Page 33 of The Betrayer
I cut my father off because I knew exactly where his sentence was going to lead—it had nothing to do with their marriage, they were two different people who wanted two different things, they had never blamed each other, blah, blah, blah. I’d heard the same explanation over the years, but it looked different from this new side of the fence.
“You never wanted to talk about anything difficult, Dad, just like now. You never wanted to take a hard look at yourself or a hard look at anything. Whenever Mom wanted to talk, you would find an excuse to run away or throw money at it, so it disappeared. It’s the same with the business. But you can’t have the good things without the hard things. You taught me that.”
My words caught my father off-guard, his mouth half-open on some kind of declaration of his innocence from the charges I leveled against him. He closed his mouth, swallowed, then finally asked, “I taught you?”
This answer wouldn’t be any more expected—or palatable—than the first.
“You taught me exactly what not to do with my life, Dad. How not to run a company. How not to have a relationship with a partner or a child. Watching you taught me that I had to deal with the difficult stuff instead of running away because I saw what happened when you ran away.”
My father flinched as though I had thrown an actual punch and not just a volley of words. For a flicker of a moment, I felt bad. It was clear on my father’s face I had hurt him. I hadn’t meant for today’s meeting to become a dressing down of this magnitude, but whatever emotions and anger my father stoked on Friday night weren’t about to be subdued. My hurt won out on saving my father’s feelings.
His mouth and throat worked for a moment, and his voice sounded rough instead of angry when he finally spoke.
“Where is this coming from, Paul? You’ve never said a thing about it before.”
“Where is this coming from?” I threw my hands up and paced back and forth. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said over the past few days?”
The man standing in the center of the office didn’t say anything, only watched me pace.
“I’ve been thinking a lot. About the future, not just for the company, but about my life, what I want, and how I can do better. Be better.”
“Are you talking about Angela?”
The question was hesitant, quiet.
“Yes, Angela. I’m thinking of taking the next step with her, getting more serious, and I don’t want to make the same mistakes. I’ve been thinking about what it was like growing up, watching you and Mom, about what I would do differently.”
“Nobody is perfect, Paul.”
“You only get to say that when you’ve actually tried,” I snapped as I stopped pacing and turned on my father. He flinched again but persisted anyway.
“That’s a horrible idea, Paul. You barely know the woman. At least I’d known your mother in college. I don’t get a good feeling from Angela—I don’t think she’s with you for you.”
“Then why do you think she’s with me?” My voice felt like a growl in my throat, a sound of warning my father didn’t seem to hear.
“I think she wants your money and your power, kid. Did you see the blue dress she was wearing on Friday?”
“I am well aware of what she wore,” I bit back. “And I can’t believe you. Are you seriously trying to tell me who and what, and how I should date when that level of commitment is something you know nothing about?”
“I’m trying to keep you safe from—”
“You’re trying to control me and keep me in my place,” I snarled.
My father’s eyes widened before narrowing in flames of anger.
“Fine, you know what? If you know it all, you don’t need me.”
On those final words, my father turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the glass door with as much power as possible without breaking it. He hurled the two cups of coffee into a trashcan before disappearing toward his office.
It would have been comical, except my rage still burned with the intensity of a wildfire. The chasm that opened between my father and me on Friday seemed as wide as the Grand Canyon.
