They should have felt better.
“Thank you,” I said.
“So, will you come to Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t know, Mom. I need to think about it.”
“Of course. Take your time. And Ethan?”
“Yeah?”
“I really am proud of you. Not because of the money or the Forbes cover or any of that. I’m proud because you did something you believed in, even when everyone told you not to. That takes courage. I should have seen it sooner.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “You should have.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
After we hung up, I sat in my office for a long time, looking out at the city.
Success was supposed to feel triumphant, wasn’t it? Vindication was supposed to be sweet.
But mostly, I just felt tired.
Raj knocked on my door.
“You look contemplative. What’s up?”
“My mom invited me to Thanksgiving, and… and I don’t know if I want to go.”
Raj settled into his usual chair.
“Do you want my advice?”
“Always.”
“Go,” he said. “Not because they deserve it, but because you do. You spent five years proving yourself to them. Don’t spend the next five punishing them. That’s just another way of letting them define who you are.”
I looked at him.
“When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You’re just finally listening.”
“Fair enough.”
I thought about it for another week.
Then I called my mother back.
“I’ll come to Thanksgiving,” I said. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“We don’t talk about my company. We don’t talk about money or success or valuations. If you want me there, it’s because you want me there. Ethan, your son. Not Ethan, the CEO.”
“Deal,” she said immediately. “Absolutely. Whatever you want.”
“Okay, then I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
Thanksgiving was strange.
My family tried too hard, complimenting everything I said, asking careful questions about my interests, treating me like I might shatter if they said the wrong thing.
It was better than being dismissed, but it was still weird.
Jessica and Marcus were there. She’d apologized three more times before dinner. Marcus asked if we could talk shop for just five minutes and looked genuinely disappointed when I said no.
Amanda, though, Amanda was different.
She asked about my apartment. I’d recently upgraded to a penthouse, but I didn’t mention that. She asked about Raj, about my hobbies, about what I did for fun when I wasn’t working.
“Honestly,” I said, “I don’t know anymore. I’ve been working so hard for so long, I kind of forgot how to do anything else.”
“We should fix that,” she said. “I know a great pottery class. Very not tech-related.”
“Pottery?”
“You get to smash things when they don’t turn out right. Very therapeutic.”
I laughed.
“Hey. Yeah, let’s try pottery.”
After dinner, my father pulled me aside.
“Son, I need to say something.”
I braced myself.