Hard Push
(Darcy)
“Welcome to the Fat Kok,” the hostess says, only glancing up from her clipboard long enough to give us a look of disapproval.
“We have a reservation for seven. We’re a little late,” my father says, his Rolex dangling from his scrawny wrist as he gestures to the hostess.
We’re a lot late, forty-five minutes to be exact. But punctuality never matters to my father. He kept all of us senior executives late for a pointless meeting.
The real reason for this torture is the date. April third. The date my parents’ divorce was finalized. Fifteen years ago. And we’re still marking the occasion.
“You have to wait for a table. Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.” She still hasn’t stopped studying her clipboard.
“That’s the best? Do you know what a loyal customer I am? We had a reservation.”
“You don’t like it, you leave,” she says.
“But I’m loyal,” my father says.
“Lots of people are loyal. You must wait.”
“It’s fine, we’ll wait. It’s no problem at all,” I blurt before my father can say anything else. I tug on his arm to encourage him away from the hostess station.
The Fat Kok is known for being rude to its customers, because it’s the best Chinese food in New York City. Having such tasty food means they can get away with a bare-bones dining room and chipped dishes left over from the seventies.
“Fine, we’ll wait,” my father says, his lip snarled as he speaks.
The entranceway is a cramped space, barely wider than the door. We stand as out of the way as possible.
I lean against the dark wood cut-out frame that separates the entrance from the tables. The smells wafting through it makes my stomach grumble. I worked through lunch and only ate a blueberry muffin at my desk. Now I’m starving.
My father brought my brother, Declan, and me here the day his divorce to my mother went through. Only young teenagers at the time, we didn’t fully understand the reason for a few more years. By that time, Mom had taken off to Australia never to be heard from again and we lived with Dad. Somehow in our minds, it had made sense that our parent was celebrating a divorce from our other parent, and it became an annual tradition.
A few years later, Declan took off to become a safari guide in Botswana, but my father and I kept up the ritual.
I’ll never claim it was easy. Or that working for him has been easy. I should say working with him. After all, I’m supposed to be the heir apparent to his global events business. But he still treats me like it’s my first year out of high school, not like I have an MBA from Columbia and understand our business better than he does.
He fumes as we wait in silence. From the sour look on his face, I can tell the evening isn’t going to be any easier than the afternoon. I wish he’d brought his young trophy wife, Harper, along. She can always defuse him, whereas I always seem to wind him up tighter.
For whatever reason, he doesn’t think including his new wife on a celebration of divorcing his old wife is appropriate.
“Darcy,” he starts. Using my name means this isn’t going to be good. “Enough time has passed. I’m serious, you need to find yourself a man.”
Here we go. His favorite topic. Couldn’t he have waited until we sat down?
“I don’t. I keep telling you, I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Dad, I’m so busy with work I wouldn’t have time for a relationship. If I did, you’d complain I wasn’t putting in the hours necessary, and that I’m not serious about the business.”
“No, I wouldn’t. You need to find yourself a boyfriend.”
“Why? Why do I need to find a man? You think I can’t be happy without one?” I knew the answer. I shouldn’t have risen to his bait, but his pissy mood, standing in this cramped space and my hunger all come together to lower my defenses.
“It’s not just about you. When are you going to get that through your head?”
“It is just about me. This is my life. My life is about me.”
“That’s selfish. I haven’t killed myself for thirty years, building up Knight Global Events, a family dynasty, only to have it end because there isn’t anyone to leave it to.”
Family dynasty now, is it?
“So, go tell Declan to give you an heir. He’s your first born anyway.”
“You know as well as I do that that’s not going to happen.”
“It’s as likely to happen as me giving you one.”
A couple dressed up for a date stroll in the door and squeeze by us to get to the hostess stand. The guy rests his hand on his companion’s lower back as they speak to the hostess. It catches my attention. This must be early on in their relationship. When everything is still fresh and lovely and touchy. I sigh.
My father continues speaking about me settling down and I only half hear what he says. I can guess well enough — find a man, find a man, find a man. He’s nothing if not persistent.
Maybe this is the couple’s first date. Imagine bringing your first date here. ‘Why hello, great to see you, let’s take a time machine to the seventies.’ No thanks. I like this place, sure, but the rudeness and decor doesn’t exactly make for a good spot to get to know someone. Especially if you want to get in the mood for the later part of the night. This restaurant is as far from sexy as a sewage treatment plant.
“Hey! Hey!” My dad barks. My eyes widen in horror as my father runs after the hostess, who is leading the couple to a table. “We were here first. You need to seat us next!”
“They came in time for their reservation. You didn’t.”
“Dad, Dad. It’s fine.” I pull the sleeve of his suit jacket, dragging him back to the entrance area.
“This is ridiculous. It’s the last time I ever come here.” I’ve heard that before, it wouldn’t be an annual trip to the Fat Kok without him saying it.
He reluctantly follows me back, but he glares at the people sitting at the table on the other side of the cut-out wooden screen. They’ve finished eating and chat over nothing, this isn’t exactly the sort of place that serves coffee.
“Stop staring,” I hiss.
My father’s eyes flare as he turns his attention back to me. Here we go again, round two.
“You’re twenty-seven-years old now, you do realize you don’t have many good years left. You have to make the most of your looks while you still have them.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve already established a relationship with my nearest cat shelter.”
“I’m serious, Darcy. I know you think it’s funny, but I don’t. A man would make you happy. He’d give you a good…” His voice trails off.
Oh. My. God. Was my father really about to tell me I need a good fuck?
That’s it, I’ve had enough.
“You know what? I’ve been seeing someone. I just didn’t feel the need to tell you.” That should shut him up.
“You’re full of it. I no more believe that than I believe you’ve qualified for the Olympics.”
My eyes narrow. I need a man right now all right, but not for the reason my father insists upon. I need one to get my father off my back. I swear, if a lone man walks in the door I am so telling my father he’s my boyfriend.