It’s in the DNA.
Marie starts screaming, “I don’t know what’s gotten into Jason!” while Shannon looks at me in horror.
“Do something!” Shannon shouts at me.
What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m not exactly trained in techniques for breaking up a fight between your future father-in-law and your dad. Besides, there’s more to this fight than meets the eye. I could stop them. I have the power (and could probably take them both in a fist fight. Scratch probably. Definitely).
Letting people show themselves to the world, though, gives me more power than shouting and making them stop. There are many ways to take charge. To dominate. To be a leader.
Sometimes stepping back and observing is more effective than taking action.
Shaking her head and muttering something about useless billionaires, Shannon grabs a water spritzer that Becky uses to spray the spider plants in Dad’s office, marches over to the four hundred pounds of aged meat wriggling and grunting on the floor, and sprays them.
Over and over, like dogs.
“My suit!” Dad shouts, holding up his palms. “Don’t ruin this suit! It costs more than your annual bonus.”
Shannon keeps spraying, over and over, and shouts, “I don’t care. You quit hurting my daddy!”
The door bursts open (again), and in comes Becky, flanked by two guys who look like mafia hitmen genetically bred with sumo wrestlers.
“Security’s here! Who’s the—oh, my God, Jamie! Jamie, what happened to your face, sweetie?”
Jamie?
Becky kneels down and the security guys, me, Jason and Dad all crane our necks to get a view of the massive expansive of thigh and purple garters we’re invited to enjoy.
Shannon whaps me. Marie gives Jason a little kick and he grunts but doesn’t say a word.
“What’s that for?” he and I ask in unison.
Marie and Shannon give twin snorts while Becky fusses over Dad and helps him to stand.
Jason reaches up toward Marie for assistance in standing. She pretends he doesn’t exist, crossing her arms and giving Shannon an unreadable look.
Bad dogs always know when they’ve been bad and don’t whimper. Jason stands on his own and brushes himself off, trying to maintain a thin veil of normalcy, as if he didn’t just get into a physical fight with the richest man in Boston, and Dad didn’t just insult four generations of Jacobies.
“I assure you,” Dad growls, “I am not fucking your wife.”
“That’s right,” Shannon says defiantly. “You’re much too old for Jamie to sleep with, Mom.” Her glare at Dad as she repeats the nickname could double as a chemical peel in the finest spa in one of our luxury hotels.
“Shannon, what do you think you’re doing?” Dad says to her, whirling on one heel and ignoring Becky’s aid. “I’m your boss and—”
Spritz.
Shannon sprays Dad in the face.
I burst into laughter.
“You’re a dog. A dog who only sleeps with women who are four or younger in dog years,” Shannon announces.
Becky gasps and says, “I’m not four! I’m nineteen.”
“I rest my case,” Shannon announces.
Dad moves aggressively toward Shannon, who holds up the water sprayer in defense.
“I will not be insulted like this on my own company property!” Dad thunders.
“And you won’t yell at my daughter like that!” Jason roars back.
“And I’m not sleeping with Jamie!” Becky adds.
“One of these things is not like the other,” Marie sings under her breath.
Marie appears to do math in her head, then turns a shade of angry pink. “Not only are you a cruel parent, but you’re an ageist misogynist with little penis syndrome!” she says to Dad, who is trying to decide which of us he’s most pissed off at. It’s a rare moment when I am not in the running, so I’m basking in the glory.
Jason looks like steam is about to come out through his ears, and he yells, “How in the hell do you know that he has a little penis?”
“I do not have a little penis!” Dad screams. Marie wins.
Becky turns to me so earnestly, so sweetly, and says, “He’s right. He doesn’t.”
I wish I could try out that fainting trick Shannon just used, but instead I’ll just yell like everyone else.
“THAT IS ENOUGH!” I shout. Time to stop observing. Time to take charge with words and actions.
Everyone comes to a halt except for Tweedledee and Tweedledum, who keep chewing their gum and looking bored, like this is the lamest security issue they’ve ever had to answer.
They’re right.
“You,” I say, pointing to Marie. “You betrayed my trust.”
“I did no such thing!” she protests. “I just went home and thought about what you said at your mother’s grave yesterday—”
“You were at Elena’s grave?” Dad asks in a small, hushed voice. Somehow, it’s worse than when he was screaming.
“Who’s Elena?” Becky asks.
“Shut up,” Dad and I say in unison.
Becky storms out.
“And you,” I say to Jason. “You are making a fool of yourself. Dad and Marie aren’t having an affair. Dad doesn’t date anyone under thirty and he never dates married women.”
“Their expectations are too high,” Dad explains.
“I really dodged a bullet with you, didn’t I?” Marie says to Dad, then turns to look at Jason with a contrite expression.
“Then why were you joking about marrying Declan’s father the other day? And why are you here in James’ office, so angry and passionate?” Jason asks, bewildered.