Page 5 of Because of Them

“She’s not though.”

“Fine. She’s not. But we are getting older.”

Collapsing on the couch, I let my head fall back against the cushions. “Dad, I don’t want the whole ‘I want to retire and I want you to take over the business’ spiel. We’ve been through this.”

I don’t add the ‘over and over and over again’ that cycles in my head. Dad has wanted me to take the reins from him for years, but despite his constant and incessant conversations about it, I still don’t want to. Once upon a time, maybe I did. But I was even younger and dumber then than I am now. And who knows, maybe in a few more years I’ll want to again. But not now, and the more he keeps bringing it up, the further away that hypothetical moment becomes.

According to Dad, at twenty-six I should be ready to take over the company he started as a teenager. The reality is I’m far from ready. I don’t have control of anything in my life, I can’t add a national company to the mix of things I always manage to fuck up.

“And before you can come up with your usual arguments, I know you were younger than I am when you started this business. I know you want to step back and watch it grow instead of working on it day in and day out now. And I know you want to pass your legacy onto your son. I know all of those things Dad,but I don’t know the first thing about running a business. I still make a mess of every job you leave me in charge of.”

Baxter pads his way across the room, sensing my rising mood and the way my pulse is spiking. He’d make a great service dog if I ever needed one. Clambering onto the couch, he drops his front paws on my lap, resting his head between my knees. He’s big, even for a Golden Retriever, far too big to be a lapdog, but he insists. I’m happy to oblige, happy for the comfort from someone who doesn’t seem to always expectmorefrom me.

“Michael, stop. I don’t expect you to know how to run the bloody business. I just expect you to try.”

His disappointment leaks through the phone. The way it always does.

I want to live up to the expectations he has of me, but the truth is I’m not sure I can. I was barely a day over fifteen when I left school to start my apprenticeship under his instruction. For a while, it was great. Working with my dad and not having to go to school like the rest of my mates. But over time the appeal waned. Now, I’m only in this job because everything about it comes so easily. Because I have no idea what else I would do with my life.

After finishing my apprenticeship, I stopped pushing myself to learn. I’m far from the most skilled carpenter on any job site, but I know the basics and that’s all I need to get a house built. The other blokes can fine tune the cabinetry and do all the precision work, I’m more than happy just focusing on the basics. The foundations and having a good frame are more important than the insides looking pretty. And I’m pretty good at assembling a frame.

Aside from that, I like having no one depend on me on the job site. And I like being able to depend on my father when things turn to shit. If the wood delivery is wrong or the owner wants us to work faster, I can palm off the responsibility of dealing withthe shit to my father—or whichever lackey he assigned as project manager.

“I have tried, Dad. Remember?”

It was a disaster. The job was delivered five months late when everything imaginable went wrong. It baffles me that even after that atrocity cost the business thousands of dollars in late penalties, he still wants me to try again.

“Michael, that was three years ago. I was stupid to think you’d be able to handle project management only a few years out of your apprenticeship. But you’re not that young kid anymore. Stop pretending you are.”

“I still feel like that young kid though.”

It’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud to my father, the first time I’ve come even close to opening up to him. But it feels good.

“Well, maybe the way to change that is to try again?”

I hate that he is right.

“Fine,” I choke on the word as it comes out, regretting it instantly. “What’s the job?”

My father’s booming laugh echoes through the phone line. “There is no job yet. I honestly didn’t think you’d finally agree to it. I called you to see if you could look after the dog in a few weeks. Your mother is sick of the cold, she wants to go to Port Douglas.”

I reach down to scratch Baxter’s neck. He shifts his head in my hand and wags his tail against the armrest of the couch. He’d probably enjoy the company for a few days, even in the form of mum and dad’s tiny Cavoodle Miffy. I won’t be able to leave her alone in the apartment while she is here though, her eyesight is pretty poor and she won’t know how to use Baxter’s doggy door.

“You know I will. But, you actually didn’t want to talk about work?”

“Nope. Unless you wanted to talk about work”

“No but …”

I fade out, and the conversation stalls in the uneasy way it often does between us. Neither of us knowing the expectations we place on each other, neither of us willing to test the boundary between our father-son relationship.

“Enjoy your day off.”

“Thanks Dad, bye.”

Hanging up the phone, I’m still caught on the fact he wasn’t calling for work. He hadn’t wanted to berate me about my work ethic or pressure me into stepping up. He just, I don’t even know, wanted to chat, I guess. Which is unusual. It’s always been easier talking to my mother, I find comfort in telling her everything and feel safe letting her know my woes.

Dad on the other hand, not so much. He is a typical, hardworking, Aussie tradie. Work tough, live tough. If he had a motto that would be it. Growing up, he never cried, barely hugged me, struggled to show any emotion. Good or bad. I knew he loved me. I know he loves me. He just isn’t the kind of man to make a big deal about showing it. So, I’ve never been the kind of son to open up to him. About anything.

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