Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
HAPPILY EVER BEFORE
Will
No doubt Gerry put two and two together the second he got back to his seat, probably congratulating himself on his elementary school math skills. I'd spotted my brother the minute I walked in. Kind of hard to miss Alfie when he's holding court like a corporate King Arthur with his nights spent around tables, but it didn't matter.
She quite literally called to me.
Beckoned me over with those desperate eyes, and when I saw how visibly uncomfortable she was being cornered by one of the lackeys, I would have been willing to do a whole lot more than just a quick intervention.
She did say she was unavailable earlier. Was that because we were jumping right into a full-blown relationship? Sounds good to me. We probably would have gotten there anyway after a handful of walks in the park, a couple of dinners, and well, whatever else you might want to call those moments when you realize someone could absolutely ruin your life.
If I'm right, and I try to make a habit of it, Gerry, is also known as Fitzgerald Addams. Yes, like those founding-fathers Addams, though his family tree has about as much revolutionary spirit as a corporate tax return. He's about seven years my senior but has been in prep school with Alfie since they were teenagers. Just enough intersection in our lives to make me identifiable in a way he could scamper back and tell him I was here. And worse, that I'm not alone.
Alfie isn't someone I'd expose just anyone to. He's a model of my father in all ways but one, actual backbone. That has been replaced by the sterling rod shoved so far up his ass, he only knows which way to turn based on dad's adjustment of it. It's like watching a ventriloquist act where the dummy got an MBA.
Arden looks confused, maybe she thinks he's confused.
"I'd preemptively apologize... but remember, you were the one who started this," I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel. Of all the people who would bet on me, my older brothers aren't names I'd add to that list. Unfortunately, they have reason not to.
As far as they're both concerned, I broke the cardinal family rule and haven't handed in my corporate conscription card yet. Each delay causes more shifting in boardrooms that I don't have any interest in, like I'm somehow responsible for keeping their Earth's axis tilted correctly by showing up to quarterly meetings which I have no plan to attend.
The latest ultimatum came packaged with a Memorial Day deadline. The perfect timeline for them to announce their merger with my name freshly added to the board seat they've been dangling like a golden noose. Nearly a year of pushing back against this particular power play, but the expectation was always that I would return to take my seat at the table regardless of what my diploma said when I graduated. My Art History degree was something they considered a compromise, when I considered it my choice.
After our last conversation, I texted Alfie looking for some version of reconciliation. Or at least hoping I could get him to drop this whole thing once and for all. The last thing I need is any sort of countdown clock for the prodigal son's return. I've made the same mistake more than once thinking I could appeal to some sense of brotherhood, but his allegiance is never rooted in the same nostalgia mine is. Where every conversation turns more into a hostile negotiation over my soul than a chat between brothers.I had never intended, fuck never even considered, Arden would be here for it.
Alfie reaches the booth and slides in across from us, the smile on his face more concerning than if he'd showed up in anger.
"I didn't know you were bringing your girlfriend, Will... I'm sure you would have mentioned that." Some combination of curiosity and condescension laces his tone
"I didn't know you were bringing all of your apostles, Alfie... you definitely didn't mention that." The group of his followers crane their necks more likely curious about Arden than any brotherly love they might miss out on.
"Oh no, I don't mean to be rude…" he pivots toward Arden and my body tenses, but her fingers lace with mine and she pivots right back.
"Well, what do you mean to be then... because you're doing a pretty bang-up job at rude," she says without an ounce of hesitation.
People don't usually defend me, not about this. They see the Sterling name and assume I'm throwing away a golden ticket, turning my nose up at privilege. And yet, here she is. Perhaps the freedom of being someone's momentary fake girlfriend absolves you of the stress of meeting the family. Even one such as mine.
She's putting back on the mask of an actress and potentially repaying the favor despite the unease and unawareness she has in what's playing out right in front of her.
"I'm at a disadvantage, I didn't know you existed, let alone that you were coming tonight," Alfie says as he motions at the bar for a drink, his signet ring catching the light like a warning signal. The one I wear on my pinky to serve as a reminder of who I am, and more importantly who I'm not.
"What's your name?" he asks her.
"Arden," I jump in, feeling protective. "This is my older brother Alfred."
I bring our interlocked fingers beneath the table, into the darkness of her lap and release them so she's not trapped in this conversation or my grip. But she doesn't let go. Instead, she brings her other hand below to wrap around them as she shifts her body in the seat closer into me, like we're co-conspirators in a great art heist of our own making.
"Arden what?" He asks the question in a way that's so loaded and the smile she lets creep across her face tells me she's clocked the intention.
She tosses out the dismissive ‘Only child, and you wouldn't know my parents’ with the kind of confidence that makes me want to applaud.
I can see him mulling it over, tossing the idea around in his brain, searching for her in his mental contacts like she's a LinkedIn profile he can't quite place, but he notably comes up empty. In his world, not being able to place someone in the social hierarchy is like finding a glitch in the Matrix.
"Is she staying or going?" he asks, giving her the exit from being a bystander to this.
"Staying." she says without hesitation, like she's claiming her spot in this story. She kneels on the booth and leans across me, holding up two fingers to the bar to get us a couple of drinks as well. When she does, her body presses against mine in a way that indicates she also feels this sense that we're meant to be touching in any way possible.
It's silly. I felt it, when our arms pressed against each other and she didn't pull back, but the lack of hesitation feels like we're just meant to know each other. Like maybe we always have, in some parallel universe where I'm not the family disappointment and she's not my impromptu girlfriend.
She plops down in the seat and smiles as she's handed the two bottles of beer.
"You can put those on his tab," is all she says, and I wonder if she knows how much I'm already in debt to her presence.
"Will, how many times are we going to have this conversation?" Alfie crosses his arms maybe in a show of strength, but that's how he and my father will always be different. My father just exudes the power that Alfie tries to emulate, like comparing a lion to someone in a lion costume.
"Looks like at least once more." I take a slow sip from the beer and feign indifference, though I wonder if there's any of a childhood bond left that lets him see through it. The fact is, I'm fucking exhausted by it. I've had the same conversation with Alfie, and Cal, and of course our father.
The 'time is up' conversation.
The 'playtime is over' conversation.
But what none of them seem to understand is that this isn't playtime, this is my life. And sure, maybe I live it more freely than they do, but that's my choice to make. Whatever business deals they have lined up because they think they need another Sterling to sit in a boardroom isn't one I'm particularly inclined to make.
"You wanted to take time off after college, we let you." The way he says 'let you' makes my jaw clench. Like my life is something they graciously permit rather than something I own. Like I took a joyride in a stolen car, not that I show up everyday as a contributing member of society. But to them, it’s not a caliber of career that can be considered anything more than ‘time off.’
"It's time to put on a suit and show up for the life you're meant to have. Regardless of what you've got going on here."
With that he glances over to my right, where Arden is lazily strumming her fingers against the bottle like she's playing a tune more entertaining than this conversation.
What a funny concept, the life I'm meant to have. As if the life I'm meant to have is anything different than the one I'm choosing to live.
"Will, shouldn't we get going? We do have that dinner reservation and it sounds like we really need to talk about your future." Arden interjects, it's coated in sarcasm and mockery at the idea of a grown man being lectured about his plans by his brother. But my name falls from her lips like a match into gasoline as Alfie's eyes narrow looking for cracks.
Her hand finds my knee under the table, and the warmth bleeds through my jeans like sunlight through stained glass.
Alfie's eyes narrow, the cogs of suspicion turning behind them. He stands, straightening his jacket, a gesture that transforms him from brother to businessman in one practiced motion.
"This conversation isn't over."
"It never is," I reply, but he's already walking away, back to his disciples of dividends and their communion of corporate climbing.
The moment he's gone, Arden's shoulders drop an inch, but her hand stays on my knee.