Man of the Year (Drake Story)

Chapter Tre

“You know, I have a golf course at my own home bigger than that one,” Uncle said to the waiter who wrote down our orders. “It’s more attractive and bigger too.”

Uncle sort of mumbled this, as if he wasn’t talking to anybody in particular, so we—the ‘new guests’—didn’t respond, and the waiter just nodded awkwardly. We all knew what he had and how it was far grander than what everybody else had. He was not only a rich person, but a famous rich person. I’d seen about five people so far point him out and whisper, “Hey, isn’t that the rich man? What’s his name again?”

Drake Graham.

“Will that be all?” The waiter asked. We all nodded and he walked off with his notepad, punching our orders into a computer for the chefs to receive. In the meantime, we waited with half-full glasses of water that waitresses were constantly refilling and little heart-shaped cookies with jam in the middle. I didn’t know exactly what flavor the jam was, but Keziah seemed to be enjoying it. She was the type to enjoy anything, I slowly began to notice.

Belphoebe, on the other hand, was the type to not enjoy anything at all.

When Uncle told me to search for her, I didn’t (of course) but pretended to be looking for her for about an hour and a half. After that, I pretended to find her, and then told Uncle that she said she wouldn’t be joining us for lunch due to cramps. He believed me without any further questions (according to him, he hated a woman on her period), and we were off.

None of the newbies were talking to me besides Keziah, still. It was just the newbies, Uncle, and his wife, Madeleine. She came along after hiding for two whole days in her bedroom. She was on her period then, but she was over it now, fortunately for Uncle. Madeleine looked a lot like her husband, with slanted eyes, plump lips and fair skin. Her hair was different than his though—the remainder of Uncle’s hair was thin and platinum blonde, while Madeleine’s was still long down to her butt, thick, and black without a streak of gray. That definitely cut a few years from her age. Dad used to always say that when she finally came to her senses and left Uncle Drake, she’d come crawling into my father’s hands.

I chuckled at the thought of those days when he used to make a million jokes about Uncle and his family.

“What’s so funny?” Keziah asked. None of the rest of the table heard her, because we were against the window and they were all the way across from us. The restaurant was fairly loud, anyway.

“I’m just remembering something,” I told her.

“What is it? I’d like to laugh, too.”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and turned to look out the window at the golf course outside of the restaurant.

“Can you play golf?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Golf has always looked really boring and pointless to me.”

“For a lot of people, yeah. That’s how I felt when I was younger and my Dad took me to play golf for the first time. I told him that, too. I said: this is a pointless sport, Dad. And he asked me: does any sport have a point?”

Keziah stayed silent for a moment, her glassy eyes settling upon nothing in particular, probably thinking. Finally she turned to me.

“That’s interesting. It’s not just sports, you know? What isn’t pointless to us? School was pointless, chores were pointless—everything we don’t like is and has always been pointless to us. The only things that we don’t see as meaningless are the things we like to do, the things that are fun, which most of the time is truly futile. Nothing matters if you think that way.” She said.