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We make our way to Hollywood Beach north of the city to have our picnic. We lay out a blanket and I unpack the gourmet lunch Chantelle insisted on packing for us.
“Damn, when did picnics start including caviar and fig jam?” I hold up the two containers.
“That’s Chantelle, always goes above and beyond.”
“She also knows your expensive taste,” I tease.
We eat for a bit, enjoying the cool breeze off the lake and watching a man and his dog playing Frisbee in the surf.
“So how are you feeling about work? I was very impressed with your work on the fraud situation with Pierce.”
“Work is okay, it’s work.” I shrug. “I was actually a little worried if you even knew that I was the one who found it.” I look up at him. “You just didn’t seem too concerned about including me in the talks and meetings with Pierce to resolve it.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. It wasn’t my intention to exclude you. You are an incredibly and exceptionally bright woman and I don’t say that just because you’re my daughter. I’ve told Beckham as much half a dozen times. I just screwed up honestly, no excuse. I can still be a little bullheaded about business sometimes and I think this was one of those situations.”
“I appreciate you clarifying. I wanted to make you proud.” I say it a little sheepishly, like I feel silly still trying to get my dad’s approval as a twenty-five-year-old woman.
“You did—do! I am incredibly proud of you and to be able to call you my daughter. I’m serious, ask Beckham, I’m always singing your praises.”
“Thanks.”
“Speaking of him, any idea what’s gotten into him lately?”
I take a bite of my baguette and shrug.
“He’s been a real pain in the ass lately. Grumpy and pissed off about something. If he doesn’t get it together soon, I’m canceling our golf game tomorrow.”
“Hadn’t noticed,” I say around a mouthful of bread.
Of course I’ve noticed and of course I know what’s going on with him… He’s about to be a father to a very unplanned and unexpected baby.
“I, uh…” I wipe my face with my napkin and take a quick sip of my soda. “I had hoped to talk to you today about the job situation and the trust.”
He looks at me, waiting for me to go on.
“I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.” My voice catches in my throat and my dad reaches his hand out to me. “I want to establish my own nonprofit with part of the trust. I also want to donate a decent portion of it to at least a dozen different other organizations that I’ve worked with, and I’d also like to use some of it to invest in startups by people who don’t have the capital or the connections.” I say it all in one breath. “Oh, and the remainder I want to work with a financial advisor to invest for myself for my retirement and possible children someday.”
I sit with my spine stiff, scared to move or look at my dad. His hand is still on mine and he slowly removes it.
“Why were you nervous?” he finally asks quietly.
“I know that you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye about how Mom and I wanted to spend our money and time and like I said earlier, I want you to be proud of me but I can’t…” I feel myself tearing up and I choke back the tears. “I can’t not pursue my dreams and goals, Dad. I can’t stay working in an industry that, even if I’m good at it, it sucks the life out of me. I need my soul fed; I want to feel inspired by what I do and give back.”
There’s no use fighting the tears any longer. It’s a mix of everything I’ve been bottling up over the last few weeks, months, years even. I hang my head, the tears turning into sobs as my body aches with the release.
My dad doesn’t say a word; he just pulls me into his arms and holds me while I let it all go. Beckham, anger, doubt, fear… my tears pull it from my body.
“Brontë, I do worry about you. I worry about your happiness and your heart; I worry about your ambitions and goals, but I never worry that you won’t accomplish them. I worry that you’ll be too scared to see your full potential. No matter what you choose, I’m your father, and I want you to be happy. I want you to be fulfilled. You and I aren’t the same person and while I might give you my fatherly and unsolicited business advice, you don’t have to take it for me to be proud of you… ever.”
“You’re not angry or disappointed?”
“Oh, no, honey. I hate that I made you feel that way. I know I’m blunt and often speak my mind way too freely—your stepmom tells me that often. I speak with passion and I can see how it would seem like it was my way or the highway. You’ve always been a free spirit, just like your mom. Truthfully, as much as I wanted you to work in my world so that we could work together, run Ramsay Consulting together someday, I don’t want to see you giving up your dreams like your mother did. She would kill me if I let you do that.”
“What do you mean? What dreams did Mom give up?”
“She was just like you. She dreamed of opening her own charity someday, probably something for animals. You know how your mom liked cats.” We both laugh, remembering how Dad always joked that Mom never met a stray.
“I-I had no idea. I mean, she instilled in me my love of volunteering, but she said she loved accounting; she made it seem like her dream job. What happened?”
