“Priceless!” she says with laughter.
Andy looks pleased with himself, and I worry for him.
“How about this one?” my father asks. He turns his sneering eyes to meet mine. “What do plumbers and economists all have in common?”
I sit back and toss my white linen napkin onto the table beside my plate. “No idea.”
“They all deal with gross domestic product.”
“Eww!” Alex cries, and everyone bursts into fits of laughter. My father grins with satisfaction as he reaches for more bacon.
“Why was the plumber depressed?” Andy asks. “Because his career was going down the toilet!”
My gaze sweeps around the table. For the life of me, I can’t understand why my family is so intent on making fun of an amazingwoman they’ve never met. A woman they know nothing about, except that her father is a plumber.
Are any of these people capable of acknowledging that Sienna’s father built a thriving plumbing business from scratch, which now employs hundreds of workers? Would they appreciate that, at the family level, the MacKays are kind and loving toward each other? Sometimes they leave dirty dishes in the sink until the following morning, and no one gets yelled at. The dogs are allowed to jump on the furniture whenever they want. A scratch on the hardwood floor is considered a normal part of life.
I feel as if my heart has gone cold, and for the first time, I don’t give a damn about my father’s approval. Hell, I did what he wanted. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and got into law school. But sitting here now, I feel like I’m still spinning my tires. What else do I have to do to earn this man’s respect?
Funny. I used to think I had everything—because my parents were rich and there were no obvious struggles. But since meeting Sienna’s family, I’ve come to realize that I was raised with a different sort of deprivation.
The persistent laughter sends my thoughts into a tailspin.
“Dad, can I talk to you?” I ask.
Laughter fades. Everyone’s uneasy eyes land on me.
“I’m sitting right here, aren’t I?” he replies.
“In private.” My tone is hard, demanding, and I think he might be in shock because I’ve never stood up to him before. Certainly, I rebelled in my youth, but this is different. It’s happening in front of the family at the Birthday Brunch table. His wife, his son, his daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren are all witnessing the event.
“Let’s go into my office.” He rises from his chair at the head of the table, and I follow. “This had better not be what I think it is,” he warns as he shuts his office door behind us and strides heavily toward the credenza.
I glance around at the dark leather furniture and his monstrous mahogany desk. As children, we were rarely permitted to enter this room, but I try not to think about that. I’m not a child anymore.
“What if it is?” I ask with a note of challenge.
He pours scotch from the crystal decanter and hands the glass to me. Though I’m not normally a day drinker, I accept it and watch while he pours another for himself.
“Go on, then,” he says, facing me. “Let’s have it. Give me what you’ve got.”
Suddenly I’m afflicted with some sort of emotional paralysis, or maybe it’s just plain old terror because my father is a grizzly bear. He’s bad tempered, loud, and hungry for blood. When he’s angry and he speaks, he growls.
I down the scotch in a single gulp, and he laughs at me. “I figured you were going to need that.”
As I wipe my mouth and set the crystal glass on the edge of his desk, I hate him for being right. “We spoke about it before,” I say, “when I told you I didn’t like law school.”
“No one likes law school, you twit. But you man up and get through it. Like the rest of us.”
“I don’t want to get through it,” I reply, “because I don’t want to be a lawyer. I want to be a chef and open my own restaurant.”
Dad glares, then stalks to the window, where he stands with feet apart, gazing out at the bay. I’m surprised at how relaxed he appears as he sips his drink. I suspect he’s confident that I’m going to back down and give it another shot. At the very least, finish out the term.
“I sent notice to the registrar’s office on Friday,” I tell him. “I’ve informed them, in writing, that I’m quitting. Friday was my last day.”
I might as well have dropped a grenade into the space between us. Dad swings around and roars at me. “You didwhat? Without speaking to me first?”
“I already spoke to you about it,” I remind him, “and it was clear you didn’t support the idea, so I didn’t see the point.”
