Illustration by Christiane Beauregard
“Get a room,” Ethan booms from the dining room, making Henry and Hope howl with laughter. Seeing your grandparents kissing is hilarious when you’re 10, apparently. I let Lori go and we join the family at the table.
“Off with you lot,” I gesture to the twins. “Time for grown-up talk.” They make an elaborate show of wiping their brows in relief and skitter off to the home theatre. Ethan and his wife Evie eye each other nervously, while Dylan, pulling himself out of his turkey stupor draws himself straight up in his chair.
“So, you’re no doubt wondering why I gathered you all here…” Dylan says, but nobody laughs.
“Your mother and I have been talking a lot about my retirement,” I say, pointlessly gesturing to her at the other end of the table. They dutifully look in her direction and back to me, like a tennis match.
TIME TO TALK
Nobody bothers to deny that I am at an appropriate age to retire, and Dylan actually leans forward in anticipation. We all knew this talk was coming.
“We’ve been thinking that I’ll take what’s left of the service department and turn my attention to the new service business. Dylan, I’d like you to come with me, as GM. There’s lots of room for expansion there, and we can even get you into a couple more franchises before I bow out completely, which your mother and I have agreed will be in 10 years.”
“Seven,” Lori says in the low, unmistakable tone that means she has had enough of my BS. “We agreed on seven.”
“Seven years,” I echo, not bothering to argue. She’s been a patient woman, has my Lori. Dylan’s expression darkens but he resists saying what he’s no doubt thinking, that we’re screwing him out of a retail car business he’s been wanting for years.
“Ethan, we’d like you to stay at the dealership,” I continue. “Basically, if in five years the profits at the service business don’t match retail, of course we’ll compensate you,” I say to Dylan.
“But if they’re equal, then Dylan keeps service, Ethan keeps retail, and your mother and I go to Tahiti.”
“Bali,” Lori corrects me, but she’s leaning in Dylan’s direction, already anxious about his reaction.
“Compensation isn’t really the point, is it, Dad?” says Dylan. His voice is ominously low. I don’t wonder where he got that edgy temper. “Dylan,” his mother reaches for his hand but he pulls away.
WHO WANTS IT, WHO CAN DO IT?
Dylan, for all his dedication to the business, is volatile, and his sales instincts just aren’t there. He misses opportunities that Ethan sees as clearly as if they were handed down on tablets. I’m not even sure he can handle the service franchise, but his mother convinced me not to just settle his share in cash and let Ethan run the whole thing. Ethan’s a natural.
“We don’t want it,” he says, reaching for Evie’s hand. “I’m sorry, Dad, but it’s not like we didn’t warn you.” There’s a quick exchange of some sort between him and his mother that makes one thought flash through my mind: Lori already knows whatever he’s about to say. “We’ve decided to go ahead with the restaurant,” he says to me. “We signed a lease.”
“Ethan, we’ve been through this!” I start, ready nonetheless to go through it again.
RIGHT FOR THE FAMILY?
“We’re doing it, Dad,” he says. “I’m sorry. The car business is just not right for us. Not right for the family. If we’re going to sacrifice all our time for a business, it’s going to be one we both love.”
“And what’s wrong with the car business?” I say, turning to Evie, aware that I sound petulant. She shrinks a little, and I feel a pang of regret. I don’t mean to scare the poor girl, but seriously. “Restaurants fail, kids. Nearly all of them.”
“Then we’ll fail,” Ethan says. “But at least we’ll have tried.”
“Good,” Dylan says, with an efficient single clap of his hands. “That’s settled, then. I’ll buy you out.”
“Buy him out? What do you think you’re buying? Without Ethan, there isn’t a retail business,” I turn to Dylan, surprising even myself with my ferocity. “There isn’t a grand showroom, Dylan, it’s not like it was. There’s the web, and a few hundred square feet downtown. That’s it. The only hope for this business is Ethan.”
“We don’t need you to buy anything,” Ethan tells his brother. “We have what we need for the restaurant.”
I turn to him. “So now that you have what you need, you’re out? We’ve served your purpose?”
“Bill …” Lori starts in a warning tone. I ignore her.
“What about your purpose, Dad? You barely knew what the hell the Internet was before I agreed to start working there! We agreed it wasn’t going to be forever and it’s been 15 years! I never wanted to be there in the first place! Who’s served whose purpose?” He’s on his feet, palms planted flat on the tabletop. He never did back down, my Ethan. Dylan stands too, not to be outdone.
Before I know it, we’re all on our feet, shouting. Ethan about how I tromped on his culinary dreams, Dylan about how I’m trying to screw him out of what’s rightfully his, Evie about how I need to respect that my sons are their own people, and Lori about how the boys need to speak to us with respect — Merry Christmas!
“Enough!” I bellow, and silence instantly descends. At least I still have that power. All at once, the belligerence goes out of me and I sit down, lowering my head into my hands for a moment, rubbing my eyes. I’m suddenly exhausted. I realize that I don’t know myself what this business is anymore. We still sell cars and the money still comes in, but what, exactly, is the business? The brand? The website? The Tanner name? For the first time in 40 years, it flashes through my mind that my next move might be to just sell it all before anyone figures out that there’s no there there. Split the money between the boys and run off to Tahiti, Bali. Anywhere else.
“Your mom and I need to have another talk,” I say in a much calmer voice.
“I’m still leaving, Dad,” Ethan says quietly.
“I know.”
“I can do it, Dad,” Dylan says
I reach out and squeeze my elder son’s hand and relief washes over his expression. Then I reach for Dylan’s hand and tell him the first lie I’ve ever told either of my boys. “I know you can, son. We’ll figure something out.”
