Page 43 of Tributary

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Asa

“ASA, WHAT IN the hell are you thinking?” I wondered how long it would take my parents to show up at my apartment after I cleaned out my office. The answer is 15 minutes, which likely means they actually walked, since the traffic outside is in gridlock.

“About which part, Dad?” I sprawl out on the sofa, chewing a pack of gum I bought at the corner store, wearing sweatpants on a week day like the unemployed man I am.

Dad is spitting mad and my mother is a very dark shade of purple as Dad keeps yelling. “About the part where you resigned from the company that bears your name! That is supposed to be the legacy you give your sons!”

“It’s still our money,” I point out. “My future kids will be just fine. As are your kids. I don’t see you nagging at Esther to get her MBA.”

My mother drops onto the chair opposite me. “Asa, your sister is not cut out for leadership, and you know that.”

I shrug. “It’s just not something I want to do anymore,” I tell them. “And I named Andrea my successor—she’s better than me. You must have noticed when you were still there, Pop. She just landed that company that makes the compostable silverware. She’s very forward-thinking.”

It’s not often that my parents are rendered speechless, so I take advantage of the silence by cracking my gum. I don’t tell them I also plan to unload the apartment here in New York and take up permanent residence in what Diana refers to as the Espanshade house. Today was just step one of my long game, and I didn’t even realize I had one of those until Diana made her move.

“And just what do you plan to do with yourself, darling?” My mother shifts closer, trying a new, nurturing approach.

“I’m applying for a position in another company,” I tell her. “It’s a start up with huge potential and I’ll get to be hands on from the get-go. It’ll be like all those electives I took at Wharton but couldn’t pursue because I had no career options.”

“This lifestyle comes with responsibilities, son,” my father interjects. “You can’t just waltz in and out—”

“Dad, I find this lifestyle stifling,” I interrupt. I sigh. “Look, I haven’t taken a day to myself in basically my entire life. And I’d like to do that now, if you two will excuse me.”

They share a concerned glance, and my mother says, “Are you asking us to leave?”

“I am, yes.” I stand up from the couch and walk toward the front door. My mother walks toward me as if she’s in a trance, reaching for the material of my sweatpants hesitantly. She’s probably never actually seen sweatpants before. I kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll call you in a few days. I promise. But I’ve got stuff to do.”

My dad looks back at me, silently, as I shut the door and begin packing.

A few hours later, I drag a chair from the garage to the front porch of my house in Oak Creek. The evening is cool but pleasant, and the stars are shining against the waning moon. I recall just a few nights ago, looking at the full moon with Diana under very different circumstances.

“Well, hello, neighbor,” a woman’s voice calls out. I look up and smile at Hunter and Abigail, out for a walk, hand in hand. “When did you get back to town?”

They approach the porch and I rise to offer Abigail my chair. She shakes her head and plunks herself down on the stoop. Hunter joins her, his hand going immediately to her lower back, rubbing in gentle circles and making me ache to touch Diana.

“I just got here a bit ago,” I tell Abigail. “Probably going to hang around awhile.”

Hunter looks at me, the moonlight glinting off his eyes. “I presume you are aware of my sister’s financial news.” I nod, spreading my knees wide and leaning forward.

Abigail squeezes Hunter’s leg. “She isn’t quite sure what to make of all of it. I think she’s camped out with Sara and Indigo tonight, synthesizing feelings.”

I’m not sure if she’s telling me that as a hint for me to crash the party or just relaying information, but I get the sense that I should hang tight another day before I go share my career pivot with Diana. Maybe wait to see if she comes to share her news with me. “Well, I don’t want to keep you two…”

“Not at all,” Abigail insists. “We’re neighbors! Isn’t that wonderful? I mean, sort of neighbors.”

“Say, Abigail, what’s going on with your book?”

She lights up and I can see her whole demeanor change at that question. “Oh! Thank you for asking! I actually just signed with an agent. I’m so excited. We’re going to start shopping for publishers.”

“That’s great news. Diana says it’s butting in if I tell you my company…well, Wexler Holdings has a publishing house in our portfolio. I hope you’ll let me know if I can make a connection for you.”

She grins and stands up from the porch, brushing off her jeans. “I will definitely hit you up about that—my new agent is really big on making every conversation count, talking about building my platform, all that stuff.” She claps her hands. “Hunter, babe, let’s go home.”

They walk off toward their house arm in arm, and I admire how nicely they work together. The quirky biologist and the bubbly writer, both on the cusp of career defining moments. I’m glad I can be a small part of that.

Once the lights go off in Abigail and Hunter’s first floor, I stay on the porch a bit longer, trying to plan my approach for my next move to find my own defining moment with another member of the Crawford family.

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