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“Yes. Well, not the decisions she’s facing, but similar ones. I know what happens when you decide to drop out of college.”
“Because you dropped out of college, and it went poorly for you.” It’s not a question, but it might as well be. My defenses are all online and ready to fire.
“No, you know damn well that’s not what happened. And I see what you’re getting at, but I’ve seen a lot of people in very bad situations, and those situations could have been avoided if they made different decisions in life.”
Max sets the still half-full pan of meat down and turns to face me. “Mr. Adams, you’re lucky you’re not under oath right now.”
I grin and shake my head. Max is a huge fan of courtroom dramas and likes to pull this card.
He goes on. “You can only speak to your own life experiences. And if you’re going to stand there and tell me that the people you defend on a daily basis from charges of fraud, tax evasion, and embezzlement didn’t all graduate from college, I’m going to have to call you a liar. Not one of them makes bad decisions out of a lack of education.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look out over the ocean. The tide is receding, and the gulls are diving into the wet sand, hunting. I don’t want to have this argument. I don’t want to have to defend my values or personal ideals. But I started it, so I guess I don’t have a choice.
“It’s not only about my personal experience. There is data to support?—”
“No, no, no. There’s data to support whatever you decide is correct. You say people must go to college to be successful, I say Bill Gates. You say…” he waits for the answer he knows I’m going to provide.
I sigh. “That’s a special case?—”
Max cuts me off by laughing. “A special case indeed. I say Oprah, you say…”
“Another isolated case of?—”
“You first decide what is true in life, Ben. Then you surround yourself with the evidence of that truth so you don’t have to be wrong. You build the case for your own personal worldview one day at a time. You believe college is necessary for success and a good life, so your world is filled with evidence of that. I believe that happiness is the necessary ingredient for success and a good life, so my world is filled with evidence for that. Who’s right? Who’s wrong?” He throws up his hands in a gesture of exasperated surrender.
I just shake my head. I get what he’s saying, but… “Only one of us would win in court.”
“As long as life is about you winning and everyone else losing, you will always find yourself at an impasse with those around you.”
Well, shit. I definitely should’ve skipped this conversation. The last thing I need right now is another existential crisis on my hands.
Max recognizes my lack of response for the failure that it is and takes pity on me. “I would welcome you to open up your mind to the possibility of other truths. When you encounter the nice woman who makes your coffee, you tip her extra because you feel bad that her life turned out the way it did, am I right?”
I nod, wishing I could run away.
“But there is another truth possible. And that truth is that you would only accept her being happy in her job if she’s working toward a degree to get a better job. She cannot possibly be living a good, happy life unless her goal is to be rich and powerful and successful like you.” Max turns the tongs at me, and I have to take a step back to avoid getting jabbed in the chest. “But you aren’t happy, Ben. Do you see the irony of that?”
God-damn motherfucking shit.
“You know, under New York law, I could probably sue you for such statements.”
Max just laughs and turns his full attention back to the grill, done with me. “You just keep fighting, Mr. Adams. Fight to the death for something you don’t even want.”
I don’t have any response to that, so I’m grateful when Petunia walks up and interrupts. “Ben, you’re looking a little pale. Do you need to lie down?”
I shake my head. “No, your asshole husband just invalidated my entire life. So, I’m processing.”
She laughs. “Yes, he’ll do that.”
“I think I’ll go check on the pool situation, if you two can handle the grill.”
“Of course, dear,” Petunia says, giving my arm a comforting pat.
“We’ll be handing out food to people based on SAT scores,” Max calls after me. I don’t bother to turn and respond to his goading. “So why don’t you get them lined up in order. Highest scores at the front of the line.”
I just shake my head and keep walking, smiling softly to myself.
The man made his point, and it’s not the first time. It’s just, usually when we have this conversation, we’re talking about my son, and I have exactly zero inches of leeway to consider other viewpoints when it comes to Ainsley.
