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His words drift out into space, as static buzzes throughout my consciousness like an old television. How does he talk like that all day? The man owns a fucking production company, and he'd rather stare at balance sheets than be on movie sets with A-list actors.
I keep a slight smile, nodding every now and then, watching his lips move, until they still into a flat, uninterested line. The buzzing quiets, filled by the soft chatter blanketing the restaurant.
Shit, now it's my turn.
Feeling like some clueless date, I say, "Wow, that's interesting. How do you keep up with all of that?"
He snorts. "By waking up in the a.m."
Dick.
Although it pains me to no end, I continue redirecting the conversation, letting him talk about himself, something he loves to do. While Kenji takes our orders, serves us drinks and appetizers, I suffer through all the details regarding board meetings, annual revenue statements, company stock evaluations, and the latest regulatory changes affecting the entertainment industry. Until Kenji casts me a lifeline, returning with our main course.
My mouth waters at the sight of my impressive dish. California, tiger, and volcano rolls sit artistically in the center beside a colorful assortment of top-grade sashimi. Donning a similar structure, my father's dish favors more tempera and nigiri.
"Enjoy." Kenji nods before disappearing down the bar.
Mixing wasabi into his soy sauce with a pair of chopsticks, my father side-glances my way. "I don't suppose I should ask what you've been up to."
Here comes the bullshit.
I put on a straight face, going straight for a tiger roll. "I've kept busy."
"I bet you have." His tone reeks of sarcasm. "You can spare me the details."
Anger simmers to the surface, enough that I'm surprised my chopsticks don't snap in two. Sure, I'll admit, I'm no shining star in this family, who's never really had his shit figured out. But still... isn't he the least bit curious about my hobbies? My friends? My opinions on, I don't know, anything? Of course not. He's never been, so why would he start today?
So, I banish the little kid in me, who still hopes in vain for an ounce of respect from the man who "raised me"—slap a pair of serious air quotes around that. Biting down on an extra chewy slice of tuna, I adopt an air of confidence blended with just the right amount of nonchalance, preparing to act out the part I came to play.
I shrug. "There's nothing much to say, anyway. I've been keeping to myself recently. My real estate licensing exam is soon, so I'm making sure to put in a decent amount of time studying."
He freezes. Like full-body-turned-to-stone frozen. Even his mouth stops mid-chew.
Not that I blame him, though. The word studying might as well be foreign language on my tongue, never having done the deed for a single minute in my entire academic life. I may have a Business Administration degree sitting inside a glossy Princeton University plaque, but that doesn't mean my name deserves placement across the paper. But hefty checks from esteemed families can buy a lot of things in this world.
The man who writes said checks swallows hard, half-coughing, half-laughing into his napkin. "You expect me to believe that?"
"What's not to believe?"
He rolls his eyes. "You. Studying. Taking an exam. Those three don't mix, and unfortunately for you, I wasn't born yesterday."
My shoulders slouch on a well-practiced sigh, as I push my tiger roll around my plate. "I know, I know. You probably don't believe me, but I'm really trying to apply myself. Granted, I'm not really good at it. I'm thinking of hiring a tutor before I completely flunk the test."
Uncertainty wavers in his eyes, but for the first time in I don't know how long, no scathing comeback slips from his lips. What shocks me even more is when he sets down his chopsticks, leans back, and looks at me. Really looks at me. "So, you're actually taking an interest in real estate, then?"
The hope emerging in his tone has my heart contracting, sparking a sliver of guilt as I shift into the second phase of my grand plan, which I like to call Even More Lies.
I shrug. "I'm just as surprised as you. I wasn't at first. The idea of staging and selling properties didn't sound so appealing, but it wasn't until I looked into buying properties that the interest caught on."
He hums, nodding—nodding, not shaking. Toward me. God, I wish I believed an ounce of what I was saying, that the business of real estate, in any form, wasn't drier than the Sahara in my mind. Then I'd deserve this newfound interest my father's taken in me.
"You're alluding to being a landlord, I presume? Buying up properties and then renting out the spaces."
"Yes, exactly."
Plopping a roll into his mouth, he hums yet again, this time chewing like he actually enjoys the taste. "That's a very lucrative business, especially if you have the capital. And choose the right properties, of course."
"That's what I've been looking into. Familiarizing myself with the city's current market," I say, infusing confidence into my now only partial lies, given my extensive research last night for this very conversation. "I think location matters the most, focusing on up-and-coming areas, like Bushwick in Brooklyn or Astoria in Queens or..."
