“Hey, get in here,” I said, yanking him inside. It wasn’t even twenty degrees out there. “You look terrible. What’s wrong?”
He was breathing heavily as he charged inside to thaw by the fire. I filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove for some tea. Then back in the living room, I tossed some blankets and pillows on the hardwood floor and pulled him down to sit with me.
“Here,” I said, handing him some of my mulled wine. “Have some and tell me what’s going on.”
I’d never seen Charles like this. He was edgy and frazzled. Like a thousand thoughts were colliding behind his unfocused eyes as he clenched his hands around the glass and stared into the flames. He took a swig and set it aside. Then, after several minutes of silence, his breathing slowed and he turned to me, brow knitted with frustration.
“I had a fight with my dad,” he said simply.
“What about?”
“Same thing we always fight about.” He huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “The business. It’s the only thing we talk about anymore. The huge responsibility. His expectations. How I’m not taking this seriously enough. I’ve spent practically my whole adult life learning the company. Doing everything he’s ever asked of me. Not once has he asked me whatIwant.”
He grabbed for the wine again and took another heavy gulp just as the kettle whistled. I got up and made us some chamomile tea, then brought the mugs back over to the fire.
“What do you want?” I asked, softly stroking his back with my fingertips.
He seemed to relax slightly, his muscles releasing some of their tension. “Honestly, just time to figure that out. While everyone else I knew was discovering their passions, I was following the plan Dad had laid out for me. The college he picked out, then business school. And it wasn’t like I hated it, but I never had a choice, you know? I never got to fuck off for a year and travel. Take up piano. I don’t know. Anything. Just to find out who I am before I become my father.”
“What does he say when you tell him that?” I asked, passing him a mug.
The fire crackled, puffing out gentle sparks. The whole cottage smelled of rich burning pine. Charles shook his head, sighing. The lines deepened across his forehead as flickering shadows danced on the walls behind us.
“He says we have a responsibility to create a seamless transition. Thousands of employees counting on us to keep the gears turning. And the thing is, I know he’s right. I’ve always been expected to take over one day, just like he took over for Grandad. The board, employee pensions, stock prices. All these things that represent real lives, you know? So, I guess I just feel trapped. Staring down the rest of my life feeling like I’ve never had a choice. It’s daunting.”
“Your dad must’ve felt the same way when he was in your position,” I said.
Charles balked at that. “He’s an old-fashioned guy. Still does business with a handshake over cigars and brandy. Because that’s the way Grandad did it. He was practically born in a three-piece suit.”
I bit back a laugh. It was always hard for us to imagine our parents as people who had whole lives before we were born.
“I don’t want to let him down,” he said. “And I’m not saying I want to abandon the company. I just wish he would hear me out before automatically dismissing my feelings. I care about this company just as much as anyone. I just wish he’d give me a moment to breathe first.”
As someone who’d worked for a lot of small-business owners, I knew something about the psyche at play there.
“Something I’ve learned throughout my culinary career is, people come to think of their businesses as children. Which are in turn like an extension of themselves. They get protective. Sometimes to a fault. And it gets hard to step back and hear other perspectives. Like a chef who suddenly has a kitchen full of line cooks. Some people can’t give up control and they lash out. Nothing is ever good enough. They start to see every little mistake or suggestion as sabotage, because obviously no one will ever care for their baby better than they do.”
“So, what do I do?” he asked me earnestly.
It was plain on his face that Charles desperately wanted his father’s acceptance. He wanted it from both of his parents. They were each so accomplished and formidable. It must’ve been an impossible burden growing up in that shadow.
“I think you have to reassure him that you know what the company means to him. That you appreciate the legacy he’s built. And that you want to honor that as much as he does. As much as he did when he took over from his father. I think, ultimately, he wants to know that he’s prepared you for this.”
Charles collapsed back on the pillows, rubbing his face. “I’m not sure how to make him believe me.”
“Time, I guess.”
I lay beside him, brushing his hair off his forehead. Charles caught my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the inside of my palm, then holding my hand to his face. It was an intimate gesture that made me feel closer to him than any time we’d spent under the sheets at the inn.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “Sorry I came barging over here in the middle of the night like a lunatic.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ve had one or two existential crises in my day. Several since I’ve been here, in fact. I’m sort of an expert now.”
“What am I going to do when you leave for London?” he mused, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes landed on mine with a sober seriousness. “It just hit me that we’re not both going back to Denver after this.”
“Yeah.” I winced slightly. Right now, I was barely looking a week ahead. Three months from now still felt like a very long time for me. “Weird.”
Charles rolled over on his side. He tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear, then gently slid his fingers down the side of my neck. Where my oversized T-shirt hung off my shoulder, his fingers continued to graze the warm, bare skin.
