* * *
Nico waved to the night security guard as he left the office around eleven. He wasn’t sure how much time he would need helping Valeriewith her big Mariposa fake-out and had spent the day delegating tasks to free up what he could.
There was only one project he was keeping entirely for himself, and that was the one he’d emerged from twenty minutes ago, dazed after finishing a gargantuan tranche of work. He wanted to provide Roger with a new process to streamline the supply of flour to the factory and had spent the last few hours working through his interview notes and research. He loved breaking down processes into the individual steps and figuring out how to improve each one. It was heaven to make order out of chaos and remove the tiny friction points that increased time and aggravation.
He could never say this to Valerie. You didn’t have to be Casanova to know it was deeply unsexy to tell a woman that the pinnacle of your day involved flowcharting. It’s not like he was going home to level up his man credits by restoring a 1979 Corvette or bench-pressing his own weight either. He was going to review the damn document over a chilled glass of sauvignon blanc. For a moment, he let himself imagine some indeterminate future, sitting on the couch with his wine and notes, Valerie’s head resting on his thigh as she read a book or talked about her day in one of those gentle moments between two people that confirmed everything they had.
He missed that part of being in a relationship but it was a fantasy, nothing more. He barely knew Valerie; plus his thoughts of her were tinged, however unfairly, with that thin skin of hurt that Roger had trusted her first and had excluded him the way his sisters always had. It made him feel inadequate, and he’d never experienced that with Roger or his job. He disliked it.
Back in his apartment, Nico put away his jacket, unpacked his bag, and straightened his shoes. As he waited for some bread to toast, he checked his email to find a message from Gia, a former colleague who had switched to recruiting a few years ago.
Hey, Nico, long time! I’m posting a new role over at Levia and thought you might have someone in your social network who might be a good fit.
Nico often received similar messages, but this time the description made him sweat. This was close to his dream job as an in-house workflow analyst. It was more junior than his current role, but he knew he’d have to put in some time rebuilding his career if he wanted to shift focus.
Could he tell Gia he was interested?
No. He couldn’t. This was a bad time for Roger and the Badgertons, and he had to stay put, at least for now. What kind of person would he be if he left Roger in the middle of this turmoil? He typed out a polite reply to Gia to say he’d pass it on, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to click Send. Instead, he saved the message to his drafts.
His phone rang, breaking the quiet peace of his living room. “Hi, Kimmy,” he said when he picked up.
“Hello, small brother.”
“I’m a head taller than you,” he reminded her mildly. “You stopped being taller when I was eight years old.”
There was something about these old routines with his sister, the same jokes and stories, that felt like comfort, rather than boredom, and he settled in for her usual reply.
It never came. “Sorry for the late call, but I was talking to Steffy about the anniversary,” she said. “We decided to conference you in.”
“Hi, Nico.” His eldest sister’s voice came on the line and he immediately tensed for battle. Was he being too sensitive about Stefanie? Spying a book out of place, he slid it back in the gap on his shelf. Nico disliked mess and as a child had insisted everything be returned promptly to its designated place after use. Stefanie had taken keen and malicious pleasure in moving things around and pretending ignorance when he inevitably threw a tantrum.
No. It wasn’t him. It was her. Stefanie was making him defensive and doubt himself, but he had good reason. Years of good reasons.
“Stefanie.”
“Nice of you to send over your ideas,” she said.
Shit, he’d forgotten, but her tone raised his shoulders high. “Work is busy. I told Kimmy.”
“Convenient,” Stefanie said. “Leaving us to make the effort as usual.”
This stung, but before he could reply, Kimmy broke in. “Enough, you two.”
“I don’t know what we need this conversation for,” said Stefanie. “Obviously we should have a party. We can re-create their wedding reception and invite everyone Mom and Dad know. The same place is still available to rent.”
“Dad said the best thing about the wedding was the cigar tent they had in the parking lot so he could get a break,” said Nico. “I don’t think he wants to relive his reception.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Mom loves telling us how much fun she had. She danced until three in the morning.”
“The rest of the story is that Dad fell asleep on two chairs and got a back spasm.”
“Mom deserves a party,” said Stefanie. “A big one, to celebrate with friends and family. It’s her favorite thing.”
“It’s not Dad’s.”
Kimmy tried to interrupt but Stefanie spoke loud enough to drown her out. “Are you seriously telling me that Mom has to spend her anniversary doing something boring because of Dad?”
“Are you seriously telling me Dad has to hide in the parking lot for his own anniversary?”
