Chapter Sixteen
There he is,” Dad says by way of greeting. “My middle son, Liam, the future CEO of Weston Foods.”
My heart comes to a sudden, lurching stop, and I’m unsure how to respond in front of the senior editor of Forbes, Ellis Sikora. Throughout my life, Dad has said this to me a hundred times, but given that we haven’t spoken in five years—after the fight about my return to school rather than my return to the family company—any rational person would have assumed he’d have given up on me succeeding him at the top. It’s one thing to hope I’ll come back to Weston Foods; it’s another thing entirely to think I’d ever step into his corrupt shoes.
But of course, most people don’t know my father the way I do.
In the handful of seconds that follow, my brain cycles through a dozen different responses, trying to estimate the public fallout as well as my dad’s reaction to each one. A yes would be binding; a no would make the family gossip fodder and send the stock tanking, not to mention sending my father into a rage in private later. He’s daring me to choose which way I want to drag the razor blade across my throat.
What I’m not sure of is why he’s chosen to do it now.
So I play his game, sinking a hand into my pocket, adopting an easy posture. “I think it’s better for you to keep me on the outside,” I say, all corporate chitchat, cagey evasion. “I advise you whenever you ask me to, but you don’t have to put me on the payroll.”
Both men laugh, but Dad’s is forced, his eyes tight.
“He’s a professor at Stanford, no?” Ellis asks, and then sips his drink. “Specializing in corporate culture and ethics. Would be an interesting transition back to C-suite for the family business.”
“It’s been a great way to get diverse leadership experience,” my father agrees, as if the way I broke ties with the company and decided to pursue academia was his idea from the start. “He gets to dabble in his models of corporate harmony shit and learn the ropes of administration constipation, then come settle down in the family business and put it to good use when he’s ready.”
“I guess he’s always had a hand in the family business, though,” Ellis says slyly, eyes hawkishly on me. “Even as far back as when you were a teenager, I mean. Liam, the technology you built was objectively extraordinary. I know you’ve never commented on the PISA scandal, but—”
“And I’m definitely not going to at my sister’s wedding,” I say, cutting him off and forcing my voice to remain steady. Even the sound of the acronym still sends a chill down my spine, makes me want to sink a fist into my father’s jaw. “It’s great to meet you, Ellis, and I’m sure there will be plenty of time to talk business after this vacation, right?”
“Right.” Ellis lifts his glass to me.
I lift my gaze, searching for Anna. I find her standing near the bar, talking to Jamie. Her dress sparkles in the low light, rendering her a glowing goddess in a room full of mannequins.
Beside me, my father says my name in a way that makes me think Ellis has had to ask me something more than once.
I blink back to him, leaning in. “Sorry. What was that?”
“I said,” Ellis says with a smile, “I realize we aren’t going to touch on PISA tonight—”
“Or any night,” I correct, as much to Ellis as to my father. “Just so we’re clear. Even if we were at an event where it felt appropriate to speak on the matter, I wouldn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, not working to mask his disappointment. “I wish you felt differently, but I understand. I’d still love to hear any comments you might have about taking over the CEO role when your father retires.”
How about not a chance in fucking hell? I think, but Anna’s bright laugh rises out of the din, teasing at my attention. “A statement? Right now?” I look around us, gesturing. “Is this a board meeting? Dad, do we have a quorum?”
Dad laughs heartily at this, but his eyes are still ice. I know for a fact that we don’t. Only three of eleven members have arrived, in fact. I’ve been counting.
“I think any statement would need to be cleared by the board,” I tell Ellis. “I know Forbes is excited to get some buzz out there, but let’s do this the right way, what do you say?” There. Evasive enough, but not a flat-out denial. I hold out my hand, and Ellis takes it with an amused smile. “Have a great time on the island, okay?”
Without acknowledging my father, I turn to leave, intending to walk directly to Anna, but she’s no longer at the bar. As calmly as possible, I wander around the party, shaking hands when I’m stopped, saying hello, returning hugs, but everything gets only half of my attention. My mind spirals beyond this moment, beyond this room, wondering what my dad is up to, wondering where Anna has gone. It’s then that I notice I don’t see Jamie, either.
With tension ratcheting in my gut, I walk out of the restaurant, heading down the trail toward the beach and the bungalows, searching every shadow for her and dreading what I might find: two figures entwined in the shadows, one long and willowy, wearing a dress like a million tiny stars glimmering in the moonlight.
I hear her voice, low and reassuring, her quiet, husky words reaching me in a shapeless murmur, as if she’s having a private conversation. My pulse rockets, jealousy raging inside me.
But then I pull up short at the view of her from behind, sitting on a long branch that dives down from the tree and runs parallel to the sand for several feet, forming a perfect natural bench. She’s not alone; she has her arm around someone, but it’s nothing like I thought.
Beside her is Reagan.
I approach but stop when I hear the telltale sound of a jagged sob.
“There’s nothing harder than seeing your friends having fun when you’re gone,” Anna says soothingly. “Yes, you’re on a private island. Yes, you’re in paradise. But our hearts don’t care. Parents forget what it’s like sometimes.”
Reagan’s voice is thick with tears. “I know I’m lucky to be here! He didn’t have to yell at me!” I swear to God, if my brother repeats our father’s habits with his kids, I’ll beat his ass myself.
“Weddings are stressful for families, you know?” Anna turns to face Reagan, straddling the big branch, so focused on the girl in front of her that she doesn’t care if her tiny dress rides up. “A big, expensive event that everyone puts their busy lives on hold for and has to be excited about and engaged in the whole time? I think sometimes parents forget that you had to put your life on hold, too. And it always sucks to see your friends out doing things when you can’t be there.”
“Julia and I got the outfits together,” Reagan says. “We were going to go when I got home. Does she think I won’t see her posts? I’m on an island, not Mars.”
I have no idea what the hell all of this is about, but obviously Anna seems to. “Maybe Eileen invited Julia?” she asks.
Reagan sucks in an angry breath. “Whatever! They’re barely even friends. Julia knows I hate Eileen. She pantsed me in PE last year!”
“She didn’t,” Anna says with the appropriate level of dismay.
“They suspended her, and she blamed me! She’s been so mean ever since.” Reagan sends a hand across her tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s always trying to start drama with everyone. Julia should have said no. She’s been my best friend since first grade!”
“How about this: when we get back to California, you and I will go to Disneyland in matching outfits, and Eileen and Julia can suck it.”
Reagan nods. “Okay.”
“Dang it. If I had some paper, I’d show you something I do to make myself feel better.”
Reagan reaches into her little sparkly evening bag. “I have one of the welcome programs. Will that work?”
Reagan hands it to Anna, who takes it and pulls something out of her own bag. “Perfect. We wouldn’t normally do this with a Chanel lip pencil, but desperate times and all that.” Anna turns the program over and lays it flat on her leg. “Before we start, if any adults ask,” she says, and I bite back a laugh at the dramatic clearing of her throat, “I am not encouraging you to make fun of someone. That’s not what this is about. Even if they maybe, possibly deserve it a little. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. How often do you draw?”
“Almost never,” Reagan admits with a laugh.
“That’s fine,” Anna says, smiling over at her. “The nice thing about art is that it can be terrible, and people will still call it art.” She bends, beginning a sketch I can’t see. “But this here? This is also self-care.”
Reagan giggles.
“I had this boss, this guy named Ricky,” Anna says, turning the page to come at her drawing from a new angle. “I’d worked for his parents for a few years, but then he took over the store. He was a lot younger than me. Like seven years.”
“But you’re only like twenty-five.”
“Right? With an eighteen-year-old for a boss. And one day, he asked me out on a date.”
“He what!”
Anna nods. “I said no, of course, and he fired me not long after.”
In the shadows, I suck in a breath to keep from reacting audibly to this. Is this why she was fired the night before I came to her apartment?
“That isn’t fair!” Reagan protests.
“It isn’t fair, you’re right. It’s terrible. And there isn’t much I can do about it because lawyers are expensive. But you know what? Drawing terrible pictures of him made me feel incrementally better.” She turns the paper to face Reagan, who bursts out laughing. “I don’t know what Eileen looks like, but you can make it accurate.”
She hands Reagan the lip pencil. Reagan works for a bit, before Anna quietly says, “Give her a pimple.”
With another giggle, Reagan bends, drawing on the paper.
“Oh, a mustache, love it,” Anna says, leaning in. “I’ll have to give poor Eileen my waxing lady’s number.”
Reagan pulls back, admiring their handiwork, and Anna puts her arms around my niece.
“I’m sorry, honey. This is hard, but we’ll have as much fun here as humanly possible.”
Reagan’s next “okay” is muffled by Anna’s shoulder, but I hear it anyway, watching her thin, pale arms come around my wife’s waist. “Thank you, Auntie Anna.” Anna stills for a moment, and I think it hits us both at the same time; she’s not just my wife, she’s Reagan, Lincoln, Nixon, and GW’s aunt, my siblings’ sister-in-law, and my parents’ daughter-in-law. As an only child, she’s never had those things before, and this suddenly feels so much bigger than just the two of us. I knew what I was asking her to give while we were here, but had no idea what I was asking her to give up at the end of this.
Just then, over Reagan’s shoulder, Anna’s eyes go wide as she spots me, watching her give my niece something I’m sure she rarely gets anymore—the pure, undivided attention of an adult. Anna lifts her fingers in a subtle wave.
What an asshole I was for thinking she snuck out with Jamie. What an archaic, bullshit reaction. I can’t help the smile, can’t help the thought as it rises like the dark tide only a handful of yards away: it’s complicated, but I’m so grateful that Anna’s here.