I regard him with dismay. “Do you really need to ask that question? We’ve had this conversation a thousand times.”
Thankfully, he owns up to that. “I know. I’m sorry.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, chew, and swallow.
“At this point, something has to change because I feel angry at you all the time, and I don’t want to live that way.”
Neither of us speaks for at least a full minute, and the weight of our silence is oppressive.
“I love you,” he finally says.
I look at him directly, and exhale. “You know, that’s the first thing you’ve said today that I actually believe. Because I know you love me and the kids, and you don’t want to lose us. But you’re oblivious to our needs because you’re so totally consumed by the success of Oblique. And we both know why.”
I stare at him intensely and wait for him to admit what has been driving him all these years, since the day we met. But he just sits there, motionless, with dread in his eyes.
“It’s because you don’t want your father to see you fail,” I tell him. “Which I don’t understand because he’s made it clear he doesn’t care about us. Why does he matter to you? He cut you off years ago and hasn’t even met our children. The man has a heart of stone, but still, you bend over backward to get his attention and prove yourself to him.”
Nate says nothing. He just stares at the floor. Then I realize this conversation is too much for him. He has completely shut down.
I stand, walk to him, and lay my hand on his shoulder. “Will you at least admit this to yourself? Because I hate that he still has this power over you. I wish you could just live for your own happiness and not care what he thinks.”
Nate finally looks up. “That’s exactly what I did twenty years ago. It’s why I quit law school.”
“Yes, and that took courage,” I concede. “But he still matters to you. More thanwedo, I think.”
He scoffs. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? I don’t think so.”
Nate shakes his head, gets up, and strides to the bedroom.
I follow because I’m not ready to let this go. “Why is it so necessary for you to have a Michelin star? For that matter, why can’t we cut our losses, close the restaurant, and you could work at any restaurant in the city? You’ve been getting offers for years. Then you could focus on your first love, which is being a chef, instead of worrying about bills and payroll and electrical fires.”
He searches angrily through the shirts hanging in his closet. “I’m not going to shut it down. Please don’t suggest that.”
“Why not? Just consider it. That’s all I ask. You’d have far less stress in your life, you’d make good money, and you wouldn’t miss out on Connor’s hockey games. You’d be around if Amanda is getting bullied.”
He glares at me. “Stop throwing guilt at me.” He pulls a wool sweater over his head and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, then stalks out of the bedroom.
Again, I follow.
“I have to go to work,” he tells me. He searches for his boots in the front hall closet and pulls them on.
“I thought you were going to stay to meet Jeff.”
“Do you want him to meet us together like this?” he asks. “When we’re at each other’s throats?”
“Nate, come on . . .”
“No, listen. You don’t get it. It’s not just about my father. There’s a whole staff depending on me for their livelihood.” He pulls on his coat. “I have to go. I’ll meet Amanda’s friend another time.” He walks out the door, gets in his car, and drives off.
I stand in the doorway and watch him disappear down the street.
There’s a numbness in my veins. I don’t know how to get through to him. What’s it going to take? The restaurant falls deeper into debt every day, but he won’t see it. And the kids are constantly disappointed. They don’t feel close to him, or loved by him.
Perhaps the time has come to talk to a lawyer, because I can’t let this continue. I can’t just stand back and let him bleed this family dry.
Part Four
