“No, Pappa!” Ashif balls his fists on the table. “I’m talking about you. You are the one who’s not cut out for business. Please just stop. For your sake and ours, too.”

Mansoor slaps the table. “How dare you talk to me—”

“Here you go,” the waiter says, sliding their orders in front of them.

Mansoor and Ashif fall silent. They gape at the food as if failing to understand what is expected of them.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asks.

“We’re fine, thanks.” Ashif pushes his bowl of granola and yogurt away. He leans forward and tries a new tack. “Look, Pappa. I know you’ve tried. We all do. You don’t have to worry—I’m here. I’ll take care of you and Mummy. This cheque is only your first instalment. I will support you. I want to,” he says, trying to convince his father, himself too.

His son has some middle-management job, and he thinks he owns the world. As if Mansoor needs his money. “What about your promotion? Have you got it yet?” Mansoor shoves a piece of steak into his mouth and chews vigorously. Thirty-eight dollars for this? A complete waste of money.

Ashif sits back in his chair and lets out a sigh. “Not yet, but I will.”

“Maybe they are considering you for a layoff?” Mansoor slides the cheque across the table to Ashif.

“I’m one of their top employees, Pappa. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Ashif half yells, unable to hold back his anger.

Two men at another table turn to look at them.

“Keep your voice down!” Mansoor says, motioning to the other tables with his knife. “We are not in some low-class place. What will people think?”

“I don’t care what they think.” Ashif sinks his spoon into the granola.

Ashif’s outburst only reconfirms Mansoor’s thoughts. His son will get laid off. No question about it. No one wants an employee who can’t control himself. He reminds himself why they’re here today: he needs to save his boy. “Quit, son! Come join me. Together we are unbeatable.” He then hands Ashif the silver-plated business-card holder. “Go ahead, open it,” he says with a broad smile.

Ashif pulls out a slip of card stock, a mocked-up business card in his father’s handwriting. ASHIF M. VISRAM, B.COMM. (WITH DISTINCTION), SHAREHOLDER & PARTNER,M.G. VISRAM & SON DRY CLEANERS, LTD. He throws the paper and card holder down. “I’m not going to join the business, Pappa. Not now. Not ever. Get that through your head.” He slides the cheque to his father. “This is your first instalment. But you will not, I repeat, use this money or any future money I send you for this business or any other business. You understand?”

Mansoor refuses the cheque with a shake of his head.

“This isn’t a game, Pappa! You need to stop thinking about yourself. Think about us for once.”

Mansoor is perplexed by his son’s words. Think about them? That’s all he does. His whole life is about them. His family. There is no difference for him between who he is and who they are. “Everything is for you….”