Robert was already sitting a table when we arrived. He was most decidedly not happy to see me, and he made that very clear from the first instant he saw us.
"This table only seats two," he said by way of greeting his son in person for the first time in years.
"Well, let's move to another one, then," Thomas said, turning away from him to look for the hostess.
"This is between you and me," Robert said. "He has no place here."
"Thomas-" I started to intervene, because in a way Robert was right and I wasn't going to stand in the way of a reconciliation or let Robert use me as an excuse for anything, but Thomas shook his head at me and turned back to his father.
"Look, I'm here because you have something you want to say to me. So either say it or don't; I don't really give a shit. But Scott stays."
"Fine," Robert ground out.
We spent an awkward two or three minutes waiting silently for the hostess to re-seat us and then trying to decide how to sit around three sides of a square table, since any arrangement put somebody either next to and/or across from someone they didn't want. We finally ended up with Thomas sitting across his father and me on his right. At least whenever I looked up from my plate, I could see the tasteful breakfast buffet setup, rather than somebody glaring at me. But I didn't look up from my plate a whole lot during the entire excruciating meal. Which didn't last long enough for me to even get through my first cup of coffee.
When Thomas flung his napkin on the table and stood up to leave, I trailed after him, neither of us saying goodbye to Robert.
"What the fuck was that?" Thomas repeated wildly two or three times in the elevator, running his fingers through his hair and almost pulling on it, while two women unfortunate enough to be sharing the ride down with us tried not to stare openly and cowered against the wall as far away from him as possible.
"It's okay," I murmured, putting my hand on his arm in an effort to calm him down, but he almost flung it off, causing the women to exchange open looks of alarm.
"No, it's not fucking okay! Senile old bastard."
The doors slid open on the ground floor and all four of us made our escape. The Ren Cen is a confusing circular hub and we got a little lost trying to find the exit (and obviously I was no help, given my sense of direction). Thomas grew more and more frustrated, and he stalked by the exit we wanted twice before finally noticing it.
"Fucking asshole," Thomas continued his rant as we stood waiting for a cab. "But it's not his fault. It's mine. As if I didn't fucking know better."
Despite the situation, I was fascinated and almost amused by his reaction. I had never, ever seen Thomas express anger so openly before, not even during our final weeks together, and now it was almost like watching a mediocre actor, the gestures and actions all just a little bit off, not because the emotion wasn't genuine, but because Thomas had always been taught to repress everything and simply had no practice in throwing a temper tantrum.
He threw himself into the cab, crossed his arms and glared ahead of him, lips pressed into a thin white line, so it was left up to me to give the name of our hotel. On the plane yesterday, he'd mentioned perhaps visiting the Motown Museum or the Detroit Institute of Arts after finishing up with his father, but somehow I didn't think this was the right time to check if he still felt like doing something.
During the short drive back I sat next to Thomas feeling absolutely useless and brooding on the meeting. It had gone much as I'd expected it to, though I'd fervently hoped otherwise and, in my wildest imaginings, couldn't have anticipated Robert's gall. He had magnanimously decided to give Thomas one last chance, provided Thomas changed his ways. He acknowledged that Thomas perhaps couldn't overcome his "unnatural tendencies" or might "continue making sick choices." However, Thomas was his only child, and he would prefer that his assets (much diminished after GM's Chapter 11 reorganization, he explained in a brief but heartfelt aside, glaring at me as I was somehow to blame for that, as well) remain within the family. Therefore, Robert was prepared to consider not leaving everything to his alma mater (which, had Thomas only attended it, might have made a real man out of him), provided Thomas agreed to immediately move back to the house in Grosse Pointe, where Robert could monitor him, and...
I didn't get to hear the rest, because that's when Thomas, who hadn't said a single word since we'd sat down, got up and walked out. And even though I'd witnessed the entire thing, I still couldn't quite believe it. I'd thought I'd understood the environment Thomas had grown up in, but now that I'd finally met his father, I realized that I'd really had no idea.
I didn't think I could have helped Thomas work through this even if we had still been together, let alone now, unless it was to show him how to throw a real hissy fit, including punching the wall, thus breaking the two middle knuckles of his right hand, and then drinking himself into a stupor. Not that I'd ever done that myself, nor walked around with a cast for the following four weeks.
"Do you want to do anything later?" I asked him once we'd reached our hotel, finally deciding that if I can't help him, I might, at least, distract him. My door came first as we walked down the hallway from the elevator, and instead of going to his own door, he followed me into my room. He stood at the desk and started re-arranging the brochures again.
"No. We might as well see if there's an earlier flight back home that we can catch. I'm sorry I ruined your weekend."
He sounded so defeated. I preferred the anger.
"You didn't, Tommy. I wish I could have helped."
He sighed. "I was a fool to expect more, right? What, that he'd change his mind about us after all these years?" He laughed, a small bitter sound. "I did, though. I thought, I don't know, that he maybe had a near-death experience or something, and that maybe he realized he had some regrets or that he should make amends. Fucking idiot."
I knew the last was addressed at himself, not Robert.
"I'd have felt the same way. Don't beat yourself up about it."
He turned around to face me.
"How could he even think I'd leave you after all these years?" he almost yelled at me.
"But Thomas..." I floundered for a response.
He went white as a sheet, when he realized what he'd said. He turned on his heel and walked through the connecting door between our rooms. This time he closed it firmly behind him, though I didn't hear him slide the bolt.
I followed him and reached out for the door knob, even put my hand on it, but in the end I didn't know if I could turn it.
