“Hey, Andy,” I say. “What do you think about this rain?”
“It’s wet,” he replies, and I laugh heartily.
“I can’t argue.” He’s a good kid. Reminds me of myself at that age.
I sit forward to peer at the twins, my four-year-old nieces, in matching pink booster seats in the row in front of us. “Hey, girls.”
“Hi, Uncle Nate,” Jessie replies while Amy quietly draws a circle on the foggy window.
From the driver’s seat, which seems a mile away, my brother glances over his shoulder at us. “It’s time to wish Uncle Nate a happy birthday. Everybody ready?”
The whole family begins to sing. “Happy birthday to you ...”
When they finish, my sister-in-law, who’s a doctor of Shakespearean literature and bears a striking resemblance to a young Michelle Pfeiffer, turns in her seat. “Congratulations. Today, you’ve lived a quarter of a century. Something to think about.”
“Believe me,” I reply, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”
“Yeah?” Arthur flicks the blinker, checks his mirrors, and pulls onto the wet street. “Digging deep, are we?”
“You could say that.” I tug at the shoulder strap and buckle myself in.
Arthur glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Does it have anything to do with the plumber’s daughter?”
Alex punches him in the arm. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just teasing,” he replies, leaning away from her in defense of another blow.
My gut tightens into a knot. “Her name’s Sienna, and she’s an interior designer.”
“I know, I know,” Arthur replies. “We’ve heard all about her—that she started her own company, which I think is impressive for someone her age.”
Working to ignore what I perceive as something patronizing in his tone, I follow Amy’s lead and draw a face on the foggy window. But I make it frown.
Arthur increases the windshield wipers to full speed as he moves through a busy intersection. “Why didn’t you bring her?” he asks.
He watches me in the rearview mirror, and I can tell he’s fishing for dirt. I’m surprised he hasn’t brought up the ugly sticking point of my desire to quit law school. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe Dad was too embarrassed to mention it—because in his mind, it reflects badly onhim. It makes him look like a failure as a father because somewhere along the line he missed the mark. He didn’t instill the proper amount of discipline and ambition in his younger son, and now he’s losing control of my trajectory through life.
I wonder if my father blames himself at all for how I turned out. I was the third child they’d never intended to have. A “happy accident,” my mother always said. But most of the time I was left to my own devices, which I now see as a blessing. I was free to be creative and do my own thing—because Dad couldn’t be bothered to be an influential presence. I was simply an afterthought, at least until I started rebelling in high school. Then he put me in the front seat with him, which worked for a while. I did what he wanted me to do. But it was never enough and never what I wanted.
“She had something for work,” I lie. “But really, I just want to get through the day.”
“That’s probably wise,” Arthur says, still fishing. “Wait until you’re sure about this girl before you lock horns with Dad. Because if she’s not the one, believe me, it’s not worth it.”
I listen to my brother’s advice in silence, because I don’t trust Arthur to take my side in anything. When it comes to Dad, he’s always toedthe line. Besides, I agree with him. Not much in life is worth going head-to-head with my father.
But some things are.
Clouds, dark and dense, hang low over the bay as we turn onto the long paved driveway to my parents’ house. The twins have fallen asleep in their booster seats, and Andy is engrossed in a handheld Nintendo game.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment to summon the courage to face my father, which isn’t an easy thing when I’m arriving in the back seat of my brother’s perfect life. Arthur finished law school with honors and became the youngest partner of the criminal law division in my father’s firm. The cherry on top was his marriage to a scholarly intellectual with the prestigious title of doctor. Alex may not have been a brain surgeon, but in my father’s eyes, she was perfect because she was willing to stay home with the kids, teach them how to read above their grade level, make the house pretty, and look spectacular on Arthur’s arm.
Sometimes when I’ve watched her leave their house to go running with her earbuds in, I’ve wondered if she’s happy.
Meanwhile, my sister, Caroline, the eldest, left home at the age of twenty-four to marry an ambitious member of Parliament in England. Mom and Dad were very proud, and I’ve often wondered ifshe’sbeen happy with that decision. Unfortunately, I’ve never had the chance to ask because she never comes home. Maybe that says it all.
Arthur pulls up in front of the massive oceanfront home. I look out the van window, streaked with water, at the gray cedar shakes, the broad windowpanes, and the landscaped, porticoed entrance with white columns and slate stairs leading to the front door.
I hate that I feel a surge of pride in the Palmer home and that, for a fleeting second, I wish Ihadbrought Sienna—to show her everything I’m willing to give up for this crazy dream of mine. But the feeling soonpasses when I imagine what’s about to transpire. I don’t want Sienna here for that.
