Page 10 of The Boyfriend List
Our father is a steamroller of a man, taking no captives in his rhetorical warfare. Him listening to anyone, even his doctor, is a shock to all of us. He doesn’t even listen to his wife, let alone a medical professional.
“Why do you all sound so surprised? I can listen when I know something is good for me.” Ah. There it is. “It’s not like I need the money.”
He turned his astute legal mind on the stock market decades ago and now racks up twenty-five percent returns, alongside a hefty real estate portfolio. Of course he would retire.
“I just don’t know what you’ll do with yourself with all that free time,” Troy says, sipping his beer. “You’re not exactly the type to kick back and watch football.”
“Does this mean you’ll finally mow the lawn?” Perry deadpans. My mother shoots him a warning look.
He’s never mown the lawn or done any yard work for as long as I can remember. My mom claimed it was because he was tired from work and that since she chose to step down from her job to raise us, it was her responsibility to do it. He always said he would hire someone to do it, but every summer, it was always my mom who pushed out the mower.
Dad glowers at Perry. “Are you insinuating that after all that I’ve done for you and this whole family, I still haven’t done enough?”
“No.” Perry sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
“So after working hard for years so you could all have a roof over your heads and food on the table, you want to criticize me for not doingonething,” he continues. Someone’s given him a perceived slight to his ego that he has to rebut. “I’ll hire someone to mow the lawn next year.”
We start talking about Savannah’s wedding in a few months. She’s also a lawyer, but draws up contracts for those in the entertainment industry, so she makes the big bucks. She asked all of us to be groomsmen, since her fiancé, Micah, also a lawyer, moved to L.A. recently and doesn’t have many close friends here.
“London, could you do me a favour?” Brooklyn says. “I need someone to take Hattie and Queenie to their horseback riding lessons next Saturday. I forgot that’s my wedding anniversary, and I want to do something special for Rebecca.”
I chew on my lower lip. If I don’t do it, I doubt Perry will volunteer. Savannah is probably swamped with wedding preparations and work. Troy lives the furthest from Brooklyn of all of us.
“Sure. Text me the details.” It’s not like I have a girlfriend to worry about displeasing. I’ve given up my short-term dating ways over the past few months, too busy with work to need another commitment.
I excuse myself from the table and busy myself with the dishes.
Minutes later, Troy joins me. Since he owns his own construction business, he’s also a bit of a black sheep to our father since he works with his hands. “You good, man?”
Troy and I are the closest brothers in age. He’s thirty-one to my twenty-seven, with Savannah, who’s twenty-nine, between us. But he doesn’t seem to notice our parents’ constantly eroding marriage.
“As good as I’ll ever be.” I toss the sponge into a pan of soapy water and wipe my hands on a tea towel. “Do you think they’ll ever get divorced?”
I try to recall a peaceful time when our parents could actually have a civil conversation, or when they could talk without complaining about each other. It’s true that I love both my parents. Dad and I even bond over work discussions while relatives always talk about how proud he must be to have another lawyer in the family. But it’s also true that I never want to imitate their mistakes in love.
Troy says, “No.”
I cling to his answer. Divorce, even now, when we’ve all moved out of the house—it would tear me apart, rip at the foundations and seams of my being. Or is that selfish of me? Should I want them to live apart and finally be happy?
The rest of our siblings have departed from the table and deposited their dishes on the kitchen island, going to the living room to watch TV or scroll on their phones.
The only two remaining at the table are our parents. Through the open-concept kitchen, I spy my dad on his phone, reading emails, while my mom picks at her bowl of rice listlessly, like she’s lost her appetite.
“You’re right. They wouldn’t get divorced at their age,” I say weakly. It’s rare for Asians to get divorced, and even more rare for them to do so when they’re senior citizens.
“Why did you ask?” Troy says, drying a wok.
I shrug. “You didn’t see how they looked during dinner?”
“Yeah. They looked normal. Stop reading so much into things, London. You’re looking for trouble when it isn’t there.” Troy sighs. “They’ll be fine. Every marriage goes through a rocky phase when they become empty nesters.”
I try to believe him.
But does it count as a phase when they’ve never gotten along for as long as I can remember?
Chapter Four: Gloria
My penguin looks nothing like a character fromHappy Feet.
