Reflecting Hearts - Ch. 11.3 - Bon appétit: Serving Truth at Dinner

He continued to glare at my father. “Destroying her art didn’t change who she is, nor will your disapproval of me.”

My father’s retort was like a dagger, his tone dripping with condescension. “When you come from this world, I’ll dignify you by caring about your opinion.”

“And that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t need someone to come from money to respect or care about their opinion. People’s character is where real wealth lies.”

My father let out a chilling, bitter laugh. “You don’t know a thing about respect or wealth coming from trash and all.”

I marched back to the table, slamming my hands down, the dishware rattling. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re so obsessed with a legacy that you’ve lost sight of what matters. Your shallow definition of wealth blinds you to the richness of people’s hearts and minds. If you think coming from money makes someone superior, then you’re the one who’s trash.”

My father stood up from the table on wobbly legs. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way! Your deliberate disobedience has got to stop, young lady! You’d do better if you would listen to me!”

“And why should I listen to someone who acts like this–who treats people like you do?!”

“If you think you are so well off without me, let’s see how long you last without my money!”

His final blow reverberated through the room as I retreated into the hallway. I leaned against the wall, palms flat, my breathing heavy. Minutes felt like hours as I wrestled with my emotions. And then I heard footsteps. Zeke closed the door behind him as he entered the hallway. When he saw me, he gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I’m so proud of you for standing up to him.” He moved my hair from my face, and I reached my arms out. His embrace surrounded me, filling me with a calm before shouting interrupted us.

“Alek, this happens every time you drink! I’m so tired of Jekyll and Hyde! You have got to stop!” My mother’s voice was strained, like she was holding back tears.

“No, you’ve got to stop letting those girls throw their lives away!” My father’s voice slurred, making his words hard to understand.

“How are they throwing their lives away? Isadora is so disciplined and afraid of you, she doesn’t dare act out of line. And what is Abigail doing that is so wrong?”

“Oh, you’d be the one to support her stupid choices. You wouldn’t be so well off if you had pursued art. So now what? Are you living vicariously through her?”

“Oh, I’m the one living through our daughters? How ridiculous! When every word that comes out of your mouth is an order or demand for them to be what you want them to be rather than who they are! Do you ever know when enough is enough?” My mother’s high heels marching toward the exit got louder. She opened the door, looked between Zeke and me, tears falling from her eyes, and continued toward their bedroom.

In the dining room, silence hung for a few minutes. Zeke stood beside me, his lips perched together. A few voices started talking about the food in an attempt to disregard the drama.

My belligerent father didn’t follow my mother, but drank another shot of whiskey before dropping his glass on the ground accidentally. My grandfather stood, glaring at him. “Son, you have had enough.”

My father snickered and spoke something incoherent. He staggered toward the exit. Zeke and I slipped around the corner as he walked through the doorway, avoiding him. He continued in the opposite direction before going out onto the patio.

Zeke and I stared at each other awkwardly. I sighed and wiped the tears from my cheeks. He grabbed me into a hug and kissed my temple. My grandfather turned around the corner, cleared his throat, and we separated.

“Young man, I appreciate how you stood up to that brute in there,” he asserted, reaching for Zeke’s hand. They exchanged a relaxed handshake before he turned to me. “And Abigail darling, boy, was that a long time coming! Please come back and finish dessert. Your father has graciously left the meal.”

My grandmother, with her voice quivering, spoke up as we sat down. “You probably won’t believe that your father hasn’t always been like that. As he’s gotten older, his heart has hardened.” I stared at her, unable to imagine him being any other way, her eyes far away.

My grandfather took a bite of cake before proceeding, “It was years ago before your father took over the business. We were starting our expansion into property investments and struggling to get that up and running. Your father was a young man full of dreams and desires. He believed in the power of unity in helping those less fortunate. He used to organize events, fundraisers, and charity drives. That’s where he met your mother. He had a way of inspiring others to come together for a common cause.”

I listened, captivated by this unfamiliar version of my father. Continuing on, my grandfather's eyes filled with sadness. “But then, there was an incident that changed everything. A close friend, someone he had helped many times, betrayed him in the worst way possible. It shattered his trust in people.”

My grandmother reached for my hand, her grip frail but firm. “That incident wounded him deeply. He withdrew from the world, burying himself in work and ambition. It seemed like a spark inside him had died out. He became obsessed with success, money, and power, believing they were the only reliable sources worth putting energy into.”

As we continued our dessert, I chewed over how much my father had supposedly changed and how he had strayed so far from that version of himself. It was strange how understanding someone’s past could offer a different perspective on their present actions.

Despite the lingering discomfort, there was a slight possibility that the dinner’s events could change my family’s perceptions. It had revealed long-suppressed truths, opening wounds but offering opportunities for healing. We finished the meal, and my grandparents and Isadora talked to Zeke with an emerging acceptance.

As servants began cleaning the table, we left the room. We strolled down the hallway, preparing for our goodbyes. While we stood in the foyer, my mother returned, wearing freshly applied makeup.

Just as I was pulling away from hugging Isadora, she inquired with a hint of hesitation. “Am I in time to say goodbye too?”

She and I embraced in a tight hug. In a low tone, she leaned towards me. “I’ll be sure that some of your expenses are covered, but I know your father has proceedings over the university. If he continues, he is likely to withdraw your college tuition. Although, after our little spat, I am sure he will not add to the fire, or consequences will come.”

I nodded, knowing my father’s influence could impact my future. I was grateful for my mother’s understanding and willingness to shield me from some of the fallout. As I processed her words, I took a moment to smooth out my dress. “I’m not sure I will be home for Christmas...”

Her smile held a tinge of sadness. “I understand, dear. Please know that I love and support you. Your father’s thinking or lack thereof does not reflect upon me.”

She then turned to Ezekiel, who stood beside me, a mix of emotions on his face. Unexpectedly, she reached out to hug him. He tensed briefly, surprised. “I want to apologize for my husband’s poor behavior.”

Zeke relaxed into the hug. His facial features, which were guarded, now softened. “Thank you, Mrs. Winslow. I appreciate that.”

As they pulled away, my mother gave us both a reassuring smile. “Take care of each other, value each other’s passions, and don’t listen to anyone’s negative opinion.”

Filled with a strong sense of determination, Ezekiel spoke with conviction, “We won’t.”

We left my family’s estate behind, stepping into the night, exhaustion hitting me. We walked hand in hand to my car, stopping short of the passenger door. Zeke wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “You know, your family might be a challenge, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know… If I were you, I would have ran away from that disaster of a meal.”

He leaned down, smiling widely before brushing his lips against my forehead, nose, and lips. He opened my car door for me.

“Would you have chased me if I had?”

“I would have tried!”

“You couldn’t outrun me if you tried.” He winked as he leaned with his arm resting on the top of the door.

“It’s not a competition.” I let out a lighthearted laugh as I settled into the car seat.

Just before he closed the door, he quipped, “No, because if it were, I would win.” He flashed a mischievous grin.

With a soft thud, he closed the door, and I watched him through the window as he walked around to the driver’s side. He settled into his seat and started the engine, holding onto my hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth. We drove into the night, leaving the echoes of the tumultuous dinner behind us.