Reflection
Damian
days to get scheduled, but at this time next week, we have a team meeting on the books. I have between now and then to get myself in order and figure out how to win over my staff. For the time being, though, I’m immersed in finalizing the details for a new restaurant campaign when Paxton calls through the intercom. “Um… Mr. Taylor. There’s someone here to see you.”
“Did this person give a name, Paxton?” I don’t want to interrupt my progress for someone I can reschedule.
“Mr. Taylor.”
“Yes?” Is it not clear he already has my attention?
“No, his name is Mr. Taylor.”
I might as well be cryogenically frozen. That lasts all of twelve seconds before rage thaws me out and my temperature stops just shy of incinerating my suit. That man is not coming into my office. Not stepping foot in the place I studied and worked for without his help. I pull myself together, stand, straighten my suit, and walk to my office door.
When I exit into Paxton’s desk area, I see him. My father. Funny how the last time I saw him, he seemed like a fearless giant. A man who had the strength to defeat anyone or anything. Now, all I see is a wrinkled, greying old coward in a baggy suit who chose money over his family. I see a person who simultaneously discouraged and motivated me without being present. He gave me his skin tone and hair colour, but everything I know about being a man, I learned from my mom and brother. The people who were there for me without fail.
“Jacob, what are you doing here?”
“Hello, son. Can we talk in your office?”
His use of the term son causes my jaw to clench. “No. You won’t be staying.”
Paxton shifts in his leather desk chair. I don’t want to undo the progress we’ve made over the past few days by appearing like an unfeeling jerk toward a man Paxton would assume is my family. That’s the only reason I wave my father—and I use that term loosely—into my office.
I close the door behind him but don’t draw the blinds. Like I said, he’s not staying long. “Out with it.”
Jacob sits in the chair on the opposite side of my desk, groaning in the process. Time hasn’t been kind to him. He didn’t deserve kindness, as far as I’m concerned. “It’s been a long time, son. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“First of all, I’m not your son. Or have you forgotten how you abandoned me and your wife to pad your bank account?” My face is growing hotter by the second as I stand on the opposite side of my desk. I look at my wall of interior windows and spot two employees strolling by, glaring into my office. I clench my fists to redirect some of my anger. “Second, we’re not here to make small talk or make up for lost time. It’s lost. There’s no finding it again. You made your choice and I’ve made mine.”
He blows out a ragged breath. “I know I made a mistake when I—”
“A mistake? A mistake is forgetting to put money in a parking metre or missing your highway exit. Abandoning your kid without looking back is not a mistake.” My voice is getting louder by the second and a few more employees have sauntered past to take in the show. I lower my voice and continue, “You had years to reach out. Twenty-one years, to be exact.”
“I know. Believe me, I regret what I did. There were so many times I wanted to come back, but I was afraid you all hated me so much. I was just… afraid.”
“Well, you’re right about that. We did hate you. Mom spent years crying over you. She was afraid to ever try again. I spent two decades trying to prove to you that it was possible to have it all. To have a career and people you love.”
“I’m sorry, son.”
I slam a fist on my desk. “Don’t call me son! You lost that right.” Of course, when I look up, a group of staffers are in the boardroom across the hall, witnessing my outburst. Again. They’re going to think I need anger management, but there’s a lot of context missing. Two-plus decades’ worth. “Why are you here?”
“Stage four liver cancer.” He looks down at an envelope in his hand that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.
I sink into my chair because now it doesn’t feel right to be looming over him. Unless he came here looking for part of my liver—which, even after everything he’s done, I still wouldn’t refuse. “How long?”
“Found out almost a year ago. Things get put into perspective when your clock starts ticking louder each day, Damian. I screwed up and I know I did and there’s no way for me to make up for that. But I want you to know I’m proud of you.” He slides the envelope across my desk. It’s plain white, with my first name written in a feminine scroll that doesn’t belong to Jacob Taylor.
“What’s this?”
“The only thing I can do to make things right. You’re not wrong to hate me, but I hope you can forgive me someday.”
Can I? All these years I’ve been so filled with hatred toward my father. Since meeting Angel, my priorities have shifted. Instead of wanting to prove to my father he was wrong, and that he could have had it all, I just want to live. I want to pursue things that will make me happy, and take care of the people I love. My father no longer has control over me. “I can’t say I forgive you right now, and I’ll never forget…”
Jacob nods with his crestfallen face. “I expected as much.”
“But… I don’t hate you anymore.”
His yellow-tinged eyes appear a little brighter than ten seconds ago. “Thank you, Damian. That’s more than I expected after all these years.”
This man in front of me, who broke my world apart because of his own greed, I can’t help but feel pity for him.
“Did you ever get married again? Have more kids?”
He shakes his head, but his yellowed eyes are watering. “I lived to work. That’s all I was ever good at.”
That’s not entirely true. And honesty is the best policy.
“You were a good dad.”
His eyes jolt wide. “You don’t have to pity an old dying man. I made my choice, and now I have to die with it.”
His reminder that he’s dying twists my stomach. A man I believed I felt no affection for; I can’t help but feel hurt all over again that I’ll be forced to lose him twice when I never really had him.
“Once upon a time, you were a good dad. A good husband. None of us ever knew what we did wrong because one day we were fine, and the next you were packing your things. That’s what hurt the most.”
“Sorry seems so inadequate. None of you did anything wrong. It was all me.” He swallows an audible gulp. “I know I lost my right to give you fatherly advice, so all I’ll say is learn from my mistakes. When you have something good, don’t let it go. You don’t want to be staring at your hourglass, watching the grains of sand draining out, and be full of regret.”
No, I don’t. Even if Jacob hadn’t come here today, his mistakes taught me a valuable lesson a long time ago. Despite looking across my desk at a dying man—my dying father—I can’t stop the slightest hint of a smile from taking over when I think about Angel and how much she’s impacted my life.
He responds with a tight smile of his own. “What about you? Married? Kids?”
Ten minutes ago, I would have told him off. But the least I can do is appease him and answer a simple question. “Not yet.”
A smile creases Jacob’s eyes for the first time since he entered my office. “Someday, maybe.”
“Yeah. Someday.”
A few seconds of silence pass between us. I don’t know what to say.
Jacob eases up out of his chair with a louder groan than the one he sat down with. “Thank you for speaking to me, Damian. You’ve done well for yourself, but don’t forget to have a life outside of these walls. Believe me when I tell you, this isn’t all that matters.”
He doesn’t need to tell me. I don’t feel like I owe him anything, but I owe it to Angel to be a better man than one carrying a chip around on his shoulder. I owe it to her to offer that forgiveness I swore I’d never have space for.
We walk to my office door, and I notice my neighbours are no longer gawking. Figures they’d look away now.
I place my hand on the handle, but before I turn it, I have one last thing to say. “I want to forgive you. This chip on my shoulder I’ve been wearing my entire adult life, it’s done enough damage. I promise I’ll try.”
Making a grown man cry is a new situation for me. I’m not sure what the protocol is. Do I offer a hug? A mug of hot chocolate? A Rolex? Oh, he’s already got one. I settle on the one thing six-year-old Damian never thought would happen again.
He hesitates when I step forward, like we haven’t just crossed over a threshold of pent up anger and regret into new territory. I wrap my arms around him anyway.
“Thank you. I really am sorry for everything. You’ve given me some peace I didn’t deserve.”
Me too. This fifteen minute encounter hasn’t healed decades’ worth of residual feelings, but it’s a start. The difference between me and Jacob is that I have time in front of me. I have the chance to live my life without regrets. That’s what I want to do.