Chapter Eight: Dinner with the Williams
The Williams dining room was a study in quiet authority. The light was warm but not intimate. The cutlery was silver. The table was large enough to create distance between people who might otherwise be uncomfortable.
Bryan had worn his best suit. It was modest and clean and pressed with care, and in this room it looked like exactly what it was — the best he had, which was not what this room required.
Mr. Williams sat at the head of the table with the ease of a man who had sat there for decades. He was sixty years old and had the particular quality of men who have worked hard enough and long enough to have nothing left to prove, which made him, paradoxically, easier to be around than his wife, who was still in the business of managing perceptions.
"So Bryan," Mr. Williams said, smiling with apparent ease, "Judy tells us a lot about you. Tell me, what do you do?"
Bryan cleared his throat. "Sir, I'm a contractor. I run a small construction company — IPG Construction."
Mrs. Williams, across the table, lifted her wine glass and looked at him over the rim.
"That's nice," she said, after Judy jumped in with a detail about a project, a detail Bryan could see was carefully chosen to sound like more than it was. Mrs. Williams could see it too. "How long has IPG been running?"
"Three years, ma. It's been... tough."
"Tough is good," Mr. Williams said. He cut his meat with deliberate ease. "Tough builds character." He studied Bryan over the plate. "So you met my daughter how?"
"He helped me with my bag at the mall, Daddy." Judy's voice was smooth, filling in just enough. "Quite a gentleman."
Mrs. Williams watched her daughter with the attention of someone who has been reading her since birth. She knew Judy was packaging. She knew Judy was leaving things out. She said nothing about it directly, but her next question did the work instead.
"And you live where, Bryan?"
"Mainland, ma. Two-bedroom flat. With my friend Johnson."
The pause that followed was small and precise. Mr. Williams raised an eyebrow. Mrs. Williams set her fork down with the care of a woman choosing her next move.
"I see," she said. She forced a smile. "Well. It's good you came. Family is important."
Judy exhaled beside him. Mr. Williams said something warm about eating. Bryan picked up his fork and tried to feel like a man who belonged at this table, and not a man being politely measured for inadequacy.
Under the tablecloth, Judy found his hand and squeezed it.
He held on.
* * *