"Thought you'd be the more
mature one."
"And you think you're so
mature with all you goddamn money and shiny expensive shit?"
I scoff. "None of that makes me
mature. You could have joined the Dabney-Aparo brand, but you chose not to, and that's fucking on you. My money doesn't make me happy. My expensive shit doesn't make me happy. I had hoped seeing you and the kids could make me happy, but that just so happened to be wishful thinking. I'm a fucking lonely forty-five-year-old man who has nobody, but what I do have is a clear conscience and a good head on my shoulders. So yes, maybe I am
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