Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
I’m fifteen minutes late by the time I talk myself into getting out of the car. My head is a total fog. I probably should have stayed home like Lydia suggested. But I’m here now, and somehow even manage to put one foot in front of the other through the parking garage.
I hit the button for the elevator and run my hand over my face. I can’t help feeling like I’ve made a mistake or forgotten something important. I go back over everything I can think of, but I don’t know what it could be. Seth is selling Mom’s house. I’m handling her taxes and the last of her bills. Lydia’s been an amazing support to both of us. I know I haven’t been super talkative this past week, but she has been endlessly patient and understanding.
Maybe I shouldn’t have cancelled our appointment this afternoon. I just felt... weird going to sex therapy the day after my mother’s funeral. At least Lydia didn’t seem to mind. Physical intimacy is a lot of work for her, and she’s got a bunch of other stuff going on. Maybe a break will be good for both of us.
“Anton! So nice to have you back,” Riya says with some surprise from the front desk as I exit the elevator. “I was so sorry to hear about your mom. ”
“Thanks,” I say. It feels like I ought to add something. A detail for her benefit. But when my mind fails to produce any more words, I keep walking past reception, toward my office.
“They’re in the conference room,” she calls after me with some uncertainty. “Um, Carl thought maybe you weren’t coming, so they got started.”
I pause, trying to decide how I should feel about that. Everything that should be straightforward seems difficult today. “Thanks,” I say again.
I drop my things at my desk and head straight into the meeting. As soon as I walk in, I note with irritation that a fairly new hire, Milo Briggs, is in my usual seat beside Carl. I take one of the open chairs closer to the door, trying not to attract too much attention. A couple people offer me sympathetic smiles. Carl is going over some items about account tracking. He catches my eye and nods. I pick up a pen, hovering it over a legal pad in front of me, but I’m the one who wrote the points he’s going over, so it doesn’t seem like I’ve missed too much.
Now that I’m physically in the conference room, all the energy I employed to make it here seems to evaporate. I glance at the clock on my phone, disappointed to see it’s not even nine thirty. A text comes through, but it’s just Seth replying to an earlier message, saying he’ll call me later. My heart would have started pounding at that a short time ago, but now it feels depressingly non-urgent. I’m thinking vaguely about going to the gym after work, just anything that feels familiar and good, when Jin from client relations next to me nudges my elbow.
I glance up to find Carl—and most of the people around the table—looking right at me.
“Do you disagree, Anton?”
“Um...” I glance down, heat creeping into my face. I’ve covered most of the pad in front of me with doodles. For a scrambling moment I think I can come up with something passable to say. Pull some numbers out of thin air. Relate them to... something. But I quickly realize I have no idea if we’re discussing something account related, or like, whether to do a white elephant Christmas party. “Sorry, what was the question?”
Carl frowns, but doesn’t miss a beat turning to Milo. “Mr. Briggs, why don’t you take the lead on this? ”
Damn. Not the Christmas party, I guess.
“Of course,” Milo says, with the kind of just-out-of-college self-importance that makes me want to punch him in the teeth. I sink back into my chair. I should’ve stayed home.
When the meeting finally ends, I take advantage of my position near the exit and slink down the hall to my office, intending to close the door and work all the way through lunch. Even if it means answering every message in my inbox.
But as soon as I open my laptop, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in?” I say, trying to sound confident but landing on something more like confusion.
Carl enters the room, closes the door, and sits across from me before I can speak. He’s a stately Black man in his fifties, and while he can be quite competitive in his role as CEO, he has gone to great lengths to take me under his wing. He’s probably the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure as an adult.
“Anton. Good to have you back,” he says. His voice is kind, but there’s a note of benign disapproval.
I slump in my seat. “I’m sorry about what happened in there, sir. Maybe I’m not quite ready to be back in the office.”
The second apology I’ve had to make to someone who matters to me before lunch. Awesome way to start my week.
“How was the service?” Carl asks calmly, poised in his seat. “My condolences again.”
“Uh, it was nice,” I say through my teeth. I know he isn’t really looking for details, and I’m happier not rehashing the whole thing. “The flowers you and Eva sent were beautiful,” I remember to add. “Thank you.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “I know you and your mom were close. Actually, I was surprised to see you this morning. I just came in here to let you know I don’t expect you back right away if you need more time, or even if you want to work remotely for a while.”
I swallow hard. God, I must’ve fucked up in the meeting worse than I thought. Something deep in my brain shifts into panic mode. I’m tempted to take his enormous hint and walk out right now. But I take a breath and manage to pull a response together .
“Thanks, Carl. I actually think I’m better off digging back in. You know? Gives me something to focus on.”
He nods steadily, considering my words. Then he clears his throat. “You remember Derek Norman from Colorado Springs? We’ve been talking seriously about a collaboration. Maybe opening up a branch office. I’d been planning to loop you in last week.”
The fog in my brain finally dissipates and I pick up a pen. “Yes, of course I know Derek. And... that sounds like a fantastic opportunity.”
“Agreed,” he says, inclining his head. “But if we go through with this, Anton, I’ll need my best people in place, doing their finest work.”
I straighten. “You can count on me, sir.”
A week ago, we would’ve shaken hands and that might’ve been the whole conversation. But I can tell something has shifted.
“I know that, Anton.” Carl gives me a kind smile. “I just came in to say I’d like Milo to work in conjunction with you for a time. I think he could be an asset in this endeavor, and it’ll be good experience for him.”
My pen slips out of my hand and hits the desk. “With all due respect, sir, Milo’s barely been here a year.”
“You’re correct,” he says. “But I had him assist on your accounts while you were away, and he’s shown a lot of potential. Even Myra Alvarez gave him a good report.”
I swallow hard. He already put Milo with one of our biggest clients? It took me years to get to work with her. I swallow hard, unable to shake the feeling I’ve screwed up and now he’s assigning me a babysitter.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Carl adds, “Anton, I’m bringing Milo in to help support you. I lost my mother as a young man too, and I know how hard that is.”
He rises from the chair and I follow him to the door, shaking my head and wishing again that I’d just stayed home today. “I wasn’t prepared this morning, Carl. I’m sorry. It—it won’t happen again.”
He turns to me, eyes softening. “Your mom’s hardly been gone a week, son. Give your heart some room to heal before you ask a lot of your brain. Why don’t you take the rest of today and clear your head? You can let me know where you’re at in a day or two.”
The door closes with a soft thud and I turn to look around my office. The desk, view, and art on the walls ought to feel familiar, comfortable. The way my mom’s house should have. But just like back home, everything here feels like it belongs to someone else. Or I’m in the wrong room.
My laptop sits on the desk, containing files I might dig into this afternoon, but even though I meant what I said to Carl—I want him to know he can count on me—I have zero inclination to sit down and get started.
Out the window, my usually stunning view of the city and mountain backdrop is gradually being obscured by a weather system rolling in from up north. The sun being quietly blocked out behind a sky of clouds so dense I can’t even see the peaks of the mountains. It would be a perfect day for a trail run. Maybe a bike ride. And now my feet are itching to take off somewhere and try to gather my scattered thoughts.
There’s another knock on the door, and Milo pokes his head in. “Hey, Anton. Thought I’d check in and see if you need to be brought up to speed. Do you want to go over the Alvarez account?”
Deep inside, part of me is pissed to see him. But all I manage to do is turn away, glancing out the window again before I grab my phone and keys off the desk. Maybe Carl is right and I should at least take the afternoon.
I walk past him and mutter, “I’ll be back.”
I wind up taking my bike down the Cherry Creek Trail. All the way south to the reservoir where the path literally ends, or I might’ve kept going. There aren’t a lot of people out on a Monday morning, and I ride fast both ways. Pushing my legs, and my lungs, to the limit. It feels like if I can just go fast enough, far enough, I could catch up to something. Except I don’t know what. And every time I slow, my thoughts flood in, threatening to drag me down.
My mom is at the forefront, of course. It’s like my mind was holding on to all these little details that somehow released upon her death. Things I haven’t thought about in years. How she always sipped coffee from a yellow smiley face mug. The way she tried not to sound mad even when she was. How she came to every sporting event Seth and I competed in. And in less vivid color, there are memories of her and Dad. The two of them dancing quietly in the kitchen when they thought I was asleep. The way her eyes shone when she looked at him. The similar, wistful look she got when she smiled at Lydia and me.
The clouds that gathered and swirled over Denver earlier have now moved east to wreak havoc over the plains, taking the barrier to the July heat with them. Just so no one in the city can forget it’s the dead of summer. I’m dripping sweat by the time I roll my bike into the garage, so mentally and physically exhausted I just want to stand under a cold shower. Maybe toss a ball for Heartthrob. But as soon as I step through the door into our quiet kitchen, I remember he’s with Lydia.
My heart sinks, footsteps echoing through the empty house until, blessedly, my phone rings.
“Seth,” I say with a relieved sigh.
“Hey, man. I just finished with the realtor and wanted to touch base. Gonna move everything that’s left here into storage, give it a coat of paint, then stage this place. Should have it on the market by end of the week.”
“You can’t use the furniture that’s there?” I ask, with surprising irritation.
“Not unless I want buyers taking a mental trip down Millennial Lane. I got a big fat no from Chandra on the shabby chic living room.” He pauses, and I can almost hear him smirking over the phone. “Although I did get several loud yeses out of her on the bedroom set.”
I roll my eyes. Apparently feelings about our mom are not interfering with Seth’s personal life.
“How soon did she think it would sell?”
“Eh, the market’s not what it was. But we’re pricing it right and it helps that I did those updates in the bathroom. Could be a few months, I guess.”
I put the phone on speaker, letting his voice fill the kitchen while I dig through the pantry for lasagna noodles and tomato sauce. My brother has often been the bearer of bad news, but when I think of him being here , so close, it perks me up. “Just move as soon as it’s listed. There’s no reason to stay in Dallas.”
He snorts. “Your couch is comfy, but I’m not going anywhere until Bruno and I both have a place to land. ”
“Fine. Come out to visit and we’ll go apartment hunting. I know some pet-friendly places we could look at.”
“What’s the rush, Anton?” he needles. “It’s almost like you miss me.”
“Not really,” I say. “I just promised Mom I’d keep an eye on your ass.”
He chuckles again, but then his voice thickens. “You know, she told me to do the same thing.”
We both get quiet.
“How you doing, big brother?” he finally asks in a different tone.
“Seth. Do me a favor and worry about the cat.”
“I mean it,” he says. “I was here dealing with every phase after her diagnosis, and I don’t know, somehow that kept me sane. But you didn’t get that process. Or the closure.”
“That’s... that’s not it.” I drop into a chair, the corners of my eyes burning. “Do you remember anything about when Dad died?”
He hesitates. “A little. Maybe the service and some people visiting.”
I close my eyes, fighting the weird, empty burn in my chest as I try to verbalize my thoughts. “It’s just, when he died, Mom was the one who held us together. She played both roles. Became our whole family. Filled all the gaps he left behind.” I take a ragged breath. “There’s no one left to do that this time.”
“I think you’re wrong—we need to do it ourselves.” My brother’s voice is so gentle I want to hit him. “Mom’s gone, but we’re still here. You, and me, and Lydia. We make our own family.”
I let out an exhausted breath, wishing I could tell him that’s not what I mean. But it feels too hard.
He waits a second, then tries to pivot the conversation, but he can’t seem to pick a subject that isn’t painful today. “How are you and Lydia doing?”
Seth knows everything that went down between my wife and me on Unmatched, the cheating app for married people where I was dumb enough to make an account. How she found my profile there and listed her own in response—and everything that happened as a result. He knows our marriage came to the brink. But he also knows things have been on the upswing recently. At least, until last week .
“We’re good. Ah, just getting back into the rhythm.”
“What, are you taking dance lessons?” he asks, but his tone is serious. “Anton, there’s a reason Mom loved Lydia. She fits. She’s good for you. Don’t get so wrapped up in what’s missing you lose sight of what’s in front of you.”
I twinge, remembering the way Lydia hugged me this morning. Something she’s done hundreds of times. But for some reason, today, it felt like a hug at arm’s length. Was that because of me?
“Just get your ass out here and let me worry about my marriage, Seth.”
“I’m just saying, you two are lucky to have each other. All I’ve got is an old grouchy cat.”
Sometimes, when things feel hard, I make my mom’s lasagna. There’s nothing really special about the recipe. It’s so straightforward I could probably make it in my sleep. But it tastes like the part of my childhood before my dad died when things felt whole. I’m on the second layer of noodles, letting myself zone out to a playlist of music without lyrics, when my phone pings next to the sink.
Lydia
So... Celia just called. She’s in town and wants to meet for dinner.
My brows shoot up. That’s so unlike Lydia’s sister, I have to read the message twice. She isn’t one to show up without planning an itinerary two months in advance.
Really? Where’s Dr. Adam?
Lydia
Medical conference at the Gaylord hotel. But he has an event tonight.
Huh. That sounds like the kind of occasion where Celia would shine. She’s a “life coach” and networked through half of her own wedding reception. I’m not sure why she’d miss an opportunity like that to drop in on the sister she barely speaks to. Unless she wants something.
Do you want to see her? You could say you’re busy?
The last time we saw Lydia’s family, she got so scattered she rear-ended another car during the visit. Celia isn’t half as critical as their mom, but neither of them bring out the best in my wife.
Lydia
I don’t know. She has the baby with her. Maybe just wants to show him off.
I pause, looking down at the half-made lasagna in front of me. I know nothing about babies, and I’m no fan of Celia Cohen, but somehow after facing down end of life last weekend, meeting the newest member of the family doesn’t seem like the worst idea.
I send Lydia a pic of the lasagna pan on the counter.
I’m already making dinner. Let’s meet our nephew.