Chapter 15 - THE DINNER WITH NO INVESTORS
The following Christmas, I cooked for six people.
Not twenty.
Not investors.
Not anyone evaluating a capitalization table.
Angela came with her husband.
David came because his children were spending the holiday with their mother.
Patterson and Elaine stopped by for dessert after spending dinner with Cynthia.
And Samuel came alone.
He and Cynthia were still separated.
Whether their marriage would survive was no longer my business.
Sterling Peak had a good year.
Rivergate broke ground in September under its revised plan.
Patterson’s six-million-dollar investment was documented properly, approved properly, and monitored by people whose surnames did not matter.
Angela ran day-to-day operations.
I chaired the board.
I went into the office two days a week and discovered that retirement becomes much more pleasant once you stop using your adult child as a retirement project.
Samuel’s new employer promoted him to project lead in November.
He told me at dinner without making the promotion sound like proof of anything.
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Thanks.”
That was enough.
After dessert, Patterson raised his wineglass.
“To transparent ownership.”
Elaine kicked him under the table.
I laughed anyway.
The previous Christmas had ended with police-level glass damage and a bird on the patio.
I had learned something from that too.
This year I served roast beef.
No throwable platters.
After everyone left, Samuel stayed behind to help me wash dishes.
He dried one plate, then another.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you remember when I was twelve and Dad made me pay him back for breaking the garage window?”
“You were thirteen.”
“I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Parents remember all property damage.”
He smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“I’ve been thinking about last Christmas.”
I turned off the faucet.
Samuel stared at the dish towel.
“I knew Cynthia planned to push you.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know she was going to spit on you.”
“I believe that.”
“But I would’ve let something happen.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
It cost him something to stay with the sentence instead of escaping it.
“I’m sorry.”
No explanation followed.
No Rivergate.
No Cynthia.
No childhood.
Just two words.
I felt relief and anger at the same time.
“Thank you for saying it.”
He looked at me.
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“No.”
His face fell slightly.
I continued.
“It means I heard you.”
He nodded.
That was enough for that night.
At the front door, Samuel put on his coat.
“I’m getting coffee near the office next Saturday.”
I waited.
“If you ever want to come.”
There was no investment deck attached to the invitation.
No company emergency.
No favor.
No promise that we would fix the past.
“Maybe,” I said.
He accepted that answer and walked to his car.
I locked the door behind him.
In the dining room, the replacement window reflected the Christmas tree perfectly. I had paid for that glass because breaking the old one belonged to me.
Sterling Peak remained mine because protecting it had finally required me to stop confusing money with motherhood.
Samuel’s career belonged to him.
His mistakes did too.
On the kitchen counter, he had accidentally left his coffee shop receipt from earlier that afternoon.
I almost called him.
Then I noticed something written on the back in his handwriting:
Saturday, 10:00. Mom?
No assumption.
Just the question.
I placed the receipt beside my keys.
I did not throw it away.
May you like
I did not put Saturday on my calendar either.
For once, neither Samuel nor I needed to know the answer before I was ready to give it.
