Both of her parents smile sympathetically, but move on from the heavy moment when her father asks, “I’m sure Carina has already offered, but would you like a drink?”
“I’m good, Mr. Alston. Thank you.”
Harlow’s mom waves a hand. “Please… it’s Robert and Celia. Not Mr. and Mrs. Alston. And I have to ask, are you refusing a drink in deference to Harlow?”
I’m not prepared for that question, but the answer is easy enough. “I am.”
Harlow’s parents shoot each other a look, and I can tell my response impresses them. Which has no effect on me. I don’t do it to impress them. I do it for Harlow.
“Well, dinner won’t be ready for at least half an hour. Let’s sit down and chat.” Harlow’s mom motions to the furniture, and we take a seat on one of the couches while her parents reclaim their original places. Loki and Freya had followed us in, and both lie down before the fireplace to our right.
It looks like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting.
“My apologies in advance,” Robert says as he levels me with an apologetic smile, “but I am quite the Titans fan, and I will probably have a million questions. I want insider information on how things are going with the team.”
I laugh, also having been prepared for this. Harlow warned me that her dad always pestered Brooks for the same. “Lay it on me, Robert. I shall divulge anything I can.”
We talk about hockey, politics, and oddly enough, the city of Cleveland where I played with the Badgers. Harlow’s father apparently had a case there that lasted three weeks, and he got to know the city quite well.
In less than the half hour predicted, Carina announces that dinner is ready, and we all move into the formal dining room, which holds a massive table that seats twenty-four. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life, and I can’t even imagine having a dinner party with that many people. But I suppose when you have that level of money and sophistication, you probably hire out every bit of the work that needs to be done to entertain formally. I mean… who even has twenty-four place settings in their cupboards?
We congregate at one end of the table. Robert takes the head, Celia to his right. Harlow and I are to his left, and we dine on several courses, including an appetizer, soup, salad, and the main course of lamb. The food is impeccable, and I wonder if they eat like this every night. While I’ve made tremendous money in my hockey career, playing with the Eagles and now the Titans—but not with the Badgers, because the pay there sucked in comparison—I’ve never experienced this level of wealth.
Yet Harlow’s parents aren’t overly formal. They’re quite down-to-earth and charming, much like Harlow.
As dinner progresses, we talk about a variety of subjects. At one point, Celia mentions Harlow’s brother Brian, who is due to come in for a visit in a few weeks.
“It’s his birthday,” Celia explains to me. “We’ll throw a big party when he gets here. Of course, you’ll have to come, Stone. It will be a very good time.”
“And just how long will my dear brother be staying?” Harlow asks dryly.
I’m well aware that Harlow has a bit of frustration that her brother won’t grow up and decide what he wants to do with his life, preferring to jet around the world on his trust fund.
But I also know she loves him very much and doesn’t truly begrudge that he’s having fun. She certainly has the right to do that with her trust fund if she wanted, rather than use it to fund her law practice for lower-income people.
Harlow’s parents also don’t seem to have a problem with Brian being a professional playboy. But not in the sense that they don’t care about his future or that they’ve written him off. On the contrary, they actually have some level of confidence that he’ll have true success one day when he’s ready to become that man.
As we make our way through the meal, I am increasingly aware of the differences between Harlow’s parents and mine. Each set of parents has two children. Their offspring have had varying levels of success. But if you compare Brooks and me to Harlow and Brian, the differences are stark and make me aware of how unlucky Brooks and I were.
Harlow did not want to follow in her family’s traditional footsteps of working for her family’s law firm. This would be akin to me telling my father I didn’t want to play hockey.
Harlow’s parents supported her decision. My father would have berated and then disowned me.
Harlow’s brother, Brian, is unambitious and without drive or direction—the complete opposite of his parents and sister. Yet they are giving him the space to find his own way and have confidence in him that he will one day succeed.
My brother was an alcoholic, gay man who was too afraid to be himself. If my dad had ever known those things about Brooks, he not only would’ve disowned him, I’m quite convinced he probably would’ve tried to beat the gay out of my brother.
I can’t help it, but I have a surge of intense jealousy that Harlow has parents who are supportive and loving, no matter if their children are flawed.
Her family is utterly perfect. Everything any kid could hope for.
But even though I admire them and I envy Harlow, part of me doesn’t respect her parents. It’s a shitty, judgmental way to be, but I wonder why they don’t bring her brother in hand and insist he do something productive with his life. And there is a small part of me that wonders why her father didn’t do more to keep Harlow with his law firm. It’s an incredible family legacy that she turned her back on. I know she’s immensely happy doing what she wants, and I want her to be fulfilled, but wasn’t there some common ground that could’ve been explored? Couldn’t her father have worked harder to make it so she could stay in that law firm without the pressures she was experiencing?
Maybe he’s not so perfect after all, and I realize I’m actually giving credence to my father’s hard and unyielding ways by finding fault with the Alstons.
I don’t know why these ugly feelings are rearing up inside me. I think it has to do with the fact that I’m a bit overwhelmed with how a happy, normal, functioning family operates. The mere fact that I have slight echoes of my father in my thinking terrifies me. Perhaps I’m more like him than I want to admit. Otherwise, why would I be looking for fault in the way the Alstons raised their kids?
I manage to be involved and engaged in discussion throughout the rest of the meal. Over dessert, I push some of those ugly thoughts aside as we talk about the cabin Brooks left me. It’s in Potter County, where Robert often goes to hunt and fish. “You’ll absolutely love it there. If you like peace, solitude, and the occasional bear, I’d highly recommend it as a wonderful getaway.”
“We’re hoping to go in a few weeks so he can take a look at it,” Harlow says. She reaches over and puts her hand on mine. I look at her, and she says, “Right? Didn’t you want to go take a look?”
“Yeah. Of course I do,” I say automatically, but I feel odd and disconnected from her. The more differences I see in our parents, the more I wonder if we’re suited for each other.
Harlow gives me a funny look, then turns back to ask her father a question about a legal case on which she wants his opinion.
I tune out and unfortunately start to question if I can live up to the expectations that Harlow or her family might have of me. I certainly failed all of my father’s. If they knew some of the thoughts I just had about their parenting abilities, they’d probably do everything in their power to insist Harlow not have anything to do with me.