Page 32 of One Last Thing
‘It’s still not an easy job. And you love it, right?’
‘I do. What about you?’
‘Do I love my job?’ I check.
He nods. I stare straight ahead at the swells and dips of the water we’re cutting through as I think about it.
‘I love what it gets me, the life I get to lead. I like the responsibility. And I like how I feel when I deliver a deal and everything comes together. I’ve brought in new business, I’ve hit the targets. It’s satisfying to do a good job and meet expectations. I guess Ilikemy job. Love is probably a stretch.’
He pulls a face. ‘But it’s not your passion.’
‘All right, nepo baby, not all of us are born into our dream job.’
He bursts out laughing, keeping one hand on the wheel but using the other to shake his finger at me. ‘There, that is more like you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The sharp, funny comments.’
‘What?’ I laugh in confusion.
‘Do you remember the time we found that old barn?’
‘The one with the rope swing. You hurt yourself, didn’t you?’ I recall, as though the memory isn’t pierced into my brain. The shock, the sound, his cry of pain.
‘I broke my arm.’ He winces at the memory. ‘You came running over and I remember you leaning over me and saying, “You jumped off too early, you idiot.”’
I gasp in horror. ‘I did not say that!’
‘You did, I remember it very well. You were right though, I did jump off early. I was an idiot, showing off.’
‘Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Not very sympathetic of me. As if I knew any better.’
‘You did. You always did.’ He smiles earnestly at me. ‘I liked that. I’ve missed it.’
I look down at my sandals, scrunching my toes up.
‘When Henry told me you were successful in your business, I believed him,’ he adds.
‘I’m sorry he bored you with all of that.’
‘I didn’t find it boring. It was nice to know you were happy.’
‘Did he tell you about the wedding?’ I blurt out.
I think about why I’ve asked and I conclude that it’s because I don’t like the idea that Dad has painted a picture of my perfect life to Nico. I like the idea of other people thinking that about me, but somehow not Nico. He would see through it.
‘He mentioned it.’ Nico glances cautiously at me. ‘I’m sorry.’
I shrug.
‘He only said it was happening and then the next time he came, he said it wasn’t,’ Nico explains, defending my dad, refusing to let me think he was gossiping about me.
Nice that he has such loyalty to him, really.
‘It’s okay that he talked about it,’ I assure him.
I watch a sailing boat passing by. Two masts. Dad would have liked that one. He used to ask us to pick the boat we would want from any harbours we’d ever find ourselves in, and he would pick sailing boats that had two or three masts.
