She rears back in her chair. “You did not!”
“You know me; I don’t lie to you.”
“There’s a first time for everything. What flavor did you have?” she asks suspiciously.
“You wound me, Alice. I thought you and I had a trust thing going on. And I had a banana split at a place called I Scream, in Soho. They’ve got a build-your-own sundae bar. I’ll have to take you and Tamara there next time you come to visit.”
“Way to go!” She nods, her skeptical look melting into a pleased smile. “Whatever possessed you?”
“The spirit of spontaneousness.”
She leans forward in her chair, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. Family trait, I just realized. “Nope, that’s not it. I know! Was it Winona’s idea? Were you with Winona last night?”
“Maybe,” I admit. Hmph. I could have been spontaneous all by myself. Stranger things have happened.
“Does it annoy you that I’m right all the time?” she says gleefully.
“It annoys me how much satisfaction you get when you accidentally stumble into a correct conclusion.” I yawn again.
“Wow. What time did you fall asleep? Did you fall asleep?”
“Not to change the subject, but I am definitely changing the subject. We ran into Uncle Bill at the Shady Oaks Golf Club fundraiser last night, and he tried to apologize for being an ass. Both to me and to Winona. Winona said his apology was manipulative and insincere.”
“Woo-hoo!” Alice cheers. “I am team Winona all the way.” She does a little chair dance, complete with arm waves. “Go Winona! Go Winona! It’s your birthday, go Winona! When is her birthday? I want to send her something.”
I try to hide my huge, post-orgasmic grin from her and fail. I know what a goofball I look like right now. “Anyway. He gave me a family photo of us all together at Christmas.”
“Publicity photo?” Alice says drily. I feel defensive on Dad’s behalf, but she’s right again. I can’t remember us ever taking holiday photos that weren’t publicity photos.
“It was the one where I got a new baseball bat. I asked Dad to play baseball with me, but it never ended up happening. I was kind of snotty about it. I regret that now.”
“Blake. Don’t do that to yourself.” Alice’s voice softens. “You were a kid who loved his dad and wanted him to spend time with you. How could you possibly blame yourself for that?”
“I just feel bad because he had a lot going on back then, and I wasn’t very understanding.” I sigh. “Well, I should go shower.”
“Got you some, did you?”
“Alice!” I am appalled. “You’re my sister. You can’t say things like that. Is Tamara there with you?”
“What do you think?” She laughs. “She’s outside throwing water balloons at her dad.”
I hang up, put my coffee cup in the dishwasher, and head for the shower.
As I step into the shower, my good mood’s fizzled a little bit. The memory of me carping at my dad sends ripples of guilt flowing through me.
It’s okay. Everything is proceeding as planned. My father’s vision will be fulfilled. Next summer, I’ll be standing at a ribbon-cutting ceremony at Hudson’s London building, with a giant pair of scissors in my hand and Winona at my side.
Yeah, I’ve given myself half a day off today, but it’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to have a little unscheduled fun in years.
I hurry through my shower, trying to reassure myself. Everything is going smoothly, the Popup Palooza is all over the news and social media, I’ve definitely landed Akiri–
Oh, hell.
No, no, no…
It’s Sunday. The day I’m supposed to be meeting him. Instinctively, I glance at my wrist.
My bare, naked wrist.
The watch would have saved me. It’s set up to alert me in time to leave for appointments. Our meeting is in five minutes, and I couldn’t make it there in time unless I borrowed The Doctor’s freaking Tardis.
I run naked into my bedroom and snatch up my wristwatch and phone. Four minutes. And my phone is dead. Frantically, I plug it back in. It takes a geologic ice age to power back on. Now I’ve got three minutes.
I look up his number, and call him. It goes to voicemail. Three minutes.
I call the restaurant; the maître d’ tells me that he’s already there. Akiri has showed up on time for the first time in the known history of the universe. I ask the maître d’ to take the phone to his table.
I’m spewing apologies, frantically trying to think of a lie that will fix this. I hate lying, I hate liars, but I’m desperate.
Akiri doesn’t even give me a chance to come up with an excuse. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking serious right now?” he screams at the top of his lungs.
I hear the maître d’ in the background. “Sir, this is a family establishment. I must ask you to lower your voice and watch your language, or you’ll have to leave.”
Well, that’ll help Akiri’s mood.
“Fuck you too!” Akiri screeches. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is?”
Then he yells into the phone. “Nobody stands me up! Nobody! I knew this was a bad idea!” There’s a click and a dial tone. He’s hung up on me.
I am sickened and unmoored. I stumble to my bed and sit down with a heavy thud. My hand shakes as I strap my watch back onto my wrist and turn notifications back on.
My watch and phone bing and bleep frantically with message after message. Thérèse has handed in her two weeks’ notice. What the hell? Thérèse is priceless. We pay her accordingly – better than anyone else in the industry ever would, and she has a generous vacation package. She doesn’t seem to like me much personally, probably because of my demanding management style, but it’s not as if we openly clash. She treats me with a chilly courtesy, and I reply in kind.
I hurry to my bureau and quickly pull on a pair of boxer shorts.
When I check my phone again, there’s another message. I was supposed to call the supplier of our world-famous ethically sourced chocolate this morning at 10 a.m. They are only capable of producing a limited supply, and other vendors are courting them.
My brain apparently short-circuited from spending time with Winona. I knew that she and workaholic Blake would never work out, so I tried to turn myself into something that I’m not. Too-laid-back-for-schedules Blake. Fuck-my-family-store-and-our-reputation Blake.
I snatch my cell phone, sitting on the bed and letting it continue to charge as I call Pierre to apologize. Fortunately, Pierre has been working with our store for years, and we’ve always treated him well. He’s decent about it, he’s understanding, he murmurs that it’s fine, things happen.
No they don’t. Not to me.
“Sir?” Henry’s voice echoes from down the hall, with an edge of worry. The unflappable Henry is ever so slightly flapped. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” I yell. “Hold your damn horses!”
Yeah, I’m fine all right. I’ve returned to factory settings; irritable asshole Blake. I rush from my bedroom, barefoot and clad only in boxers.
Henry stands in the hallway by the parlor doorway. “You weren’t answering your calls,” he says in a tone of mild reproof.