She looked at him. He did not offer a lesson, and she was grateful. Instead he said, “My father and I haven’t spoken in seven months.” Claire turned toward him.
“He’ll be at my mother’s dinner,” Jack continued. “That’s part of why I’m trying so hard to get there.” “What happened?”
Jack looked at the dark florist kiosk across from them. “He offered me partnership in his construction company. I said no. He told me architecture was a hobby with drafting paper unless somebody like him built what I drew. I told him maybe the reason every room he enters feels like a negotiation is because he doesn’t know the difference between building and owning.”
Claire winced. “You went for precision.” “I was angry.” “Was it true?”
“Mostly.” “That makes it worse.” “Yes.” For the first time since they met, their reasons for going home stopped sounding like anecdotes and started sounding like unfinished business.
At eight, the airport lights dimmed slightly in several unused sections to conserve power. A maintenance worker dragged a fake Christmas tree from a shuttered customer-service desk toward the center concourse because one of its electrical outlets had failed. Its tinsel hung crookedly. Two children immediately began decorating the lower branches with airline luggage tags.
Claire watched them. “Do you have nieces or nephews?” she asked. “Three. My sister has twins who are convinced I build skyscrapers by myself.”
“You let them believe that?” “I’ve corrected them. They reject my version.” Claire smiled. “Rebecca wants kids immediately.”
“And you?” The question surprised her. “Eventually.” “Eventually is where people put difficult truths.”