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I grin, charmed by the idea of being “courted,” and text back—We can save the courting for after we aren’t on the down-low. As big as this city is, it’s also remarkably small. And apparently, we run in the same circles.
Agreed, he says. And things are going so well with Adrian, I don’t want to flub the ball on this. We had a nice talk again last night.
That’s great! I shoot back, happy for him and Adrian.
It is, he replies. I see a path forward to a real relationship with my son for the first time in a long time. I want to break the news that we’re dating with thoughtfulness and finesse, when the time is right. And that isn’t right now. Gigi finally agreed to the paternity test. Adrian’s going with her to the doctor’s office on Thursday.
There’s a knock on my glass door and I look up to see Dave, the project manager for the shelter. I lift a hand and motion toward my cell, indicating I’ll be with him in just a second.
Good news! I type quickly. I’ll keep my fingers crossed and see you tonight at your place at six-thirty. Have a great day.
Turning my phone on silent, I leave it face down on my desk as I move to let Dave in. I’ve named Gideon “Puppy Pilot” in my phone, but I don’t want Dave to see a personal notification popping through during work hours. Dave is in his mid-thirties, but he’s as old-school as my father. Personal calls and texts are for personal time, outside the office. I’m sure he’s instructed his wife not to contact him during working hours unless it’s a life-or-death emergency.
When I’m at the helm, that’s something I want to change. People’s lives are too complicated to have such a harsh divide between personal and professional time. I’d also like to see parental leave extended by two weeks and offered to both mothers and fathers.
That’s actually at the top of my list of changes to discuss with Dad once I’ve found my footing with the company and proven I’m an asset to Watson Global.
Changes to Watson Global are still top of mind on Wednesday when I go straight from my cozy bed to a high stress jobsite in the north Bronx.
It takes approximately ten seconds in my hard hat to realize Dave’s presence isn’t appreciated—or necessary. Mitch, the foreman, and the rest of the construction team have things well in hand. Dave’s attempts at “oversight” are only slowing things down and impeding innovation.
After hearing him shut down Mitch’s proposal to add a dog grooming and kennel area near the back entrance, to help families needing to flee domestic violence with their animals in tow, I can’t help stepping in.
I draw Dave aside, sharing the research on how many abused partners put off leaving dangerous situations because most shelters don’t accept animals. “I only know that because I did a project on creating community refuge spaces in grad school,” I say, hoping to soften the blow of knowing more about the needs of domestic violence victims than the man leading this project. “But I think we could really help fill a void here, Dave. Make this project stand out. Could be great for the company’s charity and you as the leader of the project.”
He seems to consider that for a beat, before adding, “But we’re already over budget for plumbing. This would take us another ten-thousand into the red.”
“What if I can find a workaround?” I ask. “Would you consider it then?”
Dave expresses he’s agreeable to that and I huddle up with Mitch to find a solution, deciding to go with a slightly cheaper vinyl flooring in the dorms to stretch the budget.
When we’re done, Mitch beams at me. “Thanks for advocating for the change, Syd. I think it’ll be great for the shelter. Help give people comfort in a hard time. I know I wouldn’t even think about leaving home without Wendy. That dog is like my third daughter.”
“My pleasure,” I say with a smile. “That’s what we’re here for, right? To think outside the box and try to make this the best place possible for the people who need it.”
“That’s what we’re here for, anyway,” he says, casting a pointed look at Dave, who is currently interfering with the HVAC installer for some unknown reason. He shifts his focus back to me, smiling as he adds, “Glad to see you living the dream, though. Your dad has been looking forward to this for years. He couldn’t wait to have you home and working for the family business.”
“Happy to be here,” I say. And…I am. Mostly.
But as I catch a cab back to the office with Dave an hour later, Mitch’s words continue to haunt me. I’m “living the dream,” all right.
But is it my dream? Or my father’s?
Suddenly, that distinction feels very important.
I suspect it has something to do with the man waiting for me at the speakeasy on Tenth Avenue after work on Wednesday, the one who makes it clear every time he touches me that what I want matters to him.
That I matter…
On impulse, I hurry across the bar, into the shadows in the back of the dimly lit space, and right into Gideon’s arms.
twenty-eight
GIDEON
Her lips press against mine and the stress of the day vanishes in a rush of gratitude.
I’ve never felt this lucky, not in my entire life.
