Chapter 4 Stop Coasting #2
“I don’t know. It just felt like such a strange conversation, you know? She was definitely focused and paying close attention.”
“Yeah. Thanks Lauren. Keep me posted on anything else, okay?”
“Will do.” And with that, she was gone.
I stared at the empty doorway for a moment, sitting in the silence—Lauren's words echoing in my head. Really though, Jessica is a problem for another day.
Right now, I need to focus on my wife. I need to worry more about figuring out where shit went wrong with us.
A memory hit me like a punch to the gut. Three years ago. We had the issue with the Pemberton contract.
Felicity had planned our anniversary dinner—not Lauren. Mistral at 6:30. I could still picture her that morning, humming while she got ready for work, mentioning how much she was looking forward to our evening.
Then at 4 PM, Pemberton's CFO called. The contract we'd been counting on—the one that represented nearly thirty percent of our annual revenue—was being slashed.
They had reevaluated their office space with most of their workforce moving to remote.
This meant their construction partnerships needed review and our bids for the new builds and renovations were being reconsidered.
No capital for the space? No money for planned contracts.
I'd sat in my office doing the math. While we would retain the existing Pemberton work, most of those jobs were coming to an end. Losing the future contracts meant having to lay off Jake and several newer guys. I remember that Jake and his wife had just had twins.
When Pemberton's team said they could meet that evening to discuss salvaging part of the contract before they presented to their Board first thing in the morning—maybe keeping us on for specialized work instead of general construction—I didn't hesitate.
I'd called Felicity within a few minutes of getting off the phone with their CFO.
"Honey, I'm really sorry, I have to cancel tonight."
"Cancel?" The disappointment in her voice was immediate. "Caden, it's our anniversary."
"I know, I know. Emergency client meeting. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"But I already—" She'd stopped herself. "Okay. Sure. I get it."
"I'm so sorry, honey."
"Yeah, okay. I have to go. I'll see you at home."
She'd hung up. I'd told myself she understood. That she knew how important this was.
I realize now that by not telling her why, I'd completely failed in that moment.
I'd never explained how that meeting meant keeping a significant amount of revenue.
That we were still bleeding money from the pandemic shutdowns, that this contract was the difference between keeping people employed and laying off several of our workforce.
I didn't give her the chance to understand or even help me figure out another solution.
I'd saved part of the contract—managed to keep us on for the specialty millwork and high-end finishes. It meant only having to let go of one subcontractor and one employee versus the several that may have been impacted otherwise.
Meanwhile, Felicity had gone home and spent our anniversary alone.
When I'd gotten home at midnight, she was already asleep. The next morning, things had been fine with her. She asked how the meeting went and said she understood. She kissed me good morning, I apologized again but she brushed it off and never mentioned her disappointment again.
Looking back, I realize I'd let her brush it off.
I'd been so relieved she wasn't angry that I'd never bothered to explain the details.
I never told her I'd been trying to save people's jobs during the worst economic crisis of our lifetime.
I failed to read between the lines and avoided instead of confronting the issue.
And then, I can't remember even having a makeup dinner.
I may have—Lauren may even have scheduled it, but I honestly can't remember if we ended up celebrating at all.
Damn it. I've been killing our marriage with a thousand paper cuts. Every forgotten anniversary, every missed dinner, every delegated gift—they weren’t just disappointments.
They were betrayals. My God, I broke her heart one forgotten event at a time.
Time to stop being the man she resents—and figure out how to become the one she remembers loving. Time to make damn sure she knows how much that man still loves her.
I thought about calling my brother Cash or maybe Danny or one of my other cousins for help—the Barretts and Doyles had always been there for each other during crisis moments.
I pushed the thought away though. They all had a tendency to take over and this was something I needed to handle myself first before I bring in any reinforcements.
To start, I sent her a text, knowing I wouldn't get anything in response—not that I was owed one.
Me: We have reservations tonight. I know you probably won't come, but I'll be there regardless, just in case.
Me: I'm sorry. I know I haven’t done a good job of showing it, but you are my heart .