“Imagine,” Dave continues, “all the small, local producers who could benefit from this. Food allergies are on the rise. We have a spike in people coming in with celiac disease and egg allergies, asking about products they can safely eat. Individualized food is the new trend. Give people exactly what they need, and they'll become loyal customers. Mass and fast foods are out.”
“Not convinced,” Dec says, and I nod in agreement.
“We know that eating clean leads to health benefits,” Vince adds, looking a little too confident. “So we reached out to one of the newer apps being marketed to health insurance companies and primary care physicians. We can calculate the macro- and micronutrient breakdowns and get our foods into their apps. Then co-market to drive their subscribers into our stores and gyms, and vice versa.”
My spine starts to tingle.
“Now you're talking.” Dec and I exchange a glance.
Damn it. This might work.
Which means.... partnering with my brother's company.
“Wait,” I interject, needing to cut through the fog of possibility that threatens to overwhelm me. I've just had a furious argument with my brother about taking on too much. “Why not partner with Anterdec? Why shouldn't I just do this as CEO there?”
Dave and Vince shake their heads. “No.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“Anterdec is too corporate.”
Declan is in the middle of sipping a latte and nearly chokes.
“What does too corporate mean?” I challenge.
“Big conglomerates don't have the level of trust needed for this market segment,” Dave says smoothly. “And it's a growing segment. People are looking for health factors they can control, and pure food is one of them. Anterdec's too tainted.”
“Tainted?”
“Would you trust a fast-food chain to produce high quality organic food? Or a huge international hotel chain to provide personalized boutique bed and breakfasts? No. The branding is too strong for what they've done well. Anterdec does what it does very well. This isn't part of your brand,” Dave elaborates.
Dec and I stop, blinking hard.
Because Dave is right.
“This won't work,” Dec says.
“Why not?” I ask, turning to him.
“Because you have too much on your plate.”
“I'll hire people.” I point at Vince. “He's on board.”
“I am,” Vince agrees. “But only if you two work together. I refuse to work in a tense, high-stress environment with two wusses who can't stop arguing like littermates fighting over a bone.”
Dave gives Vince a look of love. Pure love.
“I need time,” I snap, just as Dave slides a small bowl of salad toward me.
“Try this.”
“What is it?” I see chopped dried fruit, avocado, carrots, and–
“Dried organic bing cherries, shaved celeriac, and roasted golden beets on arugula and micro-green pea shoots in a dressing of MCT oil, roasted blended pumpkin seed, maple syrup, cumin, turmeric, and ginger. Slivers of smoked salmon on top.”
I take a bite.
“This is good,” I mutter around my mouthful. “Really good.”
“I just listed every actual ingredient in that.” Vince slides a small smoothie toward Dec. “You try this.”
He takes a sip. “What's in it?”
“Cashew milk made here on the premises with filtered water and cashews. Mango. Dark cherries. Fresh cranberries from Truro. High-polyphenol olive oil. Hemp seeds. Overripe bananas. Lacinato kale. Organic English seedless cucumber, peeled.”
“I would never, ever drink this if I knew what was in it.” But Dec keeps drinking. “And it’s really good.”
“Your body is sucking up the nutrients,” Vince says. “Guarantee you'll feel better all day. Imagine eating that well, and tracking your dietary needs in an app. Cross-check it against productivity at work. Against sex drive and sex life–”
“Now you're talking,” mutters an employee from behind Dave.
I finish my salad, chewing and thinking. I finish, and announce, “Let me think this through.”
Both Vince and Dave nod, then turn to Dec, who sets the empty smoothie glass on the counter.
“No,” he declares.
“No?” All three of us are surprised.
“If we're going to do something this complex, I need a partner who is all there. You're too distracted, Andrew.” He looks at Vince. “But I'm happy to lure you away from Andrew's gyms, if you're interested.”
“I'll help you negotiate,” Dave says to Vince out of the corner of his mouth.
“What do you mean, no? I said I'm thinking about it. And you don't get to decide whether my life has too much in it, Declan. That's not your job.”
“Maybe not. But when my company is asked to invest and work with another one, it becomes my business.” He gives Dave and Vince a nod, then turns to me, pivoting on one heel before he heads toward the elevator to the corporate offices.
“While you're thinking about it, bro, think about your priorities. Because when you want to do it all, it means nothing is more important than anything else. And kids and wives don't work that way.”
With that, my brother has the last word.
And I can't stop him.
Because I have no response to that.
18
Amanda
“Do it again,” he insists.
“I just did it twice!”
“But it feels so good.”
“Fine.”
“Mmmm. Like that!” he says, grinning down at me.
“This isn't as easy as it looks, buddy.”
“You're good with balancing, and man, when you clench like that...” He descends into non-verbal groans and sighs.
“You're really that jazzed when I do it?”
“I've never found your body more exciting.”
“Your balls certainly seem to enjoy resting there.”
“Until they–oh!” he grunts, then laughs. “That one slid off the side. Look at it go. Ping, ping, ping.”
We're staying at our place in the Seaport District, with a small renovation project going on at the house in Weston. Neither of us wants to be exposed to fumes and dust, so we're here for the week.
Nostalgia is everywhere. My first night sleeping over. Our first morning coffee. Our first argument...
He picks up another ping-pong ball and puts it in my navel, which has become an outie, but has a small ring around it that can hold a ball – but barely. The white, lightweight orb nestles in place, and then–boing!
It jumps up an inch and rolls down my right side.
“I love playing ping-pong with my unborn kids.”
“I'm surprised.”
“You are?”
“So far, they're beating you.”
“No one's keeping score,” he mutters, but I can tell that's a lie. He bends forward, trying to balance two balls in my belly button, when suddenly, Lefty's elbow pokes up and the ball hits Andrew in the eye.
We descend into laughter, my side hurting from giggling so hard that Righty kicks my ribs. It’s like he’s curling little monkey toes around them.