CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE | DUKE
“Would anyone care for a dusting of freshly ground black pepper on their salad?” the waiter asked, glancing up from the serving tray full of salad plates that was resting on a tray stand next to our table.
My mother was the first to speak:
“Alright,” she said in in her usual stiff voice.
The waiter nodded, then he reached for a comically oversized wooden pepper mill and began to grind flakes of pepper over her salad.
“Let me know when you’d like me to stop,” the waiter said. My mother pursed her lips and continued to watch silently as he grinded more and more pepper over her salad, until the green leaves started to disappear under the blanket of black flakes.
“Ma’am?” the waiter asked nervously, glancing up at my mother.
“That’s fine, thank you,” she said. The waiter glanced down at the pile of pepper with a worried look on his face, then he cautiously placed the plate on the table in front of my mother.
“For you, miss?” he asked, turning to Beck as he wielded the pepper mill over her plate with a restored sense of confidence.
I noticed a twinkle form in Beck’s eye as she glanced between the oversized pepper mill and me, and when I felt her fingers creep over my leg under the table, I knew exactly what she thinking…
“Yes, please!” she purred politely. Underneath the tablecloth, she gave my own oversized equipment a little squeeze. My entire body went stiff as a board. I straightened in my seat and sucked in a breath, but I must have caught some stray pepper flakes in the process because I immediately started coughing. I reached for my glass of water and took a long sip to ease the scratching sensation in the back of my throat.
“No pepper for me, thanks,” I told the waiter in a hoarse voice.
Once the waiter had finished distributing the salad course, the four of us were left to pick at our plates in silence.
When I had invited my parents to join Beck and I for dinner in Hartford, I had deliberately picked one of the nicest restaurants in town. But despite my best efforts, Mr. and Mrs. Williams couldn’t have looked any more out of place if they tried.
My father was staring glumly at his plate, as if he was trying to figure out why he had been served a salad instead of a sizzling rib-eye steak. Meanwhile my mother had pulled a Lysol wipe out of her purse and started frantically scrubbing at her salad fork.
“You know, this is a Michelin-starred restaurant,” I grinned at her from across the table. “I don’t think you have to worry about the silverware being clean.”
My mother pursed her lips again, but she abandoned the task of bleaching her fork.
From an outside perspective, the scene must have looked pretty tense. Hell, even from my spot at the table I could feel the awkward tension between my parent’s side of the table and where Beck and I sat. But believe it or not, this was the probably the closest the Williams family had come to a “normal” family meal in years.
I couldn’t remember the last time my parents and I had voluntarily spent time together. This dinner was big deal. It was an even bigger deal because Beck was by my side.
This was a first for me; I had never had a girlfriend to introduce my parents to. The significance of the occasion wasn’t lost on my mother; despite all of her snobby old rich lady quirks and idiosyncrasies, she seemed to have taken an immediate genuine liking to Beck.
“Tell me again how you two met?” she asked now, glancing between Beck and I.
“Umm…” I glanced at Beck, wondering which version of the story was best suited for the dinner table.
“We both work for the Hartford Fire Department,” Beck said, taking the lead.
“That’s right, I remember now,” my mother said. She stabbed her fork into the salad, spearing a lettuce leaf that was covered in a thick crust of black pepper. “Duke mentioned that you were an ambulance driver at the gala…”
I felt Beck go tense beside me, and it was my turn to reach for her leg under the table.
“Not an ambulance driver,” I corrected my mother. “She’s an EMT.”
“Mmm,” my mother mumbled, unconvinced that there was any difference. She shoved the lettuce leaf into her mouth and chewed.
“Do EMTs and firefighters work together very often?” my father asked. I appreciated that he had made the effort to use the appropriate term for Beck’s job.
“We do,” Beck nodded politely. “Our work goes hand in hand a lot of the time.”
“In fact,” I added, “We bumped into each other during a rescue not too long ago…”
Beck blushed, remembering that stormy night. That was the night that everything had changed between us. The crazy thing is, I wasn’t even on-call that night. I was supposed to be at the firehouse for poker night… but if I hadn’t jumped up and gotten on the truck with the rest of the crew to respond to that 911 call, there’s a chance we wouldn’t all be sitting here now.
“There was a horrible storm that night,” Beck explained to my parents. “Somehow a litter of puppies got trapped in a storm drain. Duke had to get down on his stomach and reach into the drain to save them--”
“Sounds like a dirty job,” my mother said, stabbing her fork into the salad.
“It’s a selfless job,” Beck corrected my mother, using a voice that was polite yet firm. “It takes a lot of bravery and compassion to put your life on the line to help others. I think Duke is a hero.”
My mother’s jaw made a full rotation as she pulverized the bite of salad in her mouth. Then she swallowed and pursed her lips together, studying me.
“You’re right,” she said finally. “He is a hero.”
I felt my jaw drop open. I was stunned and completely speechless.
“When you told me that you wanted to become a fireman, I thought it was just another way of pushing the envelope or rebelling,” my mother said, fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. “But now I see that it was actually your way of finding a sense of purpose and direction.”
I was still stunned and still very speechless.
“I owe you an apology,” my mother said. “For not seeing that sooner.”
I took a sip of water to wash away the scratchy lump that had formed in the back of my throat.
My mother turned to Beck and added:
“And I owe you my gratitude,” she said. “You’ve obviously made quite a strong impression on Duke. I’m seeing a side of him today that I have never seen before.”
“Your mother is right,” my father agreed as he carefully picked out a chicken strip from his salad and flicked off any remnants of lettuce. “I’m proud of you.”
I had never heard those words in my entire life, and I felt a sudden stinging sensation in my eyes.
“Duke!” my mother exclaimed. “Are you… crying?!”
“No!” I insisted stubbornly. “It’s all that damn pepper you put on your salad. I think one of the flakes must have flown into my eye…”
My mother shrugged her shoulders and went back to eating her salad. I felt Beck give my thigh a squeeze under the table, and when I glanced over at her she smiled.
She knew it wasn’t the pepper that had caused my eyes to tear up…
***
After dinner my father had asked me to join him at the restaurant bar for a drink while my mother and Beck ordered dessert at the table. But instead of leading me to the bar, my father made a beeline for the restaurant exit.
“What are we doing out here?” I asked as we stepped out onto the outdoor patio directly behind the restaurant.
“Indulging a bad habit,” my father responded. He took a seat at one of the patio tables, then he pulled a flattened pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“You still smoke?” I frowned, taking a seat across from him at the table. “I thought you quit years ago, back when I was a kid?”
“I did,” he grumbled, sticking a white stem between his lips. “But your mother still lets me indulge once a day, after dinner.”
“You know… even if you just smoke one cigarette a day, you’re still technically a smoker,” I pointed out.
“Well some bad habits are worth keeping,” he grumbled. “A man needs a little fun in his life.”
He offered me the pack, but I held up my hand to decline.
“No thanks,” I said firmly. “I quit.”
“Oh come on, it’s harmless…”
“Bad habits are never harmless,” I insisted. “If they were harmless, they wouldn’t be bad.”
My father sighed and muttered something under his breath, then he stuffed his cigarette back into the pack and stuck it into his back pocket.
“I don’t even know what to do with my hands now!” he grumbled, flinging his hands up in exasperation.
“We can go back inside,” I offered. “Get that drink at the bar--”
“No, no,” my father said. “I brought you out here for a reason. I wanted to talk to you.”
“We were talking--”
“Privately.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, Duke,” my father sighed, glancing up at me. “Your mother and I have seen a lot of positive changes in you. After giving it all a great deal of thought, we have decided to unfreeze your accounts and reinstate your trust fund.”
I blinked across the table at my father. This was the moment I had been waiting for, ever since my parents cut me off. At least… I thought it was.
“I truly appreciate what you’re offering to do,” I said honestly. “But I can’t accept.”
My father’s head shot back and he frowned, shocked.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“This past year was the hardest year of my life,” I said. “It took a lot of hard work to stand on my own two feet and figure things out--”
“You don’t have to struggle anymore, Duke.”
“It’s not a struggle,” I said. “It’s just… life. Sometimes life gets hard. But those hardships teach you things about yourself. I learned a lot about myself this year, and I realized what’s really important.”
My father frowned as he studied me from across the table.
“I’m impressed, Duke,” he said finally. “You can tell a lot about a man’s character by the things he prioritizes over money. I wish that I had had that sort of clarity when I was your age.”
Then he reached into his back pocket. At first I thought he was reaching for the cigarettes again, but instead he pulled out his leather checkbook.
“What are you doing?” I asked, watching as he flipped open the book of checks.
“If you don’t want our financial support, then the least I can do is make a contribution to the things that matter most to you,” he said. “I can tell that you love Olivia…”
“I do,” I nodded.
“Then I can imagine you’ll want to buy her a ring someday?” he glanced up from the checkbook. “Let me help you with that. What do you say?”
“I say no thanks,” I said firmly. I reached across the table and pressed the checkbook closed. “I do want to buy Beck a ring someday, but I want to do it on my own.”
“Engagement rings can be quite expensive,” my father warned.
“I know,” I assured him. “I’ve already started saving up.”
It was true: I had started socking away the funds for a ring a few weeks ago. It was going to take a while to save up enough for a decent rock, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
All good things in life are earned. Beck had taught me that.