.”
“But Marcel doesn’t bring in the?—”
“Partying with celebrities does not qualify you in any way as a manager. You trying to run the club was a good experience, but you need to learn how to manage a business, not just pleasure.”
“But—”
“No buts, Caleb. You will start working at the hotel Monday to Friday, from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. You will get involved directly with the staff and learn everything you need to know. I will check up on you from time to time, and I want to see results. Have I made myself clear?”
If only the old man were as easy to please as my mother. She was giving me the same lecture, of course, but her delivery was much gentler.
She stood me up from the couch and ran her fingers through my dark brown hair, patting it down. “Your hair looks better down instead of spiking through the roof, darling.” She held my shoulders and, with unwavering eye contact and an even tone, told me, “I have faith in you. Stop comparing yourself to Simon. You are your own man and always have been. Just give it your all, and the rest will follow.”
I still doubted myself. Would I be able to run the hotel? What if I failed? How would I work alongside my siblings? I couldn’t get along with them while sitting in the same room. Fights and arguments were common in any relationship, but I’d never shared a close bond with my older siblings—not since the incident.
Maybe because I am her favourite.But why blame me?I didn’t ask for it, nor did I choose it. With no way out, I promised her I would start working at the hotel on Monday, just like my father wished.
I left the library and felt my mother’s eyes following me. I turned to look at her when I opened the door and smiled.
She smiled back.
That, more than anything, reassured me.
My mother would never cut me out of their will.
3
NYAH
My weekend dragged by, filled with monotonous household chores. The silence in my apartment was deafening. I missed Lucas’ constant chatter in the background.
The modest two-bedroom apartment I called home had been mortgaged to me by Mr. Randall Evans on the strength of my last promotion. Imagining everything it could be, I’d spruced it up with bright coats of paint and hand-picked, thrift-store furniture. What I hadn’t realized until now was that the most important thing making it a home… was my son.
I laboured through my cleaning routine in silence, meticulously scrubbing the bathrooms, dusting shelves, mopping floors, and sanitizing the kitchen surfaces with my mix of cleaning liquid. Before vacuuming Lucas’ room, I bent down to pick up his scattered toys and found his second favourite, Eeyore, hiding beneath the bed. Sighing, I rose and sat on the mattress, holding the toy close. It connected me to my son, but couldn’t fill the emotional void created by his absence.
I lay down and closed my eyes, imagining him at the summer camp. My beautiful six-year-old son was probably playing with the other children, running around and screaming, his dark brown bob of hair bouncing in the wind. He hadn’t been able to contain his excitementwhen I’d finally agreed to let him go. Now I wondered whether it’d been a mistake; the apartment—and my life—were empty without him, and this first weekend with him away had me moping around aimlessly.
