But all he said to Clem was, “Manners, Clementine.”
I guess Laurel was as uncomfortable as I was, or she was eager to please. Either way, she picked up an apron and tied it on. Don beamed at her. It made me jealous, so even though it still felt strange, I put on one of the aprons.
For the next hour, Laurel and I took orders from Rachel, helping her make lasagna. Clem didn’t have anything to do. I could tell she didn’t want to hang out alone with Don in the living room, not after how she’d acted, so she kind of hung around the kitchen awkwardly. She kept trying to make small talk, but Laurel and I were annoyed and ignored her.
Occasionally, Don came back to watch us. He said it was a lovely sight, the three of us working together. I wondered then if he was doing this for Rachel—like maybe she secretly wanted to spend time with us, so he was engineering it. But Rachel didn’t look happy. Just blank, like always.
When dinner was ready, Don asked Clem to pour wine at the dinner table and light the candles. I guess she felt guilty, because she did it without complaining. And then we were all sitting around this long, dramatic table, with a huge chandelier over the top, and Don at the head. It was dark without lights—romantic, but also unnerving. I’ll never forget the way Don looked, glowing in the candlelight. He’d never been more mysterious or unreachable. I wanted so badly to know him.
He raised his glass and said, “A toast to my girls.” He caught my eye and winked, and I remembered how he’d told me I could call him Don, or Dad, or Peter, whatever I wanted.
It was getting harder and harder to know what I wanted.
We sipped, but before we could pick up our forks, Don said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the three of you, and how I want to make sure you’re reaching your highest potential. Doing what you were put on this earth to do. As I’ve gotten to know you better, I’ve realized—and I hope you don’t mind me saying this—that each of you has been profoundly misunderstood. Abandoned in different ways by the people who should’ve taken care of you. I think it’s safe to assume that no one—not your schools, your teachers, your friends, not even your family—has ever really seen you. I can sense it when you talk about the past. Other people haven’t known what’s best for you.” One by one, he looked around the table, and when he got to me, I had that feeling again, like he could see inside me.
Then Clem said, all sarcastic, “And you know what’s best?”
Laurel kicked her under the table, and I didn’t blame her. What Don said meant something to me. He was right that I’d always felt alone. In that moment, I almost hated Clem. It felt like she was dismissing me, not Don.
But he only smiled at her, like she was a naughty child. “I’m saying we’re all on a journey to become the people we’re meant to be. I think we can get there faster if we go together. I’ve learned a lot in my life. Had the privilege of meeting a lot of brilliant people and studying important ideas.”
I wondered again about Don’s life before we met him, but he kept going. He said, “The ideas that shaped Western democracy have fallen out of favor in our anti-Enlightenment age. I think I could give you a unique perspective you’re not getting in school. I could serve as a mentor of sorts, if you’re interested.”
Laurel said, “I’m interested,” and he grinned at her. It gave me a sinking feeling.
He said, “What if I were to say that in our frenzy to make sure everyone and everything is treated equally, we’ve bulldozed over nuance, erased essential differences between people. More than that, we actively deny differences these days. We’re all so afraid to be honest about what comes natural to us that we go our whole lives pretending to be people we’re not.”
Clem said, “What kind of differences are you talking about?”
Don looked at each of us in turn, and said, “I’ve mentioned Aristotle. One of the most enlightened thinkers to ever walk this earth. He laid the foundation for how we understand virtue and ethics because he was able to see into human nature with more clarity than most people ever do. But he wasn’t alone. Plato, Socrates—so many of our foundational thinkers, the greats—saw right into the hearts of men and women. They saw how deeply women were fulfilled by nurturing and inspiring, how men were fulfilled by creating and leading. They didn’t bemoan it; they celebrated it. Think about Dante, how he created The Divine Comedy.”