“Easy, they just don’t,” I said matter-of-factly. “It’s not a crisis, it’s just the way my family operates. I think my grandfather raised my father the exact same way, so what do you expect? We do what our parents teach us to do.”
“But if that’s the case, then how did you get involved with Dominic?” he asked as he shoved another loaded fork into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he waited for my answer.
“I already explained that,” I said. “I was duped by his personality and the money.”
“That makes no sense to me,” he mused. “You have money, and Dominic is a sociopath! He doesn’t care about anything except his reputation and his stuff.”
“Like I said,” I replied as I stared at my meat while I carefully carved a bite-sized piece from the juicy filet. “We do what our parents teach us to do.”
Brian watched me closely as he continued to chew. Suddenly the light bulb went on and he leaned across the table. “Are you telling me—”
“Just let it go, Brian,” I said pointedly. “Just let it go.”
He looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, and then cut another piece of meat and popped it into his mouth.
“But what about your grandmother? You said she loved you,” he said.
“That was a whole other matter,” I said quietly.
“Tell me about it,” he urged as he looked into my eyes. “I want to know you — all of you.”
“My grandmother was the center of my universe,” I began. “I told you about our last trip together and what happened afterwards.”
Brian nodded and continued picking at his food. I picked up a piece of asparagus with my fingers, bit off the tip, and chewed as I thought about how to explain my grandmother to him.
“My grandmother was the epitome of high society,” I said as I thought about how she’d always dressed for dinner and insisted that I do the same when I was visiting her. “She had impeccable taste and valued courtesy and manners above all else. She used to say that without manners we were no better than a tray of ice cubes.”
Brian laughed out loud as I giggled remembering how every time she’d said this, I’d laughed because it was so ridiculous. I told him about how she’d once spent my entire spring break teaching me how to curtsey and pour the perfect cup of tea just in case I was ever invited to meet the Queen of England. Then I told him about how she’d made a habit of sending me books by Miss Manners and Leticia Baldridge in order to drive the lessons home. I was expected to read and memorize certain portions of the books so that I could recite them to my grandmother on command. It was nerve-wracking because she was demanding and did not suffer fools, but she always stepped in and helped me fill in the blanks when I couldn’t remember the exact words I’d read. It was the spirit of the law that mattered to her, not the letter of it.
“Didn’t she see what was going on with your parents?” Brian asked.
“Of course she did,” I replied. “That’s why she spent so much time with me. She knew I was lost and lonely, and that I had no idea why my parents ignored me.”
“But couldn’t she have said something to your father?” he asked.
“Oh, she did,” I said as I shook my head, recalling all the times my grandmother had confronted my father about his neglectful parenting. “She was merciless in her critique of his failure as a parent.”
Brian nodded as if he understood what I was explaining. I told him about the frequent fights between my father and my grandmother, and the way in which she berated him and made him seem small and weak. I was never sure if he knew I’d heard the abuse, but I was fairly certain she’d known that I had often been lurking outside the sitting room where they had their conversations. She was cruel and spiteful, and she said some incredibly awful things to him and about him.
“I never quite understood why,” I said, remembering the last time they’d fought. “My grandmother was so incredibly kind to me and she had the biggest heart in the world. It always seemed so odd that she could love me so much and hate my father with such intensity. Or at least I thought she hated him, but then, I was 14, what did I know?”
“Yeah, it’s hard to understand that stuff when you have no frame of reference or history,” he agreed. I stopped and looked at him carefully. He knew something. What that something was, I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.
“The last fight they’d ever had was right before my grandmother was to take me to Europe,” I recalled. “My father showed up to bring my passport and be supportive, I think. My grandmother lit into him before they’d even closed the door. She dressed him down for being inattentive, and then scolded him for not bringing my mother with him to wish me a good trip. She knew that my mother wasn’t well and that she’d been hospitalized yet again, but she couldn’t help but poke at my father’s wound.”
I explained how my father tried to defend himself by explaining what had happened to my mother, but my grandmother had coldly cut him off with a, “You’re just like your father; good for nothing,” and then stormed out of the drawing room. She saw me there listening, and for a moment, I saw a look of pain cross her face before she rushed upstairs. She spent the next two days in her room, and on the third day, she emerged with her hair and makeup perfectly done and announced that we’d be leaving for New York that afternoon. We hadn’t been scheduled to travel until the end of the week, but she had decided it was better to get to the city and wait for our flight.
I described how we’d spent several days in New York City shopping and eating and having a grand time, but that every time I looked at my grandmother, she seemed sad. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but at 14 I still had a healthy respect for adults, and she’d been my manners coach, so I didn’t dare ask.
“I loved my grandmother more than anyone in the world, but she was…” I trailed off.
“She sounds like she was troubled,” Brian interjected.
“Yeah, troubled is a good word for it,” I affirmed. I looked over at him. I’d been talking for what felt like hours and he looked ready to drift off into a comfortable food coma. I laughed. “Do you need to get to bed?”
“Who, me?” he asked in a sleepy voice. “I’m not tired at all! I could party all night.”
“Sure, sure, big man,” I laughed. “Do you want to share the bed with me? It’s more comfortable than the couch, I think.”