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Andries: Hey, so never mention this again, but do you have some sort of face mask that will make me look less like a corpse? Mom said we have company tonight.
She answers immediately.
Elise: Oh, absolutely I do. Spa day!
Andries: No. No fucking spa day. If you can’t take this seriously, then never mind.
Elise: Fine. You’re no fun. I’ll be right over.
I throw on a robe and wait for her. She’s at my door in less than five minutes, a bowl in her hand filled with muddy green clay. I sit patiently as she paints it onto my face, and when she finishes and the clay begins to dry, my skin starts to heat up.
“It will increase blood flow to your face,” she explains when I begin to complain. “You asked for this, so just be patient.”
“So,” I say. “Any idea who is coming to dinner tonight?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she answers quickly. Maybe too quickly, as if she’s lying, but I figure that it doesn’t matter all that much.
I wash the clay mask off once it hardens, and my face is flushed bright red. Elise cackles, but assures me the redness will fade soon enough and I’ll look a little more human. I thank her, maybe a little sarcastically, and send her on her way. I guess it’s time to face my dad.
Sebastian Van Den Bosch spends a large portion of his life in his office, which is built and decorated to his exact specifications. There is no charming clutter like there is in Professor Josianne’s, just a neat and meticulous arrangement of what he has designated as having a place in his most sacred room.
Everything is heavy, and antique, made by hand and not by machines. I lower myself into one of the dark red leather chairs when he waves me inside, and I sit in silence while he finishes up whatever it is that he’s working on.
When my dad turns his attention to me, he seems happy to see me, a good-natured expression on his face. I favor my dad in height and the prominence of a lot of my features, but my mother’s genetics are not going to take a backseat, so there is clearly a lot of her in my visage, too.
“I’ve barely seen you since New Year’s Eve. How have you been?” he asks, voice loud and ebullient. I must look uncomfortable because he amends his question quickly. “I mean, besides the obvious unfortunate things that have occurred lately. Your mom did say you’ve been rather fond of the bottle lately. I hope that isn’t going to be a continuing problem?”
“No, it won’t be. I came home specifically to stop drinking. It was a temporary lapse in judgment when I couldn’t deal with my own issues. It won’t happen again.”
He looks sad at the tense sound of my voice. “There’s nothing wrong with having a drink from time to time to take the edge off, son, but when you’re using it as a coping mechanism is when it becomes a problem. If you get past all this and think you’re capable of having a libation every now and then, that’s perfectly fine.”
I want to tell him I don’t need his permission, but I keep my mouth shut, just nodding in agreement.
“I have a confession to make, Andries,” he says, sounding somber now. “A colleague of mine sent me a few YouTube videos featuring you. I guess his son is a content creator and recognized you. The one at your birthday is obviously distasteful, but the fight in your university cafeteria… Andries, that isn’t acceptable behavior for a Van Den Bosch. Or anyone, for that matter. And with your sister right there!” He shakes his head, as if in disbelief, even though I’m sure he’s practiced this speech multiple times before I came to chat.
“Another temporary lapse in judgment,” I snap, feeling my temper rising. Why can’t everyone just leave the past in the past?
“Is that what you’re going to tell me when I say that nearly everyone I’m acquainted with knows that you were dating a hooker? And not only that, she seems to be the catalyst toward all of your other so-called ‘lapses in judgment’ that you’ve been experiencing lately.”
I clench my jaw, but don’t show any other outward emotion. “Everyone knows about Roxanne now, so what do I care if your friends know too?”
“You misunderstand me. My reputation is not something I worry about. I’m worried that your life is going to be harder with everyone on the planet knowing your private affairs. I just want to keep you safe. Your sister too, because I was hoping you’d be her guardian in Amsterdam, but apparently she is yours instead.”
“Well,” I don’t want to find it amusing, but I do. “Elise can put almost anyone in their place, so I’m not surprised.”
“Me either,” Dad agrees, and we share an uncomfortable laugh.
“I never wanted to put Elise in any sort of dangerous position. If I could take that part back, I would,” I admit. “There’re a lot of things I’d take back if I could.”
“Such as?”
I feel an almost overwhelming urge to tell him, right then, about my change of major. Being able to get it off my chest would be so freeing, and it would be one less thing I have to hide from everyone. He will lose his mind over it, but God, it would feel so good to be done with it all.
Dad hasn’t been a dick like I expected he would. He’s more worried than angry, and hell, if it was my son drinking himself to death and half-assing the college classes I was paying for, I’d be pissed. It makes me feel… vulnerable. Like I could share something as big as being an English major with him, and maybe even find acceptance.
“Dad,” I hesitate, clearing my throat, but he waits patiently with his hands folded in front of him. “This whole business thing… the internship… I think you should give it to Elise.”
It’s obviously not what he expects me to say, and he blinks owlishly at me while he absorbs my words. “What brought that on?” he asks, bewildered. “If this is because you’re in crisis mode right now, it’s okay. I get it, and I don’t want you to miss out just because you’re working through some things. It’d be beneficial for us both to spend some time together, I think. I see so little of you anymore, I’d love to have you working beside me.”
