CHAPTER SEVEN
SETH
My day starts the same way it has been for the past several. Jennifer teasing me about my increasingly adventurous yoga poses, our morning walk, and then breakfast together. I'm learning to breathe through the difficulty and to sit with discomfort instead of fixing or avoiding it.
I'm also learning to be present.
But then my laptop pings with an email notification, and everything changes.
I see the subject line even though I'm not supposed to be checking email: URGENT - Board Meeting Moved Up - Your Presence Required.
My stomach drops.
“What's wrong?” Jennifer asks. She's loading the dishwasher, but she stops with a dish in her hand to look over my way.
“Nothing. Just...” I close the laptop and roll my suddenly stiff shoulders. “Work stuff.”
“Seth.”
The way she says my name, gentle but firm, makes me look up and a pang of guilt zips through me.
“It's a board meeting,” I admit. “They moved it up and want me there next week.”
An adorable frown tugs her lips down, and she drops the dish into the dishwasher and plants her fists on her hips. “You're not supposed to fly for another two and a half weeks.”
I nod. She knows exactly what the doctor told me. One morning during our walk, she made me go over it word by word, and since my memory is fantastic, it was pretty much verbatim. “I know.”
She gives me a sharp nod back, a challenging look narrowing her eyes. “So tell them no.”
I huff and shake my head. Oh, how easy she makes it sound. But she’s not part of the business world, so she doesn’t understand. “It's the board,” I explain gently. “I can't just-”
“Yes, you can,” she cuts me off. Drying her hands, she comes and sits next to me at the island. “What's the meeting about?”
Okay, her asking questions is good. I can get her to see how illogical it is for me to skip this meeting. “Q3 projections. Strategic planning for Q4. The usual.”
“Do you need to be there in person for that?” she presses.
I start to say yes automatically because I’m the CEO, of course I should be there, but she's looking at me with those eyes that see too much, and I force myself to actually think about it.
“No,” I admit slowly. “I could video conference. They won't like it, but I could.”
Pleased, she smiles. “Then do that.”
“They're going to push back,” I tell her, already imagining the fuss I’m going to get from my COO over this. “People will say I'm not committed and that I'm abandoning my responsibilities.”
“Are you?”
The question catches me off guard. “Am I what?”
“Abandoning your responsibilities.” She reaches for my hand. “Or are you finally taking responsibility for the one thing that actually matters? Your life.”
I stare at our joined hands. Her fingers are small in mine, but her grip is firm and steady.
“I'm scared,” I hear myself say. “What if I let go and it all falls apart? The company, my reputation, everything I've built?”
“And what if you hold on and you fall apart?” She squeezes my hand. “Seth, you can't pour from an empty cup. You have to fill yourself first.”
Grinning, I squeeze her hand back. “When did you get so wise?”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know about being wise, this is all just common sense.” She levels me with a look that says she doubts I possess much of that.
Coming from anyone else, I’d be insulted, but from her, I simply laugh as some of the tightness in my chest eases. “Okay. I'll video conference. I'll tell them I'm not coming back early.”
“Good.” She stands, and I immediately miss her warmth. “Now, I believe we have lunch to make. Grilled chicken salads, right? You’ll help with the dressing?”
We spend the afternoon researching more heart-healthy recipes.
Mostly because I’ll take every moment I possibly can get with her and also because I’m getting tired of so much chicken.
Surely other foods have to be healthy as well?
My doctor mentioned the Mediterranean diet, and Jennifer immediately pulls out her phone, which I can’t help noticing is an older model with a cracked screen.
I’d buy her a new one tomorrow, but she won’t accept it. My sweet little Jennifer is far too stubborn when it comes to certain things. I have the money, so why can’t I spend it on things and people that make me happy? And nobody has ever made me happier than Jennifer.
“Okay, so lots of fish, olive oil, vegetables, whole grains,” she reads, breaking into my thoughts. “We can do this. What do you actually like to eat?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Besides coffee and determination?”
She swats my arm. “Real food, Seth.”
Laughing, we end up sprawled on the couch, my laptop between us as we go down a rabbit hole of recipes. She saves the ones that sound good and makes notes about the ingredients we'll need. It's domestic, comfortable, and everything I didn't know I was missing in my life. Or that I actually wanted.
“Oh, this one.” She points to a Greek chicken recipe. “With lemon and oregano. That sounds amazing.”
I grimace at the mention of more chicken but tell her, “Save it. We'll make it this week.”
“And this shakshuka for breakfast. Have you ever had it?”
“No, but it looks good.”
She's practically bouncing with excitement now, and I love seeing her like this. Animated and engaged, talking about cumin and harissa like they're the most important things in the world.
“You really like this,” I observe. “Cooking. Taking care of people.”
“I guess I do.” She looks almost surprised by the realization. “I never really thought about it as something I was good at. It was just... something I did.”
“You're very good at it.” I tug her closer until she's tucked against my side. “You're taking care of me, and I'm actually getting better. That's not nothing.”
Pink fills her cheeks. “You're doing the work. I'm just helping.”
“You're doing more than helping.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “You're giving me a reason to do the work.”
We sit like that for a while, comfortable and quiet, the laptop forgotten. Her hand rests on my chest, right over my heart, and I think about how two weeks ago that heart was failing.
Now it's healing.
Because of her.
***
I wake up and am shocked to see it’s after seven. This never happens. Lying there, I take stock of myself. I'm not anxious or stressed. I don’t have the gloom of the upcoming day hanging over me. Instead, I’m… excited.
Excited to see Jennifer. Looking forward to our morning walk, and cooking breakfast together and arguing about whether quinoa actually tastes good or if people just pretend it does. I’m not the biggest fan but I tolerate it.
This is what living feels like, I realize. Not existing, not grinding through obligations, but actually living.
I take my morning meds, check my blood pressure (128/82 - the best yet), and I'm making coffee when I hear her car on the gravel.
I meet her at the door with her cup already prepared. Cream, no sugar.
“Good morning,” I say, and I can hear the smile in my own voice.
“Good morning.” She takes the coffee, goes up on her toes, and kisses me. Just a soft press of lips, casual and sweet. Like we do this every day.
Like this is normal.
And maybe it is becoming normal. This new life I'm building, where health and happiness matter more than quarterly earnings.
“Ready for the walk?” she asks.
“Always.”
We take the trail at our usual pace, and I tell her about the email I sent to my board last night. How I declined the in-person meeting and offered to video conference instead. I skim over how venomously they pushed back but take satisfaction in telling her how they ultimately agreed.
“How do you feel about it?” she asks.
I consider that before answering. “Nervous, relieved, and oddly proud of myself.”
“That’s not odd at all. You stood up for yourself. That's huge.”
I snake my arm around her waist and tug her closer. “I'm learning from a very stubborn woman who steals my phone when I'm being an idiot.”
She laughs and pushes lightly at my side. “That was one time.”
“It was exactly what I needed.”
We stop at our favorite spot, where the trail opens up to a view of the whole lake.
The sun is higher now, turning the water a brilliant and calm turquoise.
Jennifer leans against me, and I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on top of her head and feeling the warmth of the sun, breathing in the fresh air and just enjoying everything about this. “I could get used to this,” I murmur.
“The view?”
“All of it. The quiet. The slowness. You.”
She turns in my arms, silently looking up at me.
“I know. It's been less than two weeks. I know it's fast.” I cup her face and trace her cheekbones with my thumbs. “But I need you to know. This isn't temporary for me.” I clarify so there’s no mistaking my meaning, “You're not temporary.”
“Seth,” she says softly, pulling away.
Not willing to let her go, I tug her back. “Look at me,” I urge.
And when she does, what I see in her eyes takes my breath away.
I kiss her there on the trail, with the morning sun warm on our shoulders and the lake glittering below us, and I've never been more certain of anything in my life.
Whatever this is, whatever we're building, it's worth more than any deal or acquisition or quarterly earnings report.
It's worth living for and I’m not about to let it go.