When We Were Young

Fireside Chat

The party was thinning out. I had to repeat the same stories many times, but I didn't mind that much. I hadn't seen most of everyone since I first left London. Skylar and I were on our way to nestle into the sofa by the fire, drink our dessert wine, and dive into the plate of pastries that Skylar had chosen carefully from the Viennese table.

We passed the study and my father was standing alone and looking out the window. He was deep in thought. His brow was furrowed and his lips pursed. In his hand, he swirled the last drops of whisky across the melting ice cubes.

Skylar stopped me. "You should go talk to him now."

I knew it was as good a time as any.

"You've had plenty of liquid courage. After spending time with your father today,"

Skylar smiled, "It won't matter."

I took a deep breath, glanced at my father and then back to Skylar. "Okay." I brushed my lips across hers quickly. "You'll be okay?"

She nodded holding up her wine and the plate of desserts. "Find me when you're done." Skylar walked down the hallway, glanced over her shoulder, and smiled before she stepped into the library.

I was scared. God knows, I was nervous. I started to sweat, and shake. And I really thought I would throw up right there in the hallway. My mother would have a fit if I vomited all over her new rugs and embarrass her in front of what friends still remained.

My mind wandered. I had to stop doing that. I finally mustered the courage to actually walk into the study and after a few steps, the floor creaked and my father turned around.

He actually smiled.

"Albert, hiding in the shadows," he said. My father turned and walked toward the leather sofa that sat in front of the large bay windows. "Come sit with your old father." He chuckled.

I started to settle back into my skin. My father's attitude towards me, his small jokes, the way he looked approvingly at Skylar, defending me to mum, I was taking it all in.

"Do me a favor and grab the whisky. I need to refill my glass," my father asked. "And grab one for you. Let's drink like men." Again, he chuckled.

I stopped mid-step. Drink like men? Who was this man? Maybe he was drunk? I'd never seen my father really drunk. Well, not since I was about ten years old and my father came home once from a dinner meeting. He could barely get up the stairs. Brandt had to help him. My mum pushed me back into my room and told me that dad was sick. I knew he wasn't but I didn't see him drink whisky in the house for a long time.

No, he wasn't drunk. He was just happy.

I poured a glass for myself and filled his, then joined him on the sofa. The leather squeaked as I sat down. He was staring outside and just staring out over the pool and the few people sitting around the large outside fire pit. But I realized he was really looking at the stables at the edge of the property.

"So, did you and Skylar enjoy the evening?"

I took a sip of the whisky. I really didn't like whisky but the kind my father bought was expensive and was very good so I didn't mind it so much. It warmed my throat like liquid gold.

"We did. But I think we enjoyed lunch with you, more."

He nodded and sipped his drink. The corner of his lips twitched into a small smile. "Me, too. Today was a good day. I like her. I like her very much."

"Me, too. Well, I love her," I said. I couldn't help but smile. "Was it strange seeing Isabelle again?"

I was shocked. I didn't even realize my dad knew that Isabelle and I were in any relationship. Of course, he knew her because he had met my circle of friends. Still, I didn't even know I ever had a girlfriend. I went to Brandt when I had a question about girls growing up.