one of his employees. I spent the evening with them.” No need to spell out how.
“Let’s say I believe you. What opportunity is this? Is the king of information getting into sausage now?”
Put that way, it did sound unlikely. I backpedaled. “I’m just laying the groundwork. Social connections, but who knows where it might lead?” I skimmed by her, headed upstairs to the family kitchen. A rehearsal takes a lot of calories, and all that running around after…not to mention the physical stimulation…well, I was hungry.
“A social connection.” She followed. “You’re trying to defect from the family business?”
Yeah. About that.
I have duty to family and I have dreams. My plan to go to New York with Oz, Wonderful Oz would take care of both.
My parents didn’t quite see it that way. Nobody was as loyal and hardworking as family. As the fruit of their loins, I was the epitome of family, and therefore nobody could replace me. Hiring Donald Trump wouldn’t be good enough.
Or maybe they wanted to keep me home forever.
Still, I tried. “Mom, I’m not going to leave without seeing you and Pop set up. This was just an exploratory meeting.” In the kitchen I started rummaging through cupboards. “I’m just feeling him out. Feeling them out.” I buried my sudden blush in the pantry closet. “I mean, I’m getting to know them. Mishela and her, um, companion.” I found a box of popcorn, extracted one of the bags.
“You’d better not be thinking this ‘feeling out’ will involve leaving. It would upset your father. You know he relies on you.”
The plastic-wrapped bag smashed in my clenched fist. Without turning I said, “You make sure I can’t forget.”
“You should never forget. He slaved for you. I slaved for you. I gave up my career for you,” she countered in a disagreement we’d had so often it was better rehearsed than any theater. “The least you can do is commit a few hours a week to the business your father gave his life to, the business we Stiegs have spent generations building.”
You’re not a Stieg. At least you weren’t until you married Pop.
“I do, Mom.” I stared at the popcorn, trying to work back to reasonable, to make this have a different ending. “Nine, ten hours a day, six days a week. It’s most of my waking life. I’ve earned the right to dream a little too.”
“Have you? What would you be doing with those hours if not honest work? Be grateful you are not on the streets, not starving or doing drugs or playing in a punky rock band like that Schmeling girl.”
“It’s Nixie Emerson now,” I said tiredly. Diverting this scene was like trying to turn a runaway soloist. “She married a Boston lawyer. Even by your definition of success, she’s made it.”
“I gave up my career for you,” she repeated. “A star mezzo with the Italian opera. I gave that up for our family’s business, for your heritage.”
What she meant was she and Pop had done the nasty and I came along, putting the kibosh on singing professionally.
“You must always remember, Junior. Business comes first .”
And there it was, of course. The stinger. I tried one more time. “Mom, I’m not going to run off just because I got horny and pregnant—”
She slapped me. Which I guess I deserved.
“Do not speak that way to me. Your father didn’t have to marry me. But he did the right thing by me and I have done right by him. I have loved him and honored him and the least you can do is the same. Family duty is more important than any dreams. Home is more important, because it is real .” She seared me with “The Look”, spun from me and stomped off. Each stomp rammed my conscience.
I thrust the popcorn back into the box, hunger gone, and headed upstairs. The same conversation, the same stomping, the same guilt. It only made me more determined to change the ending, at least for my own life. Mom had been trapped in the small pond of Meiers Corners by marriage. Not me.
Family
“Let’s say I believe you. What opportunity is this? Is the king of information getting into sausage now?”
Put that way, it did sound unlikely. I backpedaled. “I’m just laying the groundwork. Social connections, but who knows where it might lead?” I skimmed by her, headed upstairs to the family kitchen. A rehearsal takes a lot of calories, and all that running around after…not to mention the physical stimulation…well, I was hungry.
“A social connection.” She followed. “You’re trying to defect from the family business?”
Yeah. About that.
I have duty to family and I have dreams. My plan to go to New York with Oz, Wonderful Oz would take care of both.
My parents didn’t quite see it that way. Nobody was as loyal and hardworking as family. As the fruit of their loins, I was the epitome of family, and therefore nobody could replace me. Hiring Donald Trump wouldn’t be good enough.
Or maybe they wanted to keep me home forever.
Still, I tried. “Mom, I’m not going to leave without seeing you and Pop set up. This was just an exploratory meeting.” In the kitchen I started rummaging through cupboards. “I’m just feeling him out. Feeling them out.” I buried my sudden blush in the pantry closet. “I mean, I’m getting to know them. Mishela and her, um, companion.” I found a box of popcorn, extracted one of the bags.
“You’d better not be thinking this ‘feeling out’ will involve leaving. It would upset your father. You know he relies on you.”
The plastic-wrapped bag smashed in my clenched fist. Without turning I said, “You make sure I can’t forget.”
“You should never forget. He slaved for you. I slaved for you. I gave up my career for you,” she countered in a disagreement we’d had so often it was better rehearsed than any theater. “The least you can do is commit a few hours a week to the business your father gave his life to, the business we Stiegs have spent generations building.”
You’re not a Stieg. At least you weren’t until you married Pop.
“I do, Mom.” I stared at the popcorn, trying to work back to reasonable, to make this have a different ending. “Nine, ten hours a day, six days a week. It’s most of my waking life. I’ve earned the right to dream a little too.”
“Have you? What would you be doing with those hours if not honest work? Be grateful you are not on the streets, not starving or doing drugs or playing in a punky rock band like that Schmeling girl.”
“It’s Nixie Emerson now,” I said tiredly. Diverting this scene was like trying to turn a runaway soloist. “She married a Boston lawyer. Even by your definition of success, she’s made it.”
“I gave up my career for you,” she repeated. “A star mezzo with the Italian opera. I gave that up for our family’s business, for your heritage.”
What she meant was she and Pop had done the nasty and I came along, putting the kibosh on singing professionally.
“You must always remember, Junior. Business comes first .”
And there it was, of course. The stinger. I tried one more time. “Mom, I’m not going to run off just because I got horny and pregnant—”
She slapped me. Which I guess I deserved.
“Do not speak that way to me. Your father didn’t have to marry me. But he did the right thing by me and I have done right by him. I have loved him and honored him and the least you can do is the same. Family duty is more important than any dreams. Home is more important, because it is real .” She seared me with “The Look”, spun from me and stomped off. Each stomp rammed my conscience.
I thrust the popcorn back into the box, hunger gone, and headed upstairs. The same conversation, the same stomping, the same guilt. It only made me more determined to change the ending, at least for my own life. Mom had been trapped in the small pond of Meiers Corners by marriage. Not me.
Family
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