The first year, Steve called me a "freeloader." I kept my mouth shut, telling myself that time would reveal my worth.
The second year, Valerie said I "wasn't good enough for the Henson family." I smiled it off, telling myself that all I had to do was prove myself at Henson Group.
The third year, I doubled Henson Group's revenue. At the dinner table, Otis said, "Good numbers this year." He didn't mention my name.
I told myself it was fine. He knew. That was enough.
The fourth year. The fifth. The sixth.
Every year was the same.
Every New Year's Eve, the relatives gathered together, and I sat in the farthest corner. I listened to them talk about whose kid had gone abroad, who'd bought a mansion, whose son-in-law had just been promoted to VP.
Nobody spoke to me. Nobody cared what I'd done for the company.
Last New Year's Eve dinner, Steve had too much to drink and blurted out in front of a dozen family members: "Seriously, Joe, you're running around the office like a headless chicken all day. What's even in it for you?"
"No equity. No dividends. You're not even a director."
"Don't tell me you actually think you have a stake in Henson Group."
Everyone laughed.
Felicity laughed too. She told me later, "Don't pay attention to him. He was drunk."
But in the moment, she hadn't said a word.
She never spoke up for me in front of those people. Not once.
It was always afterward, when it was just the two of us, that she'd say softly, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
And then everything went back to normal.
I didn't go back to the office. Instead, I called up Solomon James for drinks.
Solomon was a colleague from my days at the research institute, and the only friend who'd stayed in touch over the years.
We met at a little hole-in-the-wall on the south side of town.
He was already inside when I arrived.
"There he is."
"Day off? Don't have to keep the wife company?"
I shook my head.
He read something in my face and didn't push it. Just lifted his glass and clinked it against mine.
We drank the first few rounds fast, without much talking.
The place was nearly empty. The owner was behind the counter scrolling through his phone, and some news broadcast murmured from the TV on the wall.
After a few more rounds, Solomon started to open up.
"Joseph, you've gotten thin." He pointed at me. "Back at the institute, you had this energy about you. Now you look like you've aged twenty years."
I said nothing. Took another sip.
He clapped me on the shoulder. "Honestly, man, sometimes I think you got a raw deal."
"Back at the institute, who didn't respect you? That algorithm model of yours. Marvin talked about it all the time. Said you were the best talent he ever mentored, that your future was limitless."
"And then what? You just up and left."
I picked up a peanut, tossed it in my mouth, and chewed.
Back then, I'd been leading the algorithm framework for a core project. Three straight months buried in the lab, sleeping four or five hours a night. Writing code until two or three in the morning was routine. When exhaustion hit, I'd crash on a cot for a few hours and get right back to it at dawn.
The day the system finally ran clean, the whole team exhaled.
Marvin Lawrence slapped the table during a group meeting and declared that this young man was going places.
I was twenty-one that year, my head full of nothing but architecture design and model optimization, convinced the future held infinite possibilities.
Then I met Felicity.
I spoke slowly. "The road I took was my own choice."
"I know." Solomon raised his glass. "But I think you chose wrong."
"You gave up everything for love. And what did it get you? You think I haven't heard what your life's been like with the Hensons?"
"Marrying in, doing their grunt work, getting looked down on by every last one of them. What's the point?"
I didn't answer.
He took a sip, eyeing me through half-closed lids. "Joseph, let me ask you something. If you had the chance, would you be willing to come back to the institute?"
