Page 20 of I Saw You First

I try to dodge these Sunday night lunches as much as possible, especially after a week like this one. But today is Kap’s birthday, his 25th, and Chanelle insisted on throwing him a party. A party he didn’t want. He’s even less of a fan of the second Mrs. Wilshire.

So far, I’ve avoided Dad, who’s in the midst of a lengthy conversation in the great room with Alec, no doubt offering unsolicited and unwelcome advice. The Twins game is on, but I’ll sacrifice watching the game if it means I don’t have to talk to Dad.

“You can’t leave your own birthday party early, man.” Andre, Kelsey’s husband, joins us in the kitchen and grabs a Mich Golden from the refrigerator. He’s a tall, lanky Black man with thick-framed glasses and cornrows. “I need to start bringing my own beer. This tastes like watered-down piss.”

“Chanelle made Dad switch to light beer.” Kap snickers. “She’s worried about his expanding waistline.”

“You should at least stay until we eat,” Andre says. “You don’t want to piss off boss-man.”

“What’s he going to do, fire me?”

Of course he wouldn’t. It’s a point of pride that all of his children—including Alec and Drew—work for Hometown Electronics in some capacity, although I’m the only one at a store and not the corporate office.

“You still work there?” I ask. “I haven’t read any articles in the Business Journal about you revolutionizing any processes lately. I thought maybe you’d been let go.”

“Fuck off.” Kap slugs me in the arm. “How are things going with your merch rotation, Jefferson? Heard you bombed an eval.”

“You fuck off,” I volley back. The mention of the eval makes me think about Abbey and how she came in like gangbusters her first week. That woman knows her stuff—about music, yeah, and movies, but she’s also quickly picked up on department procedures. So far, it seems like this was a good hire, and maybe she will be the one to help us pass the next eval.

She’s fun and beautiful and yes, sometimes I still think about what might have been, but then I remind myself that she’s my employee and she’s off-limits and I don’t want to be like my father.

I give Kap the finger. “Why don’t you try stocking a cycle and see how you do?”

“Can you two act like grown-ups?” Andre says, then changes the subject. “Hey, I’ve got some questions about your grandfather.”

“Jefferson A. Wilshire the second?” I ask. JW, my grandfather, is mostly remembered for his coke habit, his affairs, and an embezzlement scandal at his law firm.

“He was kind of a dick,” Kap offers. I bark out a laugh. Kap barely knew the guy. He died of a massive stroke when we were still in elementary school. His reputation as a womanizing, manipulating cheat, however, has lived on.

“Nah, not JW,” Andre says. “I know all about JW, believe me. I want to know about your other grandfather. Your mom’s dad.”

“Huh,” Kap says. “What do you want to know?”

Andre started his Hometown Electronics career as a Loss Prevention team captain during college at the U of M, then inventory manager at Woodlake. After he graduated, he moved to facilities management at the corporate office.

“We see him what, once or twice a year,” Andre says, “and at the New Year’s Eve gala. But I guess I want to know what he’s like in general. And what he’s like to work with as the president of the board. The history of the League, that kind of thing.”

Kap gives me a look. “You want to field this one?”

The Hometown League has never been Kaplan’s thing, but I love it. Mom’s brother, Uncle Howard, has Down syndrome, and she started the nonprofit, initially through Hometown Electronics, to provide him and others with disabilities with a place to belong—and play baseball. Howard knows more about baseball and the MLB than anyone I’ve met, including Dad. Hometown Electronics is still a major sponsor and has helped the nonprofit start a league in each of its major markets. I spend most of my spare time in the spring and summer volunteering with the Twin Cities league, which irritates Dad to no end, of course. I’m sure he’d rather that I spend my free time going over P&L reports or earning an MBA.

I’m happy to talk about the Hometown League—to anyone, anytime—but not so much within earshot of Dad. “Let’s take this out to the patio,” I say.

“I’m outta here.” Kap drains the rest of his beer and sets the empty on the island. “Let Dad know.”

“No fucking way,” I say. “Tell him yourself. Coward.”

“Fuck you,” Kap says.

“Happy Birthday.” I pull him in for a hug. He allows it for about two seconds and then scowls as he walks into the mudroom and out through the garage to avoid Dad in the living room. When the door slams shut behind him and the automatic garage door goes up, Chanelle scans the room.

“Oh, no!” she cries. “Did Kaplan leave? We haven’t eaten yet! And I got his favorite cake from Wuollet Bakery! Jeff! Kaplan left!”

“Time to go.” I nod in the direction of the front patio that overlooks the parkway and the lake, grab a couple more beers from the fridge, and follow Andre out.

Today is overcast but still muggy and hot as balls, not unusual for mid-September in Minnesota. We sit at a table under a bright red umbrella and watch the traffic and joggers on the parkway below.

“So, why are you asking about the Hometown League and working with Bob?” I ask.