Can I ask you something.
Ezoic
“Yes,” I said.
Ezoic
He looked at the table.
At the folded silk robe. At the empty Château Margaux.
“The company,” he said. “Tidewater.”
“Yes?”
“How did you do it?”
I stared at him.
“The ramen,” he said. “The apartment with no air conditioning. The client who went bankrupt. Your mother told me about that one. 2014. She said you almost lost everything.”
He looked up at me.
“How did you not quit?” he said. “When I told you you’d be back in a year. When nobody believed you. How did you not quit?”
I thought about it.
I thought about the one-bedroom apartment in Durham. Two used laptops. Four hours of sleep. Ramen for three years.
Ezoic
I thought about Thanksgiving 2011. Don’t come to me for money.
Ezoic
“Because you told me I’d fail,” I said.
My father flinched.
“And I wanted to prove you wrong,” I said. “For about six years. That’s what kept me going. Every night. Every time I wanted to quit. I’d hear you. You’ll be back in a year.”
