“Yeah, that skirt looks great with the YSL gray silk cami.”
“I can’t wear Gucci anything when I’m just packing up a few things and dragging a suitcase around on the subway.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to pay my rent, but something had stopped me giving notice on my apartment. I’d waited a long time to live in Manhattan and work at King & Associates—I just wasn’t ready to let it all go yet. Reluctantly, I put the skirt back in the closet.
Grace appeared at the door to her closet and rested against the door frame. “You love me, right?”
I snapped my head around at her. When Grace started a sentence with that preface, I knew the follow-up wasn’t something I wanted to hear.
I turned back to the racks of clothes. “I don’t know, it depends what you’re going to say next,” I replied.
“Well, I was thinking that while you’re in Manhattan, maybe you’d want to call your father.”
I turned to look at her, completely confused. “And why would I want to do that?”
“To get some answers. Hear what he has to say.”
“Why would I give him any of my time or energy?” Just because Grace seemed to be reconsidering her relationship with her parents and their money, didn’t mean I had to.
“Honestly?” she asked. “Because I think you spend far too much of your time and energy on him. Everything you do seems to be a reaction to your father.”
I looked up from the stack of T-shirts I was examining. “How can you say that? I haven’t taken anything from him since college.”
“You think ending up at King & Associates, working for the only place in town that didn’t work for your father, had nothing to do with him? You walked out of a job you supposedly loved because of him.”
“That wasn’t about him, it was about Max,” I replied. “You’ve got this all wrong.”
She pushed off the door frame and stood in front of me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “It was about a business decision Max made regarding JD Stanley—your father’s business. Despite your desire to avoid him, he’s everywhere in your life, pushing you down one path or another, whether it’s to avoid him or show him his mistakes.” She released her hands and splayed out her fingers. “Aren’t you exhausted with it?”
I was stunned. Was that what she thought? I sank to my knees, cross-legged. “You think I have some kind of warped obsession with my dad?”
Grace followed me to the floor. “Look, you’re not Kathy Bates Misery obsessed, but yes, I think you let him consume too much of your life, your energy . . .” Grace paused. “Your happiness.”
I looked up at her. I wanted to see doubt in her eyes but there was none. And I knew she did love me and I knew she wanted the best for me. “But he abandoned me and my mother. Fucked every woman in the tristate area. And all his sons work—”
“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying get some kind of closure so you can let it go. Don’t let it rule your life. You’re an adult.”
“Just like that, let it go?” He was always going to be my father, and he was always going to be an asshole. I didn’t see that changing.
“Well, clearly it’s not that easy—we’re not in a Disney musical—but maybe have a conversation with him. Tell him how you feel. I don’t see how you’ve got anything to lose. This is ruining your life.”
I snorted. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve got it wrong, but you’re talking to me from the floor of my closet.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re convinced your father is trying to ruin you. Well, you’re letting him.”
I lay back on the floor, needing to think. Was I letting my father run my life? By not taking his money I thought I was doing the opposite. And I’d done well in my career without him. I’d resigned because Max had put business before me. My father wasn’t the issue there . . . Except it was JD Stanley’s business we were talking about.
“I’m not saying your father isn’t an asshole. He’s not going to win father of the year anytime soon. And I understand that when you were little he let you down again and again.” He had let me down. “And I’m not saying you have to have some kind of idyllic relationship. Just accept the reality of the situation and get on with your own life. I think a conversation with him might help.”
She was right. Since I’d moved to New York, my thoughts of my father had gathered like waves heading for shore. Turns out they’d just hit the beach.
My obsession with King & Associates had genuinely been all about Max King. It had nothing to with my father or the fact Max didn’t work with JD Stanley. But part of me had always known going to business school had been about proving to him he was missing out on knowing me, and I was just as good as my half brothers. And Grace was right, part of the reason I’d resigned had been about my father not wanting me—the bruises he’d formed being pressed by someone else this time.
My disappointment at my father wasn’t going anywhere. It floated around me like a bad smell, influencing me so subtly I didn’t realize his hold over me. Grace was right; he had far too much power over my here and now.
“You have to deal with the root of the issue,” Grace said. “My grandma always said, ‘If you just chop the heads off of weeds, they come back.’ So far, she’s never been wrong.”
Maybe if I just got it all out—raged at him—it would be like expelling poison and I’d be free. I had nothing to lose by confronting him, telling him how I was feeling—how he’d made me feel.
I jumped to my feet and scanned her racks of clothing. “Which one is the YSL vest?”
Even though I had no money, no job, and the fare would be something approaching the amount of a small car, I’d taken Grace’s suggestion and grabbed a cab into Manhattan. I stepped onto the sidewalk, the heat almost unbearable, next to my father’s Upper East Side brownstone.
I had no idea whether my father was in. Even if he was, he might have company or be busy. I probably should have called first, but I couldn’t bear the idea he’d tell me no, and I was sure to chicken out if he suggested another time.
I walked up the stoop and rang the bell. Immediately footsteps scuffled behind the door.
“Hello?” My father’s housekeeper squinted at me.
“Hi, Miriam, is my father home?”
“Harper? Good God, child, I’ve not seen you in years.” She bundled me into the hallway. “You’re looking too thin. Can I get you something to eat? The soup I’m making won’t be ready for a few hours, but I roasted a chicken yesterday. I could make you a sandwich.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” I hadn’t expected the warmth, the welcome, to be treated as if I were family. “It’s nice to see you looking so well.”
“Old, dear, that’s how I look, but that’s what I am.” She began to make her way down the hall, beckoning me with her. “Let me call upstairs to his study.”
I couldn’t hear my father’s reaction to my arrival, but the conversation was short and didn’t seem to involve any cajoling to see me.