Growing Pains

Chapter 53 - I was a hoax

J A C O B

My parents had dragged me to a dinner with friends at a fancy restaurant in town that only took reservations for next year but had made an exception for us on the account of my parents and their friends' big names and even bigger wallets. Of course, these friends weren't friends at all, but instead business partners of my father and campaign donors of my mother.

Usually, Derek was the one who came to these business dinners, but Derek was back in Africa, and apparently, I was finally old enough to sit at the grown-ups table. This had been all I ever wanted for a long time in my life, but right now, sitting with them, all I really wanted was to stab myself with a fork. I just didn't know which one.

We hadn't even ordered yet and they were already talking about the economy. It hadn't taken me long to realize I had nothing to contribute to the conversation, and so I had begun reading the menu over and over again, even though it was in French, and I knew almost nothing of French. I had been to the Alps enough times to know how to read a menu, but usually someone else ordered for me, and so I didn't. This time wouldn't be any different. I just needed something to hide myself behind.

By the time the restaurant's most expensive bottle of wine came to the table, they had moved on to politics. The menus were taken away. I was exposed. Every time they finished one of their pretentious run-on sentences, they would send me an excruciatingly probing glance, so as to check if there was any semblance of understanding on my face, and if yes, whether or not I agreed with whatever it was they were saying. I had no idea what it was because I couldn't for the life of me pay attention to any of it.

All I could make out of their long-convoluted opinions were words like, personally, in my opinion, from my perspective, as it seems in my view, as far as I can tell, I think, so on and so forth.

To make up for this attention deficit and lack of basic comprehension skills and critical thinking, I would instead look at my parents for social cues as to whether I should agree or disagree with whatever was being said. It didn't take me long to notice that if they agreed, they would lean in and take a sip of their wine, and if not, they would lean back and only swirl it inside their glasses.

By the time we started eating, my parents' friends had realized I was an impostor, and given up on even looking my way. This had been a relief for me and a disappointment for my parents, who would definitely never forget about it for as long as they lived, just as they hadn't forgotten about any other failure of mine.

By dessert, it was all they could talk about.

My father said, "Jacob's not like our Derek."

This was my father's favorite take on me. Usually he phrased it as suggestion instead, the usual, Jacob should be more like Derek, which implied that I was not yet a lost cause, that I could still be more like Derek. This time, however, he phrased it as a fact, a capital-T Truth. I was not like Derek. More so, I was Jacob, and he was their Derek, as if my father no longer claimed me, only my brother.

I moved the food around my plate but made no effort to eat it. My mother reached for her glass of wine for another approving sip only to realize it was empty and let out a silly laugh about it.

She said, "Derek's the brain. Jacob's the muscle. If he doesn't get a sport scholarship, he'll probably go to military school. Right, honey?"

This was the first time I was hearing about military school. I swallowed hard even though I hadn't put anything in my mouth for a while, not even the wine they'd deemed me old enough to try. My mother was smiling at me, waiting for me to agree with her.

Instead, I said, "I'll get a scholarship."

"Well, you haven't been playing very well, have you?" she went on, turning to the others right after to say, "Jacob had a ski accident a few weeks back. It's really hurt his chances with college scouts."