Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,9
figure out exactly what I’m going to say to his smug, mustached face about how he wasted my morning and embarrassed the hell out of me.
Dad always gets there first, always sits down first, every time we have lunch, and these days, since his semiretirement, he’s always having a Manhattan.
He acts like everything is utterly normal, sitting there in his salmon pink dress shirt. “Mikey!” he says, rising to greet me, but not entirely standing up, before settling back in his chair and snapping the cloth napkin out. “I’ve already ordered. I’m sure you must be busy, so I didn’t want to take up your time.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that was your thing at the university?”
“I didn’t know it was the same press conference. Anyway, with the Herald being so short-staffed, can they afford to care who’s related to whom? It’s not like it’s much of a conflict of interest to type up quotes. I mean, really. What are you going to do? Make me sound heroic for giving a little money?”
He sips his Manhattan, a gleam in his eye, maybe imagining this hypothetical glowing article.
“You could have saved me a lot of grief.”
“You didn’t give me a chance, anyway, you rushed me off the phone so fast.”
He leans back in his chair, his subtle smile nearly masked by his gray mustache. His full head of hair is showing signs of curling at the edges, which means it’s been too long since his last haircut. He’s really cutting loose, now.
I slump back in my chair, defeated as ever by his surpassing confidence that he’s right.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Just having a busy day. This press conference messed up my morning, then I got handed a feature on holiday shopping, and frankly I’d rather chew broken glass then quote mall managers about their stupid sales. And now Dylan—” I slam the door on that, not wanting to show him a chink in my parental armor. Dylan will turn up and be grounded and Dad doesn’t need the gory details. “Dylan is being sullen.”
“Not unlike someone else I know,” he says, stirring the cherry around in his drink with a plastic sword.
“He didn’t used to clam up so much.”
“Maybe it’s your new family arrangement?”
“Don’t blame this on Casey.”
“Not saying it’s her fault, Mike. But you have to consider what in his environment changed.”
“Form a hypothesis and test it? Run a study with a control group? He’s not a lab experiment.”
My dad sighs and stares out the window. “Windy out today,” he comments as a piece of trash careens down the sidewalk.
Our sandwiches arrive. Turkey, no mayo, side of fresh fruit, for both of us. Very heart-healthy from Dr. Henry. Usually I order this myself, but today I wanted a Reuben and greasy fries.
He waits until I have a giant mouthful of turkey to start in on my job.
“Sorry to hear you’re having such a rough day. My offer still stands, you know.”
I choke down my bite of sandwich and match his gaze. “If I want to pursue grad school, I’ll pay for it myself.”
“With what?” That smile again, at the worst of moments.
“I’m doing fine.”
“Hmmm.” He dabs at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
With that one hmmm, he skewers my whole life, from my career choice to my disastrous marriage and the troubles between me and Casey he doesn’t even know about, yet somehow he does. I haven’t followed his advice, and as such he assumes my life is a train wreck.
The sickening thing is, he’s more right than wrong.
“How’s Mom?”
“Fine. Started a book club. Still swimming at the Y. This weekend she started winterizing the garden. How’s young Casey?”
“Fine. Getting plenty of work, so that’s good.”
“Good to hear. She should keep herself busy while the kids are at school.”
“She does. As I just said, she’s got plenty of work coming in.”
“Even in this economy? People still need computer programs, I guess. Well, good for her. And still plenty of time to help around the house.”
“She works hard in her job. She’s brilliant at it, in fact. She’s a great girl.”
“I didn’t say otherwise, Michael.”
I’m aware of the defensive edge in my voice, the paranoia even, that he’s hinting anything negative about Casey, like that she doesn’t really work. She’s always on her computer, or on the phone to clients, or e-mailing pitches to new potential clients for Web development. We talked about her getting a full-time job, but she said she likes it at home. Less distracting than