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Why couldn’t I just relax and enjoy my time with my father?
I knew that when I walked through the corridors of this academy, everyone looked up to me. They all admired me... or perhaps feared me. I was their prince. I was a King.
But, what was I really?
Errol King’s son. His son. Nothing on my own.
I prepared the meal all while opening one of the bottles of wine... a nice French wine, aged in an oak barrel with elements of cranberry.
I’d gone through half the bottle by the time my father rang at the door.
“Hello, Errol,” I said as I opened the door for him.
“What’s that smell?” he said on entering the house.
So soon? No pleasantries? No small talk? Just straight to whatever I was preparing for the meal and how wrong it potentially was?
“Must be the wine,” I said, trying to keep it light. “How about a glass?”
“Sounds good,” he said. “French?”
“Of course,” I said.
“And where is that brat brother of yours?” my father so eloquently said.
I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’d heard the bathroom door slam fifteen minutes earlier and assumed he’d had a rough night.
“He’s upstairs getting ready,” I said. “He should be down in a minute.”
Please be down here in a minute, I silently pleaded. I needed Kobe to keep my father occupied while I finished preparing dinner.
“Your visit into town is a little unexpected,” I said as he sat at the peninsula and settled into watching me work.
Great, I thought as I started chopping fresh vegetables for the salad. All I needed was the added pressure of his keen eyes constantly on me.
“I like popping in and taking you two by surprise.”
Don’t I know it, I wanted to say.
“What’s on the menu tonight?”
“Brisket.”
“A little pedestrian, don’t you find?” he said.
“Not if it’s done right,” I ventured.
I glanced up at him and saw the slight curve of his lips. While he liked taking digs at me, he also respected how I refused to back down. I stood up to him. I stood my ground.
“Sorry I missed the first round of the competition,” he said. “I’ll be sure to make it for the second round.”
How many times have I heard that before? “Don’t worry about it. I know that you’re busy with your many endeavors.”
He shrugged, somewhat taken aback by my comment. Taking a sip of his wine, he looked at me over the rim of his glass.
“I didn’t have a chance this time to see the list of judges,” he said as he carefully set his glass back onto the counter. “Was Ty Jennings there?”
“No,” I said, concentrating on my tomatoes. “He couldn’t make it this year.”
