After Asher finished off the last of the tikka masala, he sighed appreciatively and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
“That was fantastic,” he said. “Really hit the spot. Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you. There’s no way I could have eaten all of that myself. It was good, though, wasn’t it?” I agreed as I ate the last of my naan bread. “I should eat at that place more often. The food is just divine. And the service is fantastic, too.”
“Well, what shall we do now, Lilah? I can head home if you're feeling tired. It was a pretty long evening.”
“Actually, I'm still wide awake. Still bursting with energy, really. I think I slept in too long this morning. Or maybe my mind is still kind of wired. I don't know how I'm going to get any sleep tonight.”
“So, you don't mind if I hang around for a while?”
“I’d actually enjoy the company. So, by all means, stick around for a bit. I don't have any plans this evening, anyway.”
I tried not to overanalyze if inviting Asher to stick around was a particularly good idea or not. We'd been enjoying light, easy conversation all through dinner. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, that at ease feeling I’d had the first time we went to dinner was still there. In fact, I was comfortable around him in a way that I hadn't been with anyone else for longer than I could remember.
There was also the fact that neither of us had suggested drinking—and I certainly wasn't going to bring it up—so it seemed things were safe for the time being.
“Would you like some chai tea?” I asked him. “I usually have a cup every evening.”
“Sure. Sounds good,” he said with a smile. “I do enjoy a good cup of chai.”
I made my way to the counter and started brewing the chai as we continued talking. If I were to have guessed, it seemed that Asher was just as much at ease as I was.
Somehow, as we were drinking the tea, the conversation turned to family matters—a subject I had previously touched on briefly with him, but that he had yet to open up about. A strange look crossed his face as we broached the topic. A flicker of something I couldn’t quite place—anger, regret, or merely pain, perhaps. However, as quickly as it appeared it was gone. I wondered if it was a good idea to continue with the topic of family considering how private Asher always seemed to be, but curiosity edged me on.
“So, Asher, there's something that I've been wondering for a while,” I said. “I’m curious. Control of the Sinclair Agency was given to you when you were 20, right?”
“That's right.”
“Why did it go straight from your grandfather to you instead of to your father?”
His face tightened and he looked away. I could tell it was a sensitive subject, and I quickly started to regret asking the question.
“I apologize, I’m prying, and I shouldn’t have asked,” I said hurriedly. “It's not important. I'm sorry, let's just forget—”
“You're right. It's not a subject I'm entirely comfortable talking about, but it's a subject I do actually need to talk about, as unpleasant as it is. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. It does me no good to keep these things bottled up inside.”
“Are you sure? I mean, we really don't have to discuss this.”
He looked up at me with an intense look simmering in his eyes. A look that churned every emotion inside of me.
“Actually, I’m not sure. But I want to talk about it with someone I feel I can trust, and I do feel like I can trust you, Lilah.”
His words seeped into my soul and warmed parts of me I’d forgotten about. I smiled faintly as I sipped on my tea and he began to speak in a slow, calm tone. I could sense he was doing his
best to keep things together and remain collected. The story was obviously stirring some deep-seated, emotional pain. Despite that, I could also feel that he needed this, that he needed a little catharsis from the pain.
“My father . . . Well, he was not what I would call a good man,” he stated. “He was a drunk, and he was violent. I was too young when everything happened to remember, but what my father did is why I don’t have a relationship with him. It’s why my grandfather took me in and raised me. That's why I always look to my grandfather for inspiration. I modeled myself after his example when I was growing up. He was everything my father wasn't—good, noble, disciplined, hard-working.”
Asher paused and took a breath. I tried to wrap my mind around all he was saying. I couldn’t help but wonder what Asher’s father had done to cause him the chance to have a relationship with his son. As my mind was spinning with the possibilities, Asher continued his story.
“My grandfather grew up as the ninth child in a large, dirt-poor family of immigrants. When he and his family came to the United States, they literally had nothing but the clothes on their backs. And as the youngest of nine children, my grandfather rarely had anyhing but hand-me-downs from his siblings.
“But, this instilled a sense of ambition in him. He was absolutely determined to build an empire, to rise high above his humble beginnings. And, he did. He joined the army during the second World War, rose through the ranks, and left the army a war hero. Then, he started the Sinclair Agency and, through sheer grit and determination, he turned it from a two-man operation run out of a single, run-down, rented office in a slum into one of the greatest marketing firms in this city.
“He got married young. They wanted a big family, but having children proved difficult for him and my grandmother. In the end, after many years of trying, they finally had a child—my father. My grandmother considered it a miracle after all that they’d been through.
“As an only child, she spoiled him. He had little to no discipline at home because my grandfather was so obsessed with his work and always at the office or flying off somewhere on business—his only failing, I think—but a failing that turned out to have significant consequences.