Page 49 of Desperate Haste
“Th–thank you. I’m happy to be here.” My heart rate starts to slow and he gives me a curt nod before moving towards the table and taking a seat. Just like she did for me, my mother sets a plate in front of him and starts to give him sizable portions of the various things she’s made. He waves a hand at her and thanks her in Korean before picking up his own chopsticks.
“So how’s that bar you work at doing?” he asks, not looking up from his plate as he takes a bite.
“The bar Imanageis great, thank you for asking. We have a really good group of people who work there and it’s always busy. I’m never bored, which I like,” I reply. His eyes shoot to mine when I emphasize the word ‘manage,’ reminding him again that I’m not just another employee. I hold a leadership role that I worked hard to earn and was proud to have.
“So much potential just wasting away in a bar,” he gruffs, speaking into his food.Five minutes. It took him five minutes.
I set my utensils down and cross my hands on top of the table, looking at him. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
Something I’d learned while going through the program is that it’s always better to get things out into the open instead of letting them fester. And since my family are the reigning champions of just brushing everything under the rug, I figure we can try something new for once and face things head on. He glances up at me, clearly surprised by my question, and sits up straight in his chair.
“I’m sure you have a good time cutting loose and mixing drinks on the weekends, but playing bartender isn’t a real living, Son. We raised you for bigger and better things than hanging out with a bunch of addicts and losers and calling it work.”
The back of my neck starts to warm even though I expected this exact thing from him. I know how much he disapproves of my life, but hearing him speak so poorly about the people I work with is too much for me.
“What do you hate more, Dad, the fact that I work with a bunch of ‘addicts and losers’ as you say or the fact that I’m one of them? Or do you need to be reminded again that I, too, am an addict in recovery?” We glare at one another as an uncomfortable silence falls over the house. Instead of responding, he takes the easy way out and continues to eat his food. Not one to let things go, I continue.
“I’m proud of who I am, Dad. You might not be, but I am. I know I screwed things up and I didn’t go down the path you wanted me to but I managed to pull myself out of a really bad spot. I’m proud of that and I’m proud of who I’ve become.” He doesn’t look at me. “I’m proud of the people I work with and I’m proud to be a manager at Butcher and Block. Those people are like my family, we look out for one another. I worked really hard to get to where I am today and work really hard everyday to stay on track. I wish you would see that. I wish you would be proud of me too.”
A sense of relief washes over me as I say the words and finally vocalize what I’ve wanted from him all along—for him to accept me as I am and to be proud of the work I’ve done to get to where I am in life. Needing to do something with my hands, I take a bite of the food that’s been patiently sitting in front of me. Awkward silence hangs over the room as we both eat without another word. Umma, who had taken a seat next to him, cautiously takes a bite as she waits for the stalemate to come to an end. Once he is done, he stands from his seat and heads for the stairs once more. Before crossing the threshold, he turns and looks at me where I sit.
“I wish for so much more for you because I know how much potential you have.” My eyes cast down, waiting for another sideways insult to come my way. “But I am proud of the man you’ve become. You’ve come so far in your recovery and that shows true strength.”
I scurry to my feet to match his bow and wait to stand until I see that he’s turned on his heels and left for good. Rising slowly, I think about what he’s just said. A smile threatens to form on my lips as I sit back down, allowing his words to sink beneath my skin. Umma grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, not looking at me but smiling softly at her plate.
“This food is delicious, thank you for making it,” I thank her, speaking in Korean once more. “I was hungry after all.”
She chuckles to herself and nods, glancing her eyes towards me. “A mother always knows when her son is hungry.”
Shaking her hand in mine, I smile at her again and take another bite of food. Maybe being home for the holiday won’t be so bad afterall.
25
MALCOLM
It’s just after the new year and nearly a month since I’ve seen her. We’ve texted back and forth a few times but with her working in marketing, the holidays are one of her busiest times of year. I sent her a text on Christmas morning wishing her a merry Christmas, and she texted me back with a picture of her holding a glass of wine curled up in a blanket, making a kissing face for the camera. In our conversations, she’d told me that she would be celebrating on her own since Bailey would be with Hank at her parents’ house and I wanted nothing more than to bail on my parents and join her on the couch. But I knew how much it meant to my mom to have me home and I didn’t want to disappoint her anymore than I already had.
Now that the holidays are over though, I’m aching to see my girl.
It’s the second Thursday of the year and I’m closing at the bar which is busy but not packed. Charleston is generally only people who live locally during this time of year but the occasional influx of tourists will travel down to escape the harsh winter of their hometowns. The bar still has hints of the New Year’s Eve party we hosted with glittering streamers strung from the ceilings and black and gold balloons floating in the corners. I make a mental note to stay late tomorrow once we’re closed to take it all down so Alice doesn’t need to climb on any chairs to do it herself.
I fill the orders of the people sitting across from me at the bar and when we have a small break in business, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and send a text.
I want to see you.
Little Fox:
I don’t just come at your beck and call pretty boy. The least you could do is say please.
I smirk at my phone because I find her attitude sexy as hell. I love that she isn’t the kind of girl to just jump when asked. She makes you work for that jump and I appreciate that about her.
I want to see you *please*
Little Fox:
What if I don’t want to see you?
I know that’s not true.
