“Mr. Carterson liked to say that I ruined his career, but you can see how untrue that is. More than that, his movie still made a profit, though maybe not as big as he was expecting. And he definitely didn’t win any Oscars, that’s for sure. But he always blamed me for all of that, and never considered that maybe a single reviewer doesn’t have the power to entirely destroy a film. Maybe that film was broken and terrible from the start.
“I never forgave him. I hated him, actually, for a long time. After I quit the Times, I struggled for a few years. I met your father during this period, and I ended up going into academia, which was the best thing I’ve ever done. But because of Eli Carterson, I had some of the most difficult years of my life. Everything was a struggle, and it was all because I wrote one stupid review. I can’t forgive that terrible, awful, piece of shit man. He was petty, and I’m sure he still is. If I were you, I’d stay away from his son.
“Because if his son is anything like his father, he’s bad news. I would stay away from Noah Carterson.”
Chapter Seven
“Why haven’t you ever told me about this?” I asked, my mind reeling. I could barely comprehend her story, let alone understand how she must feel about Noah’s dad.
“It was a long time ago, honey. It just doesn’t matter anymore.” She shrugged and smiled. My mom wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, but it had become clear that she felt strangely about Mr. Carterson, and it was easy to see why.
What kind of person tries to sabotage another person’s career, all because of a bad review? I couldn’t understand the kind of man who would do that, let alone to someone as sweet as my mother.
He must have been a monster.
“But Mom, he tried to destroy you.”
She nodded, still smiling. “Yes, he did, and he almost succeeded. But I moved on, and things are going just fine for me now.”
I understood why she didn’t want to talk about it. My mom was constantly trying to get me to make up my own mind about things, and not to let her own feelings influence me too much. Even when she was showing me movies, she worked hard to keep her own opinion from me until I had formed my own ideas. She must have understood that I was interested in Noah, and she didn’t want her own experience with the Carterson family to sway me in any direction.
But the question was, did it?
Noah wasn’t his father. The children of bad people aren’t necessarily bad themselves, although Noah certainly was an asshole. Was being a complete and total douchebag heritable? Was evil genetic, like brown or blue eyes? So far, Noah hadn’t shown me anything particularly awful; on the contrary, he was trying to help out a friend of his, and he seemed genuinely interested in me. But he was constantly making sexual jokes and acting so cocky.
Being an asshole was one thing, but was he a bad person, too?
I shook my head, completely taken aback. “That’s a lot to take in,” I said.
“You really shouldn’t worry about it, honey. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“But Mr. Carterson did something awful to you. Something seriously evil, Mom.”
“He did, but he isn’t his son.”
“I know Mom, but still, it’s hard to pretend like I didn’t hear that story.”
Suddenly, she got a very serious look on her face. She nodded her head once, and reached out to take my hand. “Listen to me, Linda. You can’t judge a son based on the sins of his father. If Noah Carterson is a decent guy, then I say you should give him a chance. And this is coming from someone who genuinely despises his father.”
That little speech wasn’t like her. Normally, she was more passive, and actively avoided giving me advice. I smiled and squeezed her hand in return, and felt genuinely glad she had decided to break her own non-intervention rules.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll think about it.”
She nodded and pulled her hand away. “Good,” she said, and then started to gather her things. We paid the bill and left, my mind still reeling from her story.
We parted ways at the subway station, and I climbed down the stairs in a daze of confusion. I didn’t know what I should expect from Noah, or if there was even any reason to expect anything. He was being nice to me, but that could have been only because we were going to have to work together.
More than that, did he know about what happened between our parents?
Back home, I climbed the stairs into the apartment, buzzing with confusion and nervous energy. Unfortunately, Chris wasn’t home, and I had nobody to talk endlessly at until I worked myself into some semblance of sanity. Instead, I collapsed onto the couch. I flicked on the TV and surfed through the channels. Noah had seemed normal the last time I talked to him, despite my accidentally insulting him. We had a lot in common, actually, and even shared the same taste in movies. In my book, that was the most important thing in the world.