I bet Bella and Bryony had never hidden in a library when their mom needed to get to her job. I wasn’t sure if I was envious or felt sorry for them.
Either way, it was impossible not to compare their lives now and what mine had been at the same age. We had the same father, after all.
I needed to snap out of feeling intimidated or maligned in some way and focus on the prize. Today was just a building block. A foundation stone to a relationship in which my father was more likely to give me the money I needed when I asked him for it. I had a job to do, and I had to get to work.
When we’d had more small talk and finished our drinks, we moved into the dining room, which was full of more chandeliers and floral wallpaper, and an antique dining table and chairs. I wondered whether or not the British used silverware in the same way Americans did, or if I’d end up making a complete fool of myself. I should have Googled this shit.
“How’s the new job?” my father asked as we took a seat.
I was seated next to Bryony. When she took her napkin from her plate and placed it in her lap, I followed her lead. Yes, five-year-old Bryony would be my etiquette coach, whether she knew it or not.
“It’s good. I’m learning a lot.”
“Andrew Blake has a reputation for being demanding,” Des said. “I hope he’s treating you well.”
I shrugged. “I’m a New Yorker. I can handle Andrew Blake.” Hopefully the heat that burned my cheeks didn’t show. I didn’t want to talk about my job or Andrew. There was a ninety-nine-point seven percent chance I was getting fired on Monday, and Des didn’t need to know that. I wanted him to think he’d missed out on seeing his clever, charming daughter grow up, not dodged a curveball. I needed to provoke regret in him, not relief.
As much as I was here for a reason, my curiosity about my father and his history poked at me. “Did you like New York?” I asked. I wasn’t looking to embarrass him. I wanted to know. He was half my DNA and I was curious about which parts of me, apart from my cheekbones and eyes, had come from him.
“I haven’t been in a long time, but I enjoy city life—although I think I’m more suited to the country.”
I didn’t know anything but city life. That was okay. I loved New York. I knew every crack in the sidewalk, every scuffed fire hydrant, every Duane Reade from the Apollo to Battery Park.
“We have a place in Scotland,” Evan said. “We go in the summer.”
Summer in New York was a challenge. Over the past few years, I’d spent the odd few days on the Jersey shore with Natalie, but because of jobs and studying, for the most part my summers were spent in the searing humidity of the city. Like the rest of New York, I’d try to hop between air-conditioned buildings in order to avoid the feeling of being bathed in the drunk breath of an old man staggering out of a dive bar at three in the afternoon. I imagined Scotland was a little different.
“And sometimes at Easter,” Bella said. “I like horses.”
“We all like horses,” Bryony said, speaking for the first time.
“Do you like horses?” Bella asked.
It was a simple question and one I imagined most of Bella’s circle would easily answer. The problem was the question and my answer betrayed much more than equine preferences.
“I don’t not like horses,” I replied.
Before the confused frown on Bella’s face could be translated into further questioning, Evan interrupted. “I have a few friends who’ve done their MBAs at Columbia. It’s a very good course, I hear.”
“I enjoyed it a lot.” For the first time in my life, being surrounded by the other students at Columbia, I’d felt like I’d been rubbing shoulders with the elite. Sure, I still felt like an outsider, but I knew I wasn’t dumber than the people around me. Just poorer. It had fired my ambition and given me a dose of confidence I’d sorely needed. “It’s exciting to be able to face my future with that kind of qualification. It feels like a world of possibilities opened up for me.”
I glanced at my father, who looked away. It seemed there was nothing I could say that was both authentic to who I was and comfortable for my father. My mother’s answer for most things was to be myself. She prized honesty over most things. “Non ho peli sulla lingua,” she would say, after telling me some truth I didn’t want to hear. The problem was, I didn’t know how to be myself sitting around a table with my biological father’s family. The situation was so alien to me. Everything from their sofa to their napkins felt like it came from a different world. Where did I fit in?