Page 74
Story: Art of Convenience
I’ve beenan asshole to anyone who comes within twenty feet of me. I’m aware it’s unfair, but I can’t bring myself to care. I almost want to tell Jonas to just turn around and run right back out of my office to spare him from the uncontrollable rage boiling inside me. “You good, bro?”
His frat boy energy and lack of anything ever affecting him just pisses me off today. I ignore him and continue trying to get some work done.
“You wanna dip and go get some bagels?”
I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m trying to think before I speak so I don’t say something I’ll regret later. I need to just tell him now isn’t the time.
“Or we could leave early and grab drinks?”
“Jonas,” I warn.
“We could hit Villetta and get our money’s worth this month,” he continues.
“Jonas,” I bark louder.
“Okay screw it, let’s just?—”
“For fucks sake, shut up!” I shout.
He stares at me but his eyes aren’t hurt or upset. They take on the one emotion I can’t stand. Pity.
“Look, I’ve never had to cheer you up,” he takes a tentative step towards my desk, “you’ve always been a grumpy asshole and I’ve been cool with it. But now you're a depressed asshole, and I’m just trying to help. I’ll let you sulk in peace though if that’s what you want. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.” His knuckles knock against my desk before he turns for the door. He pauses briefly with his hand on the handle, “By the way, I talked to Taylor. She said she thinks your girl misses you too.”
My head almost snaps off my neck as I lift it so fast, but he's already walking down the hall.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
This is a terrible idea.
The sounds of dishes being thrown into buckets, conversations blending together, and a bell going off every two minutes to let the waiters on roller skates know that more food is up and ready at the counter normally wouldn’t bother me, but I’m clearly on edge today.
After my morning blow-up with Jonas, I dropped whatever papers I could off with one of our junior associates. The rest can wait. When I left I was overwhelmed with how lost I felt. I couldn’t go home. The idea of stepping out of the elevator to an empty apartment physically makes my stomach roll. It’s a neon sign reminding me that Camila left.She left.I should have tried harder to keep her from leaving, to talk to me. But we’ve always had that understanding with each other. The ability to be patient and understand that the other will speak when they're ready. But then she said she needed time. I’m trying to respect that,but I’m losing my mind not talking to her now. I can almost see her little smirk now, how amusing she would find it that the man she had to work so hard to have a few conversations with would do absolutely anything to talk to her now.
I arrived at the diner down the street from my office ten minutes ago and I feel like I’m going to explode out of my skin. I probably should have called Ray and asked him to meet me for a session, but instead, I called the man coming through the door right now.
“I’m glad you called, son.” Paul Cameron slides into the booth across from me. He's not as big as I remember. I mean he’s tall, 6’4” maybe and he's still in great shape for a retired baseball player. But when I was a kid he seemed like a giant, and in my eyes he was bigger than any superhero. Now if I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t look twice at him walking down the street.
“It’s been a while,” is my only response.
He nods and a waitress comes by to take his order. “Just a black coffee, please. Thank you.”
I don’t feel the anger I expected to feel when seeing him. I don’t feel longing for a relationship with him either. I don’t feel much of anything. How could I have spent years working towards goal after goal for the sole purpose of rubbing it in his face? To be able to say‘I’m the best and you have nothing to do with it. You get to watch me be great and have no claim over any of it.’The irony is that everything I have, I’ve gotten by using him and that anger as my motivation.
“I know better than to tell you that you look well and try to make small talk with you, Miles. So even though I’m grateful that you called, why don’t you tell me why you did?” He’s direct and to the point like me, but surprisingly his tone isn’t cruel.
My fingers idly trace the rim of my coffee mug that I’m not drinking, but I keep my eyes on him. “I’ve worked really hard, and been fairly successful these last few years all out of anger and spite towards you.” If he’s hurt or surprised by what I’m saying he doesn’t show it. His face gives nothing away. “But when I think about what I have in my life, none of it matters.” The only thing that’s ever mattered to me in the last ten years walked out of my arms two days ago. “I just wanted to say that I’m not carrying a baseball player-size chip on my shoulder anymore. I don’t expect us to get together for family dinners or anything, I mean shit, if I were you and someone ignored me for close to two decades I’d tell them to go fuck themselves but, I guess just selfishly, I wanted to let you know, I’m done carrying this torch. If she could forgive you in the end, it’s not my battle and I’m done letting this consume me.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, scrunches his face in disgust, and slides it off to the side. Clasping his hands together in front of him he says, “I am sorry. I’ll always be sorry for what I did back then, and even more sorry for how I handled it. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to fix our relationship. I’m the parent and that’s on me.”
“Why’d you do it?”
The way his arms move lets me know he’s likely wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “Unfortunately if you’re looking for some big dramatic answer you won’t get it.” He blows out a breath before continuing. “I was an idiot. It’s as simple as that. I was young, I had fame and success and I let it get to my head, and I fucked up.”
That's it. My entire life. From my confused and hurt childhood to my detached and angry adulthood, it all boiled down to a simpleI fucked up.It seems so trivial now. I want to be pissed at myself for letting something like this consume me for so long. But I recognize that pattern immediately. Beating myself up over it won’t change anything. So I nod my understanding and watch as my father folds his hands in front of him on the table.
“And just so you know, you could have ignored me for another two decades and I would never tell you to go fuck yourself. Hell, if you want to start doing family dinners, I’m in.”
“That might be a little much right now since I just started talking to you again.” The corner of his mouth tugs up as he looks down at his hands. “But maybe in the future,” I add.
His frat boy energy and lack of anything ever affecting him just pisses me off today. I ignore him and continue trying to get some work done.
“You wanna dip and go get some bagels?”
I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m trying to think before I speak so I don’t say something I’ll regret later. I need to just tell him now isn’t the time.
“Or we could leave early and grab drinks?”
“Jonas,” I warn.
“We could hit Villetta and get our money’s worth this month,” he continues.
“Jonas,” I bark louder.
“Okay screw it, let’s just?—”
“For fucks sake, shut up!” I shout.
He stares at me but his eyes aren’t hurt or upset. They take on the one emotion I can’t stand. Pity.
“Look, I’ve never had to cheer you up,” he takes a tentative step towards my desk, “you’ve always been a grumpy asshole and I’ve been cool with it. But now you're a depressed asshole, and I’m just trying to help. I’ll let you sulk in peace though if that’s what you want. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.” His knuckles knock against my desk before he turns for the door. He pauses briefly with his hand on the handle, “By the way, I talked to Taylor. She said she thinks your girl misses you too.”
My head almost snaps off my neck as I lift it so fast, but he's already walking down the hall.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
This is a terrible idea.
The sounds of dishes being thrown into buckets, conversations blending together, and a bell going off every two minutes to let the waiters on roller skates know that more food is up and ready at the counter normally wouldn’t bother me, but I’m clearly on edge today.
After my morning blow-up with Jonas, I dropped whatever papers I could off with one of our junior associates. The rest can wait. When I left I was overwhelmed with how lost I felt. I couldn’t go home. The idea of stepping out of the elevator to an empty apartment physically makes my stomach roll. It’s a neon sign reminding me that Camila left.She left.I should have tried harder to keep her from leaving, to talk to me. But we’ve always had that understanding with each other. The ability to be patient and understand that the other will speak when they're ready. But then she said she needed time. I’m trying to respect that,but I’m losing my mind not talking to her now. I can almost see her little smirk now, how amusing she would find it that the man she had to work so hard to have a few conversations with would do absolutely anything to talk to her now.
I arrived at the diner down the street from my office ten minutes ago and I feel like I’m going to explode out of my skin. I probably should have called Ray and asked him to meet me for a session, but instead, I called the man coming through the door right now.
“I’m glad you called, son.” Paul Cameron slides into the booth across from me. He's not as big as I remember. I mean he’s tall, 6’4” maybe and he's still in great shape for a retired baseball player. But when I was a kid he seemed like a giant, and in my eyes he was bigger than any superhero. Now if I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t look twice at him walking down the street.
“It’s been a while,” is my only response.
He nods and a waitress comes by to take his order. “Just a black coffee, please. Thank you.”
I don’t feel the anger I expected to feel when seeing him. I don’t feel longing for a relationship with him either. I don’t feel much of anything. How could I have spent years working towards goal after goal for the sole purpose of rubbing it in his face? To be able to say‘I’m the best and you have nothing to do with it. You get to watch me be great and have no claim over any of it.’The irony is that everything I have, I’ve gotten by using him and that anger as my motivation.
“I know better than to tell you that you look well and try to make small talk with you, Miles. So even though I’m grateful that you called, why don’t you tell me why you did?” He’s direct and to the point like me, but surprisingly his tone isn’t cruel.
My fingers idly trace the rim of my coffee mug that I’m not drinking, but I keep my eyes on him. “I’ve worked really hard, and been fairly successful these last few years all out of anger and spite towards you.” If he’s hurt or surprised by what I’m saying he doesn’t show it. His face gives nothing away. “But when I think about what I have in my life, none of it matters.” The only thing that’s ever mattered to me in the last ten years walked out of my arms two days ago. “I just wanted to say that I’m not carrying a baseball player-size chip on my shoulder anymore. I don’t expect us to get together for family dinners or anything, I mean shit, if I were you and someone ignored me for close to two decades I’d tell them to go fuck themselves but, I guess just selfishly, I wanted to let you know, I’m done carrying this torch. If she could forgive you in the end, it’s not my battle and I’m done letting this consume me.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, scrunches his face in disgust, and slides it off to the side. Clasping his hands together in front of him he says, “I am sorry. I’ll always be sorry for what I did back then, and even more sorry for how I handled it. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to fix our relationship. I’m the parent and that’s on me.”
“Why’d you do it?”
The way his arms move lets me know he’s likely wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “Unfortunately if you’re looking for some big dramatic answer you won’t get it.” He blows out a breath before continuing. “I was an idiot. It’s as simple as that. I was young, I had fame and success and I let it get to my head, and I fucked up.”
That's it. My entire life. From my confused and hurt childhood to my detached and angry adulthood, it all boiled down to a simpleI fucked up.It seems so trivial now. I want to be pissed at myself for letting something like this consume me for so long. But I recognize that pattern immediately. Beating myself up over it won’t change anything. So I nod my understanding and watch as my father folds his hands in front of him on the table.
“And just so you know, you could have ignored me for another two decades and I would never tell you to go fuck yourself. Hell, if you want to start doing family dinners, I’m in.”
“That might be a little much right now since I just started talking to you again.” The corner of his mouth tugs up as he looks down at his hands. “But maybe in the future,” I add.
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