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It’s a strangely romantic thing to hear from my curmudgeonly friend and colleague. But Mitch and Amy, his wife, have been together for nearly twenty years, and she’s still the only one who can make his eyes light up when he smiles.
“Well, let me know how it goes with the Coney Island dick,” Mitch adds as he scoots out of the booth. “And with all the rest of it.” He stands, motioning toward the table with a crooked grin. “You’re buying, by the way. We’ll consider it your apology for nearly giving me a heart attack in your apartment.”
“Absolutely. Thanks for your trust. I’ll figure this out, Mitch. I promise.”
He sighs, clearly still dubious, but more relaxed than when we first sat down. “I’ll have Amy light a candle for you at church tomorrow. You’re going to need it.”
He leaves and I pull out my wallet. Before I can set down my credit card, however, my cell dings. I glance down to see a message from Derrick, my doorman. He has my number in case of emergencies, but he’s never used it.
Not until today.
I read the text—Your guest from last night called with a message, sir. She said your son is in crisis and is going to be reaching out to you soon. She also said she has more information if you wanted to call her at the number she left at the desk. I wouldn’t usually reach out like this, but she sounded worried, and she seemed like a nice lady.
Cursing myself for forgetting to get Sydney’s number on my way out with Mitch, I shoot back—Of course, please forward the number, Derrick. Sydney’s absolutely someone I trust. Thank you so much. I appreciate your time.
I’m still waiting for a reply when another text pops through. This one is from Adrian and reads only—Talk? About family stuff?
It’s not much, but it’s the first time Adrian’s reached out to ask me for something other than money or a hookup with one of my connections in a long time. I don’t know what this “crisis” is, but I know I want to be there for him. And that I don’t want to drop the ball on a chance to show him that I’m someone he can count on.
Thankfully, Derrick comes through with Sydney’s number a moment later.
I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the table and leave the diner. As soon as I’m out on the sidewalk, I text Adrian—Absolutely. Noon? By the obelisk in Central Park?
While I’m waiting for him to reply, I text Sydney—Can you talk? I just heard from Adrian. He didn’t say what’s going on, but it seems serious, and I’d really love to get this right.
She replies quickly. Yes, give me a second. My roommate and her boyfriend just woke up, and I don’t want them to overhear. I’ll go up to the roof and call you in a few?
Some of the tension easing from my shoulders, I reply, Perfect. Thank you. You were amazing this morning, by the way. As I thought, one hell of a businesswoman.
She sends over a blushing smiling face. Thanks. It felt good. Call you when I’m alone.
Smiling, I reply—Yes, please. Looking forward to it.
I’m still smiling when Adrian texts a second later, confirming our meeting time, which gives me approximately two hours to talk to Sydney, formulate a plan, and get uptown.
But that’s doable.
Everything feels a little more doable this morning, even staying in New York on more of a full-time basis. As long as Sydney’s in the picture, many previously unthinkable things suddenly seem possible.
twenty-three
SYDNEY
Up on the roof, I cross to the southwest edge of the building, gazing across Manhattan toward Chelsea and Gideon.
The city feels different with him in it.
I feel different.
This morning, my workaholic new life seems silly, the actions of a scared kid, not a competent businesswoman. Part of being a grown-up is drawing boundaries and letting the people around you know what you will (or won’t) tolerate moving forward. No one else at Watson Global is working this hard, not even the most ambitious junior exec, determined to be promoted to management before he turns twenty-eight.
I’ve been killing myself to prove myself to my father, but…there’s nothing to prove. I graduated top of my class and I’ve been rising to every challenge presented to me at Watson Global. I’ve got this. The only problem is time. I need more of it, and I intend to make that clear to my father on Monday.
No more staying at the office until seven or eight at night or working through the weekends. And if that means it takes longer for me to transition into a leadership role in the company…that’s okay. My father is getting older, but he’s still in great health. There’s no need to rush this at the expense of my well-being or sanity. I should have time to hit the gym three times a week, take a walk in Central Park after work every once and a while, and spend time with the people who matter to me, like my friends and…
“Hey,” I say when Gideon answers on the first ring, the sound of his voice enough to make my chest fill with fizzing bubbles. “How did things go with Mitch?”
“Good. Better than expected, actually. I think he understands this isn’t what he thought it was. That it’s…more serious. At least for me.”
