Chapter 10 - THE FOUR SEASONS
Ten years after the lobster lunch, Caleb graduated from Rhode Island School of Design.
He was twenty.
Tall.
Quiet.
Still drawing everywhere.
His senior project explored architecture, class, and the small ways children understand whether they belong in a room.
One piece stopped me cold.
A long dining table.
Lobster plates everywhere.
At the far end:
one empty place setting.
Title:
USED TO HAVING LESS.
I stood in front of it for a long time.
Caleb came beside me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You look like you’re going to cry.”
“I’m old.”
“You always use that.”
Then:
“I don’t remember the lunch as clearly as you do.”
That surprised me.
“What do you remember?”
“The breadcrumb.”
My chest tightened.
“And you winking at me.”
I smiled.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
“I remember steak at the cabin.”
“The cheesecake.”
“Grant throwing my sketchbook.”
“And you pulling the car over.”
There.
“What about that?”
“You said I didn’t do anything wrong.”
My eyes burned.
Caleb looked at his painting.
“I think that’s what stayed.”
Not the lobster.
Not Naomi’s joke.
Not the wealth reveal.
The car.
Good.
That evening, the family celebrated his graduation.
Caleb chose the restaurant.
The Four Seasons.
Of course.
Gavin laughed when he saw the reservation.
“You planned this.”
Caleb grinned.
“Absolutely.”
Naomi groaned.
“I deserve whatever happens.”
Grant and Carter were there.
Mom.
Dad.
Gavin.
Naomi.
Everyone.
We sat at a long table.
When the waiter arrived, he looked at Caleb.
“Mr. Mercer, would you like to start the table with anything?”
Caleb opened the menu.
Then looked at Naomi.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
He smiled.
“I was thinking lobster.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Even Naomi.
Especially Naomi.
Then Caleb ordered a steak.
Béarnaise.
Same sauce.
After dinner, Gavin raised his glass.
“To Caleb.”
Naomi interrupted.
“And to everyone having food.”
More laughter.
Then she became serious.
She looked at my son.
“I know we joke now.”
“But I want to say this once in front of everyone.”
“You deserved better from me when you were ten.”
Caleb nodded.
“Thank you.”
She did not ask him to say:
I forgive you.
Good.
Then Dad looked at me.
“Ethan, say something.”
“No.”
Everyone protested.
Apparently wealth does not buy escape from family speeches.
So I stood.
I looked around the table.
Ten years earlier, I had wanted to make them remember.
I thought that meant exposing money.
Showing Gavin he had underestimated me.
Making Naomi understand the man she mocked could have bought every lobster in the restaurant without checking the price.
None of that mattered now.
I raised my glass.
“When Caleb was ten, I thought being a good father meant making sure he never had less.”
I looked at him.
“I was wrong.”
“What mattered was making sure he never believed having less made him less.”
The table went quiet.
Caleb looked down.
I continued:
“Money can buy dinner.”
“A hotel.”
“A cabin.”
“Education.”
“Security.”
“All useful things.”
“But it cannot decide who deserves respect.”
“And it definitely cannot turn disrespect into a joke.”
Naomi nodded.
Gavin stared into his glass.
I smiled.
“Fortunately, people can learn.”
Then I looked at Caleb.
“And children can grow up despite the adults.”
He laughed.
We drank.
Later, Caleb and I stood alone in the hotel lobby.
He looked around.
Marble.
Flowers.
Perfect lighting.
“You really used to stay at these places all the time?”
“For work.”
“And you never told anyone?”
“I told you.”
“When?”
“You were eight.”
“You said the hotel had free robes.”
“That was the relevant information.”
He laughed.
Then he asked:
“Do you still have that notebook?”
I knew exactly which one.
MAKE THEM REMEMBER.
“Yes.”
“What did you end up doing with it?”
“Mostly nothing.”
He frowned.
“All that drama and nothing?”
“I changed financial boundaries.”
“Made people pay their own bills.”
“Stopped hiding when something hurt you.”
“And kept records until I didn’t need them.”
He thought.
“So the revenge was accounting?”
I laughed.
“Basically.”
“That’s incredibly lame.”
“Effective.”
We walked toward the elevator.
Then he stopped.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for leaving the cabin.”
My throat tightened.
“Anytime.”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Hopefully not anytime.”
Fair.
The elevator doors opened.
As we stepped inside, I thought about the sentence Naomi once used so casually.
He’s used to having less.
She meant food.
Money.
Status.
What she never understood was that Caleb had never actually had less of the things that mattered.
He had a safe home.
A father who showed up.
Teachers who encouraged him.
Books.
Art.
Choice.
Enough money to eat, yes.
But more importantly—
permission to leave a table where people confused wealth with worth.
That was what I wanted him to remember.
Not that his father could afford the Four Seasons.
Not that his uncle eventually discovered he wasn’t the successful brother after all.
Not that Naomi apologized.
Just this:
When the people at the table tell you that you deserve less, you do not have to prove you can afford more.
You are allowed to stand up.
Take your dignity with you.
May you like
And find another table.
THE END
