Page 11 of The Lipstick Flip

“Lots to do,” I said. “You know how it is.”

Which, he didn’t. Because I might not have heard anything about Marty Reynolds for the last two years, but I had the feeling not much had changed.

“Here we go,” Jonathan said, passing me a hand saw. He held a similar saw in his other hand. “We’re all paid up. Let’s go find some trees.”

And even though this was all pretend, even though it had been years, even though it didn’t fucking matter anymore, I heard myself say, “Wait a minute, Jonathan. I want to pay for our—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tracy said, hooking her arm through mine. She lost her balance and covered it by leaning into me. “We’re happy to pay.”

“She’s always happy to pay,” Jonathan said. “Because she doesn’t have to make any of the money.”

Tracy laughed, but not a good laugh, and pressed me toward the door.

“Really,” I said. “You don’t have to—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Noah said, still smiling, but the words were brittle. “Remember?”

So, I shut my mouth and let Tracy lead me toward the door.

The fresh air carried away some of the smell of peppermint schnapps, and the cold was a relief after the heat of the tree farm’s office.

“I think we go that way,” Jonathan said, pointing with the hand saw.

We started off in that direction. Snow crunched underfoot, and for a few blessed seconds, we were all silent.

“So,” Tracy said. “Tell us everything. It’s been ages since we saw you, Howie. Ages. You’ve been keeping my baby away from me.” She held out a hand toward Noah, which Noah ignored. Unfazed, Tracy continued in a voice that didn’t come close to confidential, “Is he okay? I worry about him. He’s so sensitive—he was always a momma’s boy.”

Jonathan didn’t actually do anything, but invisible hackles went up.

“I can tell he hasn’t been taking care of himself,” Tracy said. “I took one look at him and I knew.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Noah said. “Howie doesn’t have to take care of me.”

“He’s always struggled with his weight,” Tracy confided in that not-actually-a-whisper. “He eats when he’s stressed.”

Which was so seriously bat-shit that I was opening my mouth to say something before I caught myself. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say—What the fuck are you talking about? seemed like a good start. Or Can’t you see how thin he is? But I managed to say, “Jonathan, how’s work?”

Noah threw me a surprised look, and then, for a moment, gratitude floated to the surface.

“Busy,” Jonathan said. “You wouldn’t believe these new associates we’re hiring. Twenty-five years old, and they think they can go home at five and be done for the day. This little slip of a girl walked right into my office last week—”

Marty groaned. “Here we go again.”

“—and do you know what she said? She said she thought we had a toxic workplace culture. She said we needed to emphasize work-life balance. And then she said if I wouldn’t let her move to Sedona and work out of her aunt’s crystal shop, she was going to quit. Good Christ, what happened to your generation? It’s all those damn iPads.”

“We went to Sedona in March,” Marty said. “Dad and I went off-roading.”

Nobody seemed inclined to pick that up, so Noah jumped in with “Dad, did you read that article I sent you about roboadvisors? I thought it was so interesting—”

“That’s fine,” Jonathan said over him. “But you can’t convince me that computers are going to do everything. Some jobs you’ve got to have a man do.” And then—for the love of actual fucks—he clapped me on the shoulder. “Howie, you did it smart. Learned a skill. A trade. What you do, it matters. You build things. Make things. That’s something we lost in this country. That’s a man’s work—work a man can be proud of. I wish more people would do something like that with their lives.”

He didn’t look at Marty or Noah. But he didn’t have to. The pink in Noah’s cheeks deepened. For a moment, Marty looked almost feral with rage, but then the expression thinned into an attempt at a smile.

“Dad and I have been talking a lot about future-proof jobs,” Marty said. “We’ve got some great ideas for new businesses, investments. That’s the great part about living at home. Dad and I can have these marathon brainstorming sessions whenever we want.”

“We miss Noah,” Tracy said. It was so teary that it was more like a sheep bleating, and she clutched my arm more tightly. Some of that might have had something to do with the uneven ground and the fact that Tracy was pure schnapps from the ankles down. “I keep telling Noah there are hospitals in California. There are great jobs near your parents. And it’s not like we’re getting any younger. Don’t you feel bad, Howie? Don’t you feel even the tiniest bit bad that you’re keeping him away from his parents?”

“Mom!” Noah tried to laugh. “Howie’s not keeping me here.” He shot me a look and mumbled, “Sorry.”