Page 14 of Told You So
“Hutch, they should at least reimburse him for the cost, shouldn’t they?”
He looks up from his plate, fork and knife in hand, and glances between us. “Yes, they should, but he’s a grown man, Leslie. He can take care of it himself.”
She glowers at him.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ve been talking to Eddy, the manager. They’ll reimburse me. I had them swear in blood.”
“Don’t be foul, Nicholas.” She sighs, and I smile. These are the moments I miss most, when I still feel like my old self—a kid with only his parents’ reprimands and cross looks to worry about.
“It’s just,” she continues, “you have so much else going on with work and school and the ranch...You don’t need to take on anything else, sweetheart. You’re too nice and people take advantage of that.”
“I told you, it’s already worked out.” I inhale a few bites of potatoes. “I’m twenty-five, I don’t need you worrying about the small stuff, Ma, especially when I can take care of it.”
“Whatever you say.” She cuts into her meat like it’s rubber, and I know she’s getting riled up.
“Mac sends her love,” I tell her, trying to change the subject.
My mom’s face brightens and she looks at me. “Oh, how is she? I’ve been thinking about her all alone in her new place. Does she need anything? I’m going to make a Costco run this week. Let me know what I can get her, would you?”
“Why are you making a Costco run, Leslie?” my dad asks. I almost forgot he was at the table.
“Because,” she says flatly. “There are things I need.”
“But, it’s just you and dad. I don’t need anything. And Mac doesn’t expect you to buy stuff for her. In fact, I’ll probably get a right-hook if I bring her anymore house warming gifts from you.”
With a dab of her napkin, my mom straightens and gives methe look.“I know she doesn’t need or want anything, silly. At least, she’s too polite to ever ask. I just—I worry about her with Katherine back in her life, is all.” She shakes her head as if she’s still trying to wrap her mind around it. “Mac probably doesn’t know what to do with herself half the time. Familiarity is important andwe’refamiliar. I’d like to help, if we can.”
“You’re meddling again,” my father tells her.
She scowls at him. “Fine. I just wanted to help.” The air in the room feels heavy as we continue eating in silence. I’m not sure when our family dinners became such a stressful meal, but it feels off, for some reason. It feels wrong.
“Your Aunt Alison says the ranch is doing really well,” my mom finally says. “That new girl they hired over the holidays, Sommer, is working out fine, I take it?” She looks at my dad. “I’m not meddling, I’m just asking,” she clarifies, but my dad ignores her.
“Uh, yeah. She’s great.” I glance between them, uncertain if my dad is even listening as he stares down at his plate. “Sommer’s only part time,” I continue reluctantly. “But, she helps Sam out with the menial, daily tasks so that Sam can focus on the clients and the projects, with me.”
“Yeah, that’s what Alison was saying.”
After a gulp of iced tea, I fork another cut of beef onto my plate. “The barn remodel is almost finished,” I add, looking at my dad.
Since high school, my dad has pressed me to go into business with him to uphold the family name and run the company when he’s gone. Even though I’d been torn between architecture and baseball, I wanted to make him happy and proud. A part of me wanted to work with him as much as he’d wanted to work with me. At least, that’s how it was at first.
It started off as avoidance. My dad didn’t seem interested in talking to me about architecture anymore, and he didn’t ask me about my classes either. Then, he began to express worry about what his associates might think and questioned the ethics and lack of professionalism in giving his son a handout. But I was willing to start at the bottom and work my way up to the top. That had always been the plan, after all. By the beginning of my final school year, everything was muddled. My plan—ourplan—had completely changed, and my final school project was no longer my initiation into the firm.
It felt like I was being handled more than leveled with. My dad was the reason I was getting this degree to begin with, and changing up the plan on me so late in the game was a slap in the face. I’m not even sure what the plan is now.
He pours dressing into his bowl and mixes his salad around. “I’m glad the remodel is coming along nicely,” he says, oblivious. “Did you use the contacts I gave you for the materials? Fred’s a hard-ass in every sense of the word, but that’s the reason he’s the best.”
“I contacted him for the joists, but I didn’t use him. He was too expensive.”
“No?” My dad’s brown eyes finally shift to mine. He’s silently judging me for going with someone else, or maybe he’s wondering if I didn’t go with Fred out of spite.
I shake my head. “I have contacts of my own. That’s what five-plus years of design projects and externships gets you.”
“Well then,” he says, “I guess it’s a good thing you’re doing your own thing. I would’ve used Fred.” It’s a dig, a slight one, but enough to piss me off. I’m in the program because he wanted me to be and now he’s acting like he didn’t blow me off and leave me hanging to “do it on my own”. I don’t want to sound like a spoiled kid who didn’t get his way, so I let it go.
“I know you don’t see it now, Nick,” my dad continues, “but this is good for you. I think the barn rehab you’re doing for Sam is a great way to start your career, and it’s one hundred percent on your own. You can be proud of what you’re doing, knowing no one handed you anything.”
“I’m not rehabbing a barn into an office for me, dad. It’s Sam’s project, I’m just executing it. It would be the same if I were working for you, only it would be an actual architecture firm to put on my resume. How do you not see the difference? This was supposed to beourthing.”
