I looked at my father from the corner of my eye and swallowed my food. It dawned on me that this was why my parents extended an invitation to have dinner with them tonight. Not to exchange pleasantries (although there was little chance of that happening) but to interrogate me on my future decisions.
“I did and while I think it’s a great opportunity, I believe I will have to pass.”
My father appeared genuinely baffled by my reply. Momma, who was sitting across from me, merely watched us with something close to apprehension. Ever since I was a child, it had been that way. The tension in her shoulders was so heavy, she nearly hunched over. Her gaze flitted about the room, like a wild animal in search of the nearest escape.
“Pass?” Father repeated with his booming voice. “Whatever for? Charles Lowndes is said to be headin’ a small group of investors to form a corporation. If you work with him, that would do well for me.”
Ah, so that was why he wanted me to work there.
“If not C.T. Lowndes & Company, then what?” my father demanded.
I looked my father straight in the eye, a feat I could have never done as a young boy without flinching. “I’ve decided to work with Étienne.”
My father made a face of disgust, accompanied by a scoff. “At the shipping company?”
“No, he’s startin’ a new business venture.”
My words were careful. Concise. Even though it pained me to be this way. I wanted to reach across the table and grab my father by his collar and say, “You listen to nothing! I told you and Momma about this opportunity days ago.”
He would not have remembered. My father might have been in the sitting room, but he was deep in his cups. Momma was the only one who heard, and she certainly wouldn’t be the one to remind Father.
“I don’t know the details of Étienne’s business venture,” Father said the last two words patronizingly. “However, it doesn’t sound beneficial for you.”
Nothing I said or did would be beneficial to my father. When I went to college, my father sent me off with these parting words: “Whatever you do, don’t chose a career that sullies the Calhoun name. You come from a long line of successful men.”
And apparently philanderers, too, I wanted to reply.
But being unfaithful and having a slew of mistresses wasn’t important when you were successful and had money.
Clearing my throat, I sat taller in my chair and focused on the conversation at hand. “Be that as it may, I still believe it’s the correct decision.”
I was careful not to place the words ‘thought’ or ‘felt’ into my replies to my father. “To think or feel means you hold doubt in your decision. A smart man should know before anybody else.”
“Be that as it may, what you believe to be correct could highly be wrong,” my father retorted.
My teeth grinded together, and I fought back an equally biting reply. It was his dislike of the Lacroixs that caused him to judge Étienne’s new business venture. Plain and simple. If he listened to what Étienne had in mind, then he would understand that what my best friend envisioned would turn out to be highly lucrative and successful.
“I suppose we have to see whether my decision is wrong or right,” I said, my voice tight.
At that, my father snorted and continued to eat, washing his food down with alcohol. The longer I sat there, the angrier I became. Coming here was a mistake on my part. I knew better.
I did my best to never visit my parents’ home on East Battery. It was where I spent my childhood and the source for every heinous memory of my past.
Nothing in the spacious home had changed. It was still oppressive, making me tug on the collar of my shirt. The dining room was dark despite the chandelier being lit. The walls remained the same moss green, making the stark white crown molding even brighter.
There was very little in the way of design, and only generations of Calhouns adorned the walls. As a child, I once believed I would have a portrait alongside my father’s, but in a rage one night, he yelled at me, “Why do you continue to fail me? Look at them!” He grabbed my head between both of his hands and forced me to look at the pictures on the wall. “Do they appear worthless and deficient to you?”
I shook my head, but that didn’t appease him because he gripped my head harder. “Answer me!”
“No!” I replied, the answer bursting from my mouth.
The pressure from my face eased as my father let go and kneeled beside me. “Stop failin’ me and make me proud.”
A heavy burden for a six-year-old to try and carry. Very swiftly, I came to understand that a stranger had a better chance of finding their portrait hanging by my ancestors than I ever did.
The moment I was finished eating, I dropped my fork onto my empty plate and placed my napkin on the table. “I think it’s best to be goin’.”
My mother reached her hand across the table, as though to stop me, but ultimately, she drew back, her hand landing on her lap. “Oh Asa, can’t you stay for a while longer?”
There was enough hope in her eyes to make me hesitate. But not enough to make me say yes. There would never be enough hope or happiness in the world to get me to stay in this house longer than a meal lasted.
Briefly, I placed my hand over hers. “I cannot. I need to go.”
Her face momentarily fell before she nodded and smiled, albeit sadly, at me. “I understand. You are a busy man.”
My father gave another snort, as though my mother made a wisecrack. All these years later, his lack of faith in me still shot a stinging wave of embarrassment through me.
Before I blurted something I knew I’d regret, I dipped my head and said, “Good-night.” Before the two of them could reply, I walked out the front door.
The fresh air that greeted me outside didn’t alleviate the anger and humiliation simmering inside me. I breathed deeply through my nose before I exhaled and walked in the direction of the Lacroix House.
I’d taken these steps since I was a child. I could have been blindfolded and still made my way there. The Lacroix House and the Pleasonton home were my ports in a never-ending storm. I’d grown and was no longer the scrawny boy afraid of his own shadow, but that changed nothing. What no one told us about being an adult is we grow, we changed, but our hearts would always remain the same. Nothing was temporary to that beautiful beating muscle.
At our core, we were still afraid of getting hurt. All the memories, whether good or bad, shaped our approach to life…
“Asa, let go of your momma’s hand,” my father demanded.
I looked up at Momma and saw the regret in her eyes. She would have gladly let me hold onto her. She didn’t mind, but she wouldn’t disagree with Father. Reluctantly, my hand slipped away from hers. My knees were knocking together so badly, I thought I was going to collapse.
I didn’t want to go in there. I didn’t know a single person. I wanted to go back to the safety of my home and remain with my private tutors. Everything about this campus, from the dorms to the large church, were new and far too vast and I had never done well with vast.
I liked everything to be in place and have order from when I woke up to when I went to bed. I couldn’t have predicted how my time would have been here and that was what terrified me the most.