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Chapter 2 - Finn | Where The Heart Is

Chapter 2: Where The Heart Is

I knocked on the door to my father's office and waited for his voice to call me in.

Lincoln had told me that I was to see him this morning, but it took me all that time to get out of my own head to what he could possibly want. It was now deep in the late afternoon and I hadn't gone down for lunch with my brothers and sister.

"Enter," I heard him grumble through the door and took a deep breath in. I pushed the wood and saw that my father was at his desk writing something on a document. He placed the pen in the ink bottle before looking up at me. Getting up from his chair, he didn't say a word. I swallowed and waited for him to walk to his drinks. Pouring himself the glass of dark liquor he needed to talk to me, he took a sip.

"Finn, take a seat."

I managed to make my feet move towards the seat that was placed opposite of his desk. My father remained besides the drinks table and I sat myself down, staring at the handful of paperwork that lined his desk. He managed a business that I wanted no part of, but the sole reason of being a Waitstill associated me to it for as long as I lived.

"I've been thinking about introducing you to a couple of people from the firm. You're nearly at the age where both Micah and Theo started getting a handle on the runs and the batches. Hell, Micah runs things smoother than I do sometimes." He said in a hurry. It felt pressed, like my presence in his office was as much of a disruption to equilibrium to him as it was to me. "Would finally give us something to talk about" The last line came out with an awkward laugh.

I looked at the documents again. There was so many that had the Waitstill stamp. I never felt like that stamp belonged to me. Nor did the ring that wrapped around my finger. One that was given to all the Waitstill boys, one that pledged our loyalty to the company.

My mother died when I was around seven years old. I was always closer to her than I was to Father. My memories from when I was smaller are still blotched. Like someone spilled wine over the images in my head, and all that I can see is a faint outline of the time now past. All I can smell wherever I walk is the potency of failure. Ever since she died, Father did near nothing to fill the deficit I had in my heart. Something that large could only be aided with love, and Nicholas Waitstill lacked in that department like a penguin and flight.

I cleared my throat, not moving to look at him. "Father... I," I tried pushing the confidence to my throat. It felt bitter and strong enough to make me want to run out and get some breathable air into my lungs. "I don't think I'm made for –"

"Don't be absurd, Finn. You're my son. It's called a family business."

I felt the tears prick behind my eyes. Trying to swallow down any sense of dejection, I knew this was the only time I could make my feelings known.

"I don't want to be a part of it, Father."

The silence stretched in the air and I could hear the brief sound of the glass being put down on wood. I shut my eyes briefly and my body tensed at the sound of my Father breathing more heavy.

"You're first meeting with the board will be with Micah on Tuesday. Be on time, Finn" his voice returned to the tone I remembered. His words clipped and the message final.

I finally turned my head and looked at him. He had dark circles underneath his eyes and I could see the grey hairs all around his sideburns. This was the image of my father; stoic, stubborn and near whatever poison he chose for the night.

I opened my mouth to repeat what I had said. Thinking maybe I said it in my head, he hadn't heard me.

"And I shall assume by next year you shall be getting a slave of your own. It will be good practice for when you have to train or handle them. Egerton and Crogsworth will guide you and teach you if you'd like. But your mind is as agile as your mothers so I assume it will only take them a couple of sessions."