Page 17 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

“And your friend, he’s going to be a personal trainer?”

Jesse tried to keep his voice level as he responded. “Sean. Yes, but that’s in addition to his own Olympic training.”

Luis made a face that Jesse could only interpret as dismissive. “Doesn’t seem to be a sustainable career choice. I can’t imagine there’s much sponsorship money for rowers.”

Jesse rolled his eyes under closed lids. He resented the person he became when he spent time with his father—an uptight version of himself that existed for one person and one person only.

“It’s not about the money. He’s representing his country, it’s…” Jesse’s voice trailed off as his hackles began to rise. “He’s happy,” is how he decided to end the conversation. Sean wasn’t here, nor did he need Jesse to defend him.

The Italian restaurant was one Jesse had been to many times before. Situated in the heart of Cambridge, it was a local institution owned by the same family for over fifty years, and was also where his father had taken his mother to on their first date.

The restaurant was small, with only a handful of tables. Tonight, they were close enough to the kitchen that he could smell the garlic roasting in olive oil, could hear the sounds of water boiling. His stomach rumbled, even though it was a jittery mess.

Growing up, he had loved coming here. Had loved all the time spent with his mom as she showed him around her old stomping grounds. Now it felt cruel—a form of silent torture for Jesse on a day when they should have been celebrating his graduation. The evening was clouded by her loss and the realization that another life milestone had passed without her bearing witness.

The waiter came by with their drinks, and it took every ounce of resilience Jesse had not to down the glass of red in one go. They placed their orders, grateful that no talk of an appetizer was mentioned. He wasn’t keen to prolong this experience any further than needed.

“He was your captain this year? On your crew?”

Jesse’s gaze snapped up to meet his father’s. Of all the things he expected to talk about that evening, that wasn’t one of them. Jesse was sure his father hadn’t watched the race. He didn’t live in England, so he wouldn’t have been there in person, but the event was televised, streamed online. If he had wanted to watch, he could have. However, when the day came and went, Jesse not hearing a peep, he’d assumed he hadn’t.

A tiny bit of hope bloomed. “You watched the race?”

“I saw the video of the pub afterwards. How could you have been so reckless, Jesse?”

He knew better. Hope was a disease, at least when it came to his father.

Jesse had known that the moment wasn’t his finest. His protectiveness towards Oliver, his grudges against Roger—none of it warranted the action that had followed. In the end, it hadn’t resulted in any sort of union with Oliver, and he was lucky not to have been arrested or broken any bones. “It was a mistake, I know that. I’ve never done anything like that in my life, and I don’t plan to ever again.”

He waited for the lecture. All of the what ifs and consequences that could have happened when a video like that surfaced of you online.

“Okay. Good.”

Silence followed in the wake of Jesse’s shock that the subject had been dropped. The seconds ticked into long, unbearable minutes.

“I had thought you’d want to come home for a few weeks before the move,” Luis said.

It had been a while since Jesse had thought of Chicago as home. Some days, he did miss it. He missed the familiarity, of knowing that he could approach most situations, conversations, without an ounce of confusion. Without having to worry about some unknown cultural nuance.

“Is that something you wanted?” Jesse asked, unsure if he even cared about the answer.

Jesse had been allowed to attend Cambridge, more aptly, to attend and have his tuition covered, on the agreement that he’d go work for the family business. However, the closer he got to graduation, he realized he only had two choices: Chicago or London. He wasn’t ready to face Chicago. Not yet. He couldn’t stomach more moments like this with his father, stilted and awkward, feeling like a disappointment. So while he didn’t love the idea of moving to London, it was the lesser of two evils.

Behind his father’s back, he contacted his grandfather to work out the details with his cousins who ran the local office, and signed a three year lease.

But despite knowing that he and his father may never understand each other, the longer the silence stretched without an answer to his question, the more Jesse realized that he did in fact want an answer. He wanted to hear that his father wanted to see him more. That he wanted him to come home.

Instead, the subject was changed yet again. “I don’t understand why you chose to live so far from the office. There are hundreds of flats within walking distance, and yet you deliberately chose a thirty minute commute. What a waste of time.”

Jesse wouldn’t bother mentioning that you could easily spend twice as much time gridlocked in Chicago traffic. Nor that he picked the location based on how he planned to spend his time outside of work. Explaining the concept of work/life balance or a social life in general was what would have been a waste of time.

He moved his hands to his lap under the table and pressed his right thumbnail into the palm of his left hand. The small amount of pain provided a grounding distraction. Jesse knew there would be no winners in this conversation. He decided to let his mind wander off to his new job, and tried to trick himself into being excited about a fresh start. But he didn’t want to leave Cambridge. He wanted one more year of classes, and working out with Sean, and bickering with Michelle, and taste testing Tanvi’s new recipes. He didn’t want to go to London.

“You won’t have any free passes just because your cousins are in charge. They’ll be reporting back to your grandfather, and by extension, me, of your progress. Your grandfather and I expect you to lead the Chicago office one day. This is where the real education begins.”

All of the sudden, it was like he was sixteen again, starting the college application process, his father impressing on him how important his grades were when all he wanted to do was run around outside with his friends. Then there was choosing his major, the importance of making contacts at Cambridge. Tiny things he should be doing every single day to be successful, none of which included rowing. If every moment of his life was the most important moment, a moment that he couldn’t afford to fuck up, then how was any of it supposed to matter?

“We agreed to three years. Three years, I’d work at Emerson. After that I’m free to do whatever I want.”