4. Duncan
4
DUNCAN
The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as I pour myself a steaming mug, my thoughts still circling the Vermont property. I barely register the sunlight as it filters through the wide windows, painting the marble counters with soft light.
I’m halfway through absentmindedly whisking eggs when the doorbell rings. I glance at the clock. Too early for a delivery. After wiping my hands on a dish towel, I cross the living room and pull open the door.
Alexander Carrington — my best friend and business partner — leans against the doorframe, dressed in a a dark gray suit that probably cost a small fortune. He’s the same age as me, 55, though with more gray streaking through his hair than I have, not that I’d ever point it out.
Then again, the word subtle doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.
“Oh, oh, I know that look.” He walks past me without an invitation, his usual smug grin plastered across his face.
I sigh and shut the door. “What look?”
“Like someone just died.” He strolls into the living room, plops down onto the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.
I let out another sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. “What do you want, Alex?”
He lifts an amused brow. “Coffee.”
“Help yourself,” I say dryly. “Not like you ever wait for me to offer.”
“Why wait when you already know I’m going to?” He stands and heads straight for the kitchen, grabbing a mug off the rack like he lives here.
I follow him, shaking my head. “Why are you really here? Don’t tell me you’re actually working before noon.”
“Funny,” he says, filling his cup. “I’m here for the Brentwood files.” He glances around the penthouse like he’s expecting them to materialize out of thin air.
We both know he can access them electronically.
“What’s wrong with the printer at your place?”
“Broken.”
“And the one at the office?”
He takes a sip of his coffee, but doesn’t answer.
“Right.” I nod, motioning for him to wait. “I’ll grab them.”
I head to my office, shaking my head as I walk down the hallway. Once in my home office, I retrieve the pages from my desk, thumbing through it quickly to make sure everything’s in order before stapling them together. When I return to the kitchen, Alex is leaning against the counter with his phone in one hand and his mug in the other, a broad smile on his face, his eyes glued to the screen.
“What’s so interesting?” I ask, handing them over.
He startles slightly, glancing up at me with a guilty look before tucking his phone into his dark slacks. “Nothing,” he says quickly, but the way he says it makes it obvious it’s not nothing. Still, I let it go.
“Here,” I say, handing him the stapled pages, which he barely looks at before stuffing it into his suit pocket.
Okay then.
“Thanks,” he mutters. “You’re a life saver.”
I turn my attention back to breakfast. “How about you skip the bullshit and tell me why you’re really here.”
“Fine,” he says with a chuckle. “I thought I’d stop by and see if you’ve come to your senses.”
I raise an eyebrow he can’t see, turning back to the stove to give the eggs a quick stir. “About what?”
“About selling the Vermont place.”
Here we go.
“I already told you. I don’t use it, and I don’t need it.”
He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee like he’s settling in for a debate. “It’s not about needing it. It’s about what that house means.”
I sigh, plating the eggs and grabbing some toast from the toaster. “It’s a house, Alex. That’s all it is.”
“Bull.” He points at me with his mug. “That place was supposed to be the place. Your sanctuary, your escape — hell, your family’s Christmas card backdrop. And now you’re ready to let it go for what? Another zero in your bank account?”
I set the plates down on the counter, sliding one toward him. “I’m letting it go because it’s just sitting there, empty. If someone else can use it, why not?”
“Because it’s not about someone else. It’s about you.”
I pick up my fork, stabbing at the eggs. “Spare me the armchair psychology, Alex.”
He takes a bite of toast, his eyes narrowing. “Fine. Here’s some practicality instead. You know what happens when you sell? Some investor buys it, slaps on a fresh coat of paint, and rents it out on Airbnb for a fortune. That’s what happens.”
“And?”
“And then you’re left sitting here in this glass box with one less thing in your life that actually matters.”
I stop mid-bite, setting my fork down. “It’s not that deep.”
“It is.” His expression shifts from amusement to something more serious. “That place represents more than just real estate, Duncan. It’s the life you were supposed to have. The one you keep avoiding.”
I hold his gaze for a moment, his words settling uncomfortably in my chest. “That life doesn’t exist.”
He sighs, like he expected that. “It could, if you let it.”
“I have,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intended. “Nothing I’ve done so far has worked. The twins both made other arrangements for Christmas this year. Caleb’s in London with his girlfriend’s family, and Chloe… well, she called yesterday afternoon to cancel too. She said it’d be too pitiful if it was just the two of us.”
He whistles low, shaking his head. “Ouch.”
I shrug, pretending it doesn’t sting as much as it does. “It is what it is.”
He gives me a long look, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his head before he speaks. “You know what you need? Connection.”
“What are you, a matchmaker?” I deadpan.
He’s not deterred, though. “You’ve been single and alone for too long, I don’t think you know how not to be.”
“I’m not alone, Alex. I’ve got people in my life.”
“Do you?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow. “ Who , exactly?”
I gesture vaguely to the space around us. “This place was packed forty-eight hours ago.”
“With employees and business acquaintances. That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
I meet his gaze, but I don’t say anything because deep down, I know he’s right.
“And let’s be real,” he continues, his voice softening. “I’m the closest thing you have to family, and that’s… that’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Thanks. Really lifting the holiday spirits here.”
“I’m just saying!” He holds up his hands defensively. “It’s admirable that you moved your plans around for the twins, but maybe it’s time to accept that they’re adults now. They have their own lives. They’ve had them for a while.”
I shift uncomfortably, not wanting to go down this path, but Alex isn’t letting up.
“It’s been, what? Fourteen years?” He leans back, folding his arms across his chest. “They were practically adults when they came into your life. Aside from those few months in high school, they’ve lived apart from you ever since.”
His words hit a little too close to home. I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “Look, I’m not saying you haven’t been a good father to them. All things considered, you stepped up and you did your best. But maybe it’s time you start living for yourself. You might not realize it, but you put your personal life on hold when they came to live with you, and that continued long after they moved out. Humans aren’t meant to be solitary creatures, you know that.”
I frown, his words settling uncomfortably in my chest. He’s not wrong in his assessment of me. I haven’t thought about what I actually want in a long time.
Ha! I have, and it’s an easy enough answer.
Her.
I want her.
Alex runs a hand through his hair, the streaks of gray catching the light. “Just think about it, okay? Before you sign anything. Take one last trip up there, see how it feels. If you still want to sell after that, I’ll shut up about it.”
I lift a challenging brow, meeting his gaze. “I want that in writing.”
He scoffs, straightens, and stands. “Not everything has to be a business decision, Duncan. Sometimes, you hold onto things because they matter. Sometimes you hold onto people because they are important to you. And yes, I’m talking about the twins.”
“Leave it alone.”
It’s not that I don’t want to discuss the twins with him. We’ve been friends for over three decades, so he’s seen me at my worst and my best. There’s no point in rehashing all that with him.
He sets his plate in the sink, then his eyes search mine, as if deciding whether to push the point. After what seems like an eternity, he nods. “I’ll leave it alone for now . But this brooding thing? It’s not you. It sure isn’t working for you.”
I give him a half-smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nods a second time and heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle as he gives me a thoughtful look. “You really should think about it, though. You’ve been alone for too long, and it’s time to change that.”
I’m not entirely sure I agree, but I nod anyway. The truth is, I already know what’s going to happen. Another Christmas. Another year without her. Not sure there’s a way to spin that positively.
He leaves without another word, and the door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with my cooling eggs and his words hanging in the air.
I look toward the windows, the skyline stretching endlessly in every direction.
The Vermont house.
It’s just a house , I tell myself again. Just another line item to be crossed off.
So why does it feel like letting go is crossing something out of me, too?
My phone pings from its spot on the counter. I stand and grab it, and it’s another email from the realtor.
Subject: Preliminary Proofs and Meeting Confirmation for Vermont Property
Good morning Mr. Templeton,
The pictures for the Vermont property turned out great! See attached for some preliminary pictures. The marketing team is putting the finishing touches on the entire portfolio, and it will all be made available to you once it is ready and before the listing goes live.
I would also like to confirm our in-person meeting. As per our previous discussion, we are scheduled for December 30th at 1:00 PM. This timing avoids the holiday rush and gives us enough time to review all promotional materials and discuss any final details before the listing goes live on January 1st.
If something changes and this time doesn’t work for you, please let me know, and I will be happy to adjust. Thank you for your continued trust in our services, and, as always, let me know if you need anything further.
Warmest regards,
Soraya Finch
Finch they’d been getting by just fine without me. Thanks to their mother, they’ve always been independent, carving out their own paths.
Then Chloe found my first public interview, and things went downhill after that. They both resented me for their mother’s predicament, and I can’t say I blame them. I can’t imagine what it’s like to find out your father is a multi-millionaire, while you spent most of your childhood in abject poverty because your father hates children. The string of failed relationships and broken hearts I left in my wake didn’t inspire much confidence. And while I’d been re-assessing my stance on this whole “dad” thing, they moved on, putting as much physical and emotional distance between us as possible. I keep thinking there’s still time, that maybe we’ll figure out how to make it work, but the truth is, I’m not sure I ever really knew how to be what they needed. I still don’t.
I guess I always thought Christmas would be the one time we could reconnect. But as Alex said, they have their own lives now. Maybe it’s time I stop waiting for a miracle.
I’ve spent decades surrounding myself with people, and yet the one person I can’t seem to get out of my head is the one I barely knew. And now here I am, another year gone, and nothing’s changed. I’m still stuck. Still disconnected.
As I glance toward the piano once again, the desire to pen yet another melancholy tune tugs at me. It’s always been my comfort. But I know Alex is right. Music won’t fix this.
Solitude won’t fix this.
I need to do something else.
Looks like I’m heading to Vermont, anyway.