It was well after two by the time I finally got to take a ten-minute break. I shot him a text. Everything okay?
His text bubble appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. Not feeling too great right now.
I frowned at my phone and hit Call, and he didn’t answer right away. It rang a few times before he picked up.
“Michael?”
His voice was quiet, distant. “Hey.”
“Are you sick? Can I call someone for you?”
Silence. “No, I’m okay. You must still be busy. Can we talk when you’re done?”
I had to repeat his words in my head a few times because that sounded all wrong. “Is everything okay?”
I heard him breathe in deep. “Yeah. Um. It’s your opening day. I’m just . . . feeling miserable. I don’t want to ruin your day. I should go, let you get back to it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there at closing time. I wanted to be there . . .”
His voice sounded so soft, so . . . sad.
“Michael.”
“It’s fine, Bryce,” he replied, his voice stronger now. “You need to focus on your store right now. It’s your opening day. We can talk later.”
“I can come see you when I’m done.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m probably not great company right now.”
“Well, lie down and put your feet up,” I said. “Feel better. I will call you though.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
And the line went dead in my ear.
That whole conversation was weird. It felt wrong.
Was he just not feeling well? Granted, I’d not seen Michael unwell before, and maybe he was the type of sick person who needed space and silence.
Determined I’d call him later and check on him, I pocketed my phone and went back to work. It was probably another two hours later and we were quiet enough now that Annie and Niran could clock off.
I thanked them both for a great first day. They were all smiles, but it had been a long day. And then Niran said the strangest thing. “Oh, say thanks to Michael for helping out,” he said. “I was going to say something when I saw him on my break, but he looked kinda mad talking to that rich guy so I just left them to it.”
He looked kinda mad talking to that rich guy . . .
“The rich guy?” I asked, though I didn’t really have to. I already knew.
“Yeah. In the expensive grey coat. They were talking in here; then they were talking outside.”
I nodded because it suddenly made sense.
Michael hadn’t come back after my father had been here, and Dad had worn that godawful grey coat he got in France.
“I’ll be sure to tell him you said thanks,” I replied to Niran. “See you both tomorrow.”
Tarini gave me a few minutes to finish scrubbing the stainless-steel jug to within an inch of its life. “You okay?” she asked.
“My father,” I replied. “Just couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut. On opening day. Today of all days.”
She winced. “That sucks, sorry.”
I sighed. “I’ll deal with him after. Let’s just get to the finish line here. As far as opening days go, it’s been a good one.”
Well, it had been . . .
She gave a determined nod. “Yes, it has. Let’s finish it right.”
And she was right. Professional until the end. I would deal with my father later. As for now, I had a business to run.
It was late, the store was finally closed, and I had everything ready for the next morning. Tarini had gone home and I was alone and tired. Not to mention that I was pissed off at my father. Probably not the best time to call him but I didn’t care. He answered his phone on the third ring. I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Do you want to tell me what you said to Michael out the front of my store today?”
“Probably best not a conversation to be had over the phone.”
“Probably not best a conversation to have to have at all, but here we are.”
“I take it he told you.”
“He didn’t tell me anything. Not yet. He disappeared and I was left wondering if he was okay, and when I spoke to him on the phone, he sounded awful. But he never said anything, no. My staff did. They saw you arguing out the front of the store.” Then I shouted, “Out the front of my store on opening day! On. Opening. Day, Dad. What the fucking hell?”
“Don’t swear at me, Bryson.”
“Don’t you dare try and act all high and mighty. Don’t you fucking dare.” That was crossing about a dozen lines with him, but I was well past caring. My heart was hammering, my pulse was thundering, and I was pissed off. “What did you say to him?”
He sighed as if I was some petulant child. “I explained that if he truly understood how much your new enterprise meant to you, he’d make himself less of a priority.”
My blood ran ice cold and steaming hot at the same time, and I swear my vision blurred. I wanted to punch the ever-loving shit outta something. “You’re lucky this conversation is over the phone and I’m not standing in front of you,” I said, my voice low and seething.
“Bryce—”
“You don’t get to make decisions for me! You had no right!” I thumped my hand down on the table and tried to speak more calmly. “You had no right to even speak to him. I’m going to see him now, and I swear to God, if he won’t see me . . .”
I disconnected the call before I could actually threaten him.
I locked up the store and ran to Michael’s apartment. It wasn’t far, just a few minutes, but I was panting by the time I arrived. I pressed the intercom. “Michael, it’s me.”
Nothing.
“Michael, please.”
He didn’t speak, but the door buzzed open and he was holding the door slightly ajar when I stepped out onto his floor. “You okay? You sounded like you were being chased,” he said.
He was wearing tight black lounge pants and a black-and-white striped, long-sleeve shirt. But his face was drawn and pale. He looked wounded. “I ran here,” I replied. I put my hand to his chest, to his neck, and up to his jaw. “What did he say to you? What did my father say?”
Michael let the door close and his whole face crumpled. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks, searing me with a pain I’d never felt before. Seeing him cry, seeing him hurt and so upset damn near killed me. I pulled him against my chest, wrapping him up in my arms.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” I breathed.
Michael shook his head and pulled away. He used the sleeve of his shirt to dry his tears and he took a breath. “I didn’t want to ruin your first day,” he whispered. Then he started to cry again. “It was supposed to be special.”
I took his hand and led him to the couch. We sat side by side but I held his hand in mine. “Tell me what he said.”
He shook his head again, but not as though he didn’t want to tell me. It was more that he didn’t want to relive it. I dunno. He just looked so damn sad. “He said if I cared for you at all, I should understand that you need to focus on your shop.”
“But that’s not true,” I replied.
“Isn’t it?” he shrugged. “He began by telling me how proud he was of you and how he thought sending you to Singapore would make you want to work with him, but instead you came home with dreams that weren’t his. He didn’t say that exactly, but he may as well have. He said he could see now how driven you were to succeed and how happy you were to be working in your own business.” Michael wiped at fresh tears. “He said that I should respect your drive to succeed and not stand in your way. He said given how busy and blinded you were by me, you wouldn’t have the foresight to see the inevitable, so he wanted me to be the one to walk away.”