“Oh, I do solovethis wine,” Mom finally said, ruining the peaceful silence. “It’s the Amici 2014, dear. I don’t know if you noticed.”
My dad let out a cartoonish harrumph like he was Ebenezer Fucking Scrooge. “Should have opened the 2016. Tastes the same, and cheaper.”
“I like the 2014 better,” Mom insisted. “And it only costs $300 more per bottle.”
“Only $300 more? That’s a steal, Mom,” I said. She smiled at me and nodded gratefully, not realizing I was being sarcastic.
I glanced at my watch. We’d made it fifteen minutes before one of them said something that was totally detached from reality. That might have been a personal best.
“We’ve had a good quarter,” I said. “I know there’s two weeks left, but we’re on track to show really good year-over-year results, especially if—”
“How did the candidates go?” Dad interrupted gruffly. “You were supposed to keep me updated.”
“I don’t remember you asking.”
He sent a scowl in my direction that was strong enough to strip the varnish off the table. “Did we send Bill an offer letter yet?”
“Actually, we’re going with one of the other candidates. Virginia Hanover.”
Dad tossed down his fork with a clatter. “Bill is the son of one of my golf partners at the club. We were supposed to go with him.”
I shrugged. “That sucks for Bill, because we already sent the other candidate the offer letter.”
Dad took a long pull from his wine. “Then retract the letter. I told Bill’s father he was guaranteed the position. I told him the interview was just a formality.”
“Well, you neglected to share that with anyone else,” I replied. “You’re supposed to put your thumb on the scalebeforewe make a hire.”
“Do you like the wine, August?” Mom asked, valiantly trying to change the subject. It didn’t work.
“I didn’t think you would move so quickly,” Dad complained.
“Allison needs help with the grant proposals. She’s been scrambling for weeks. You would know that if you came into the office for more than ten minutes on your way to the golf course.”
“Can’t do anything right,” he grumbled. “Don’t know why I expect anything different from you.”
I clenched my jaw to keep from saying something I would regret. When I was a fraction of a degree calmer, I said, “We’ll find a position for Bill in the future. Something cushy, like donor relations. Who knows? Maybe by then he’ll actually have some relevant experience.”
Dad balled up his cloth napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “You’re a spoiled brat.”
“Cornelius!” Mom said.
“You’ve never been grateful at all for what I’ve given you.”
“Ah, yes,” I replied. “What you’vegivenme. Not what I’ve earned.”
“Earn something in this world and maybe I’ll respect you more.”
I leaned back in my chair and swirled wine around in my glass. “I’ve had two job offers in the last month. One in Albuquerque, and another in Denver.”
Dad snorted. “If that were true, you’d be gone.”
“I don’t want to abandon the foundation just yet,” I countered. “I’m still trying to right the ship after all the mistakesyoumade in the last decade.”
Mom slapped her palm on the table, rattling the china. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re like a couple of children, I swear. Apologize, now.”
“I will do no such thing,” Dad snapped.
I flashed a toothy smile at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t read your mind about Bill. Next time I’ll be sure to consult my psychic reader before making important hiring decisions.”