Granted, Dr. Jefferson probably wouldn’t say my passive-aggressive comment was the way to go, but hey, baby steps, right?
“Wait . . . what?” Palmer asks, trying to wrap her head around what I said. “You wanted to be a part of the company decisions? Since when?”
“Since I thought I would try something new. Since I fucking hate my job. Since I fall asleep at my desk every day, wondering if I should be doing something better with my life. And when I finally nutted up and decided to do something about it, Ford rejected me.”
Ford takes a deep breath. Is he . . . is he counting to ten?
What the hell is that about?
“I didn’t reject you,” Ford says, his voice calm. “I . . .” He pauses and takes a deep breath again. Dude is trying to find his zen. I shouldn’t laugh about it, but it’s semicomical seeing him try to keep his cool. “We are getting off topic. I would love to discuss your thoughts on the party and where we stand.” He picks up a pen and paper from the table. With a smile, he asks, “Cooper, what have you done so far?”
“Why did you reject Cooper, Ford?” Palmer asks, arms folded across her chest.
Ford lets out another pent-up breath as his palms fall flat on the table.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I snap. “He needs control over everything.”
“That’s not true,” Ford says, his restraint slipping as his neck veins start to show. “I don’t need control over everything, but I do need us to stay on topic, which is the party. So, Cooper, what have you done?”
Did he not just hear himself take control? Is he that obtuse?
“Just like you don’t need control over this meeting?” I ask.
“Oooh, good one,” Palmer says, giving me a fist bump. Ford starts to rub his temples just as Palmer asks, “Seriously, Ford, why are you trying to cut us out?”
“I’m not trying to cut you out.” He draws mindless circles on the piece of paper, but the grip on his pen belies his calm as his knuckles whiten out.
“We might not be invested in the company like you, but we still own shares. We should have some say.”
“You do get a say,” he says, eyes flashing with annoyance.
“And when would we get a say?” Palmer asks. “Because as far as I’m concerned, we grew up in this store as well; we spent hours upon hours helping it grow. We were part of the family photo shoots showing off the gear, we helped with social media, we went to investor meetings with Dad, promoting the family aspect of the store. You might be the CEO, but we are very much invested too.”
“I know,” Ford says through gritted teeth.
“Do you? Because it seems like you’ve forgotten that,” Palmer continues. “You told me not to worry about the mock-ups.”
“Because they’re not finished,” Ford says, raising his voice. There he goes: he’s met his tipping point. “They’re not even close to being finished. Why would I bother you if they’re not in the final stages?”
“They were on poster board,” Palmer points out.
I sit back and chew on my bacon while I watch Ford turn into a ball of irritation. I know I shouldn’t enjoy it, but I kind of do.
“They were on poster board so we could see them better.” He grips his pen with both hands and stares down at the table. “Can we get back to the party, please?”
“They looked pretty final to me.”
“They were not final,” Ford shoots back.
“If they weren’t final, then why didn’t you source Cooper’s help?”
“Jesus Christ, because I didn’t want to see him fail, okay?” Ford says, tossing his pen and sitting back in his chair.
Excuse me?
“What the fuck?” I ask. Talk about a shitty thing to say about your brother. “Fail. Why the fuck would I fail?”
“I don’t know,” Ford says, gripping the back of his neck. “Maybe because you have these grand ideas but zero follow-through. Maybe because whenever it comes to the store, I’ve never been able to rely on you. Maybe because I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”
“Protect me from myself?” I push my plate away. “Why the fuck would I need protecting from myself?” He’s way off base. This is exactly why I can’t talk to my family—because when I do mention things like the improvements I’ve made in my life, they don’t believe me. Granted, I’ve fucked up in the past. I’ve flaked before when Ford has asked for help, especially when I was trying to save my marriage, but that doesn’t mean that’s the person I am now. All they see is the old Cooper. They don’t notice the strides I’ve made in my life, thanks to therapy, or even listen to me when I try to tell them I’m taking classes to help better myself. They don’t see that.
Not sure they ever will.
“Because you’re toxic when it comes to your own ambitions,” Ford yells. “Need an example? This goddamn party. Months ago, you said you’d take care of it, and look where we are now—still no idea what the fuck is happening with it, and we’re two weeks out. You couldn’t even order a proper cake.”
“Hold the fuck on.” I sit up as well, rage burning through me. “I did not sign up to be the party planner of this family; it fell on me because you two are never around. And that cake is what Mom and Dad would like, not what you two fancy shits want.”
“Butterscotch and chocolate?” Palmer says. “Cooper, no one likes that but you.”
“You know, Palmer, if you actually spent time with Mom and Dad instead of gallivanting around the world, you might actually know they like butterscotch and chocolate. It’s why I went back and changed it . . . again.”
“I’m not gallivanting around the world, Cooper. I’m working. I’m living, something you should try doing rather than holing up in your apartment, afraid to step outside.”
I want to scream. I want to shout.
That’s not me!
That’s not the man I am.
It’s the man you think I am.
“I’m not afraid to step outside of my apartment—I have responsibilities. I have to be the one to stay close to Mom and Dad, who need help more and more every day. You guys don’t see it because they put on a show when you’re here. Do you really think they’re going on a hike right now?” I shake my head. “They go to the park and sit on a bench, where they rest and hold hands while they talk. They’ve slowed down. And you’re both too wrapped up in your own lives to see that. It’s why they’re moving closer to me in Seattle, for their health.”
“If that’s the case, they haven’t been like that your entire life,” Palmer says, knowing how to press the right buttons. “You were scared even when you were married to Dealia. She wanted to—”
“Do not fucking bring her up, do you hear me?” I say with such anger that I can actually feel my pulse pick up. “My marriage is off limits, unless you want to talk about skeletons in your own closet . . .”
“I don’t have any skeletons,” Palmer says.
“No? What about the fire at the store?”
Her head whips toward me. “Cooper,” she says, and I can actually see the panic in her eyes. I’d feel bad, but she’s pushed too hard, leaving me with very few fucks to give.