Spoilt

Aaron was tense. He didn’t hug his Father. Instead
he scuffed his calf-skin shoes importantly on the
shag-pile carpet. I was appalled. Moshe struggled
to defrost the situation. He ordered expensive wine
and asked to see the menu. Aaron squirmed in his
seat, striking his knife on the table top. He was a
sulking hulk of a man. I took an instant dislike to
him. Spoilt, that’s the word I would have used. We
ordered our meals in icy silence. William knocked
over a tall glass of juice. Aaron glared brutally his
way. Our lunch order was late. I just knew that
Aaron would make some belly ache. He was vile to
an apologetic server. The poor man scurried away
like a whipped cur. Unexpectedly Mr Steinberg
smirked broadly, and reprimanded his son. Aaron
pulled a long face, just like a scolded child.
Suddenly the chemistry in the room was different.
Shyly, awkwardly at first, Mr Steinberg and his
estranged son began to talk.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

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