Page 60 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“The opening remarks stay short,” I say. “No vanity messaging or broad claims about transforming the future of aviation unless we can support every word under regulatory scrutiny.”

Sara nods once. “Agreed.”

Jeffrey leans back. “You do know these people expect at least some dramatic language, right? If we don’t sound like we’re changing the world, someone else will.”

“Let them,” I say. “We don’t need to sound visionary. We need to be correct.”

He lifts his coffee in vague acknowledgment of that.

Sara advances to the technical sequence. “We’re still planning a live demonstration model rather than a recorded simulation?”

“Yes.”

She studies me. “That increases the margin for visible failure.”

“It also removes any suggestion we’re hiding behind edited outputs.”

Jeffrey taps the table lightly. “He’s right. If the system works the way we know it works, live is stronger.”

I look at the current display notes. “No overproduction or theatrical countdowns. The system speaks for itself.”

Sara’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the calculation already adjusting. She likes control and predictability. In that regard, we work well together. She builds the room; I decide what matters in it.

“We’ll need the visuals simplified,” she says. “The current sequence assumes a general audience. That room won’t be general. Half of them will know enough to follow the engineering. The other half will pretend they do.”

“Then build for the first group,” I reply. “The second will follow whatever everyone else applauds.”

Jeffrey laughs quietly. “Accurate.”

I continue scanning the guest list. Board members. Investors. Regulators. Partners. Legacy names in aviation who attend these events because public presence reassures markets that their age hasn't diminished their relevance.

Then, lower down the social layer. Spouses. Guests. Philanthropic figures. Press adjacent attendees who have no business near a systems demo but will somehow end up photographed against it anyway.

I set the list down.

Sara notices. “You’ll need to stay for the full evening this year. The private reception after the presentation matters.”

“I’m aware.”

“And the board expects?—”

“I know what the board expects, Sara.”

She stops there, not because she’s intimidated but because she’s efficient enough to recognize when repetition no longer serves a purpose.

The truth is simpler than any of them will say aloud.

They expect me to perform enough of the role attached to my position that no one spends the evening asking whether Strong AeroTech’s leadership remains stable, invested, and intact.

I've attended every year since Megan died.

Alone.

And every year, the same silence follows me through the room. Along with the persistent belief that grief eventually becomes elegant if the suit is tailored well enough.

It doesn’t.

It becomes familiar, that’s all.