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Whether that means never looking at liquor again or never being seen without her in public settings from this point forward, I’m game.
I’m listening to the coaching.
All of it.
“Peck belongs here,” Harlow insists, focus back on Blanc. “You know that. I know that. He fucking knows that. It’s time we bring him home.”
Blanc nods once more in agreement. “Who do you want for his spot?”
I interrupt—what’s probably out of turn for a second time—with a suggestion. “Rajiv Kapoor would work.”
Harlow’s head tilts to the side in contemplation.
“Met him at Say Jump, Sucka. He’s recently signed. Got mobility. Flexibility. He’s eager. Hungry but not starving. Didn’t hear anyone utter a bad word about him.”
“Blanc?” My wife investigates.
“Uh…haven’t personally seen him much, but I can check with Stroll. See if he thinks he could survive those shifts.”
“Do that.”
“On it,” Blanc states at the same time he stands up. “Keep me up to date on legal?”
She casually nods and has another sip of water.
His departure is accompanied by a small parting nod my direction.
Finally being alone, has me relocating my body around to lean my ass against the edge of Harlow’s desk directly beside her. It takes my wife longer than I wish it would for her to look up at me. I expect to see displeasure and rightfully placed resentment but am only met by care.
Palpable concern.
“You hurt or you injured?”
The familiar hockey adage in reference to whether you can walk off the pain or need real help kicks the corner of my lips upward. “Hurt.”
“Eh, then you’ll be fine.” She abandons her bottle of water to fold her hands on top of her stomach. “I’ll call Richards to tell him you’ll be down shortly to make sure nothing’s broken after I call the custodial team to clean this shit up.”
“What are you gonna tell them happened?”
“Nothing,” Harlow casually brushes off. “Perk of being the owner. I don’t have to explain dick to anyone besides the head legal.”
“Menville?”
“Madelyn Li. Menville actually answers to her, which he hates.”
“Because she’s a woman?”
“That and like two decades younger than him.”
“Shit, I didn’t realize she was that young.”
“Age isn’t fucking everything,” Harlow bitterly bites. “Whether we’re talking job capabilities or romantic ones, that little factor is not the be all, end all.”
Sensing the shift in the subjects prompts me into pressing my lips together rather than retorting.
“Despite the fact there’s this huge fucking age between us, I have never once worried that was a problem until this morning.”
Her confession causes the ache in my chest that had momentarily dispersed to return.
“And honestly, I pretty much fucking adore all the ‘young shit’ about you. You’re quicker at finding new music sources which have benefited both me and the team. You’re not just settled or stuck in your ways, so you’re willing and wanting to learn about all sorts of different shit. You’re open fucking minded about so, so much. There’s an undeniable ease that comes from having someone around that’s so flexible and so optimistic because the world hasn’t taken nearly as many dumps on you yet. You’re health conscious without being worried that every cough that leaves me is a cancer scare. Yeah, you’re not always the best with money—still can’t believe you spent that much on a copy of the Die Hard soundtrack—but like neither am I. And I’m probably ‘too fucking old’ to stay up ‘til three in the morning for an air hockey, foosball, ping pong tournament, but I do it anyway, just like you’re probably ‘too fucking young’ to be that obsessed with different types of kitchen sinks-”
“Fuck me for thinking about how much easier it would be to clean the babies’ bottles or all the dishes from hosting Thanksgiving if we had a bigger sink.”
She shoots me playful finger point. “Also not typical shit for a dude your age to be thinking about, but you do. And it’s shit that a woman my age probably should, yet I don’t. That’s why a line in the sand about age has never been a thing between us before, but after last night…I need to know that we’re on the same page of this playbook going forward, Brendan.”
My mouth twitches to proclaim we are but doesn’t get the chance to actually speak.
“I’m not asking you to not have a beer with the boys. I’m asking you not to get shitfaced in public.”
“I really didn’t mean to get that drunk, baby.”
“It’s not about what you did or didn’t mean to do. It’s a matter of thinking about the bigger picture before you make any sort of decision like that. And believe me, I know it’s not fair. I know it’s selfish to expect that out of you, but this is the deal, Brendan. You wanna stay married to me? Then you have to abide by certain lifestyle rules. You have to be more cautious of who you talk to. How it might look. What you say. How what you might say in passing could make it to the press. You have to sacrifice your own personal preferences and put this franchise first. This fucking brand.” Her thumbs give her tummy a small stroke. “I’m only gonna ask you do you want this shit once. Just this one time. And if you say yes, then that’s that. We’ll scrape the ice of last night’s bullshit loss, agree to move forward as the team we are, and I’ll proceed to figuring out a plan with Lopez. However, if you say no…” there’s a noticeable sadness that hits her stare, “then I’ll accept that. Without shade or malice because I know what I’m asking you…what I’m really asking of you is a lot. I’ll put a call in to the lawyers, have divorce papers drafted, and make sure you receive a sizeable settlement and a bonus for signing an NDA regarding what happened between us like we discussed before.”
