“Partner?”
“Plural. Jay and Marco.”
“You’re in a throuple?” she exclaims. “I just read a book about a throuple! Oh my god, it was so romantic. I’ll bring it to you. And someyakgwa.”
My mouth waters simply at the name of Aunt Rose’s signature sticky and flakey dessert. “That’s my favorite.”
“I know. I could never keep you and your father’s hands out of the tin.”
Knowing Jay’s sweet tooth, I tell her, “You might want to make a double batch.”
“How about next Saturday night? We can drive down to your place.”
“I’d love that.”
“Okay, honey, I’ll let you go. Sounds like you're out and about. Love ya, scooter.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up my call as Angie puts down her latte. “Aunt Rose?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s the fucking best. Were you there when she taught me how to take a body shot?”
“What? No,” I giggle. “When were you hanging out with her without me? And whose body were the shots off of?”
Angie giggles, “Hers.”
Chapter 29
It Feels Like Victory
Cora
Present Day
Stillridingthehighfrom the hearing, Jay and I stride into the office bright and early Monday morning. Like every day since then, I feel like I've won the right to call this company mine. I fought for these stairs. I fought for these walls. I fought for these people and their creativity. I fought for my dad.
I fought and I won.
After our morning meeting, I had a couple job sites to visit, which took up most of my day. I love going onsite—seeing the construction process unfold and knowing every little detail that went into that reinforced beam or the placement of lighting will ultimately form a beautiful, well-designed piece of functional art—it feels like magic.
When I get back to the office later in the afternoon, I tuck my hard hat under my arm as I walk past my employees on the main floor. Dayo spots me, putting a finger up to tell their team to wait a second as they catch me in the walkway. “Hey, I need to talk to you. Do you have time?”
I look at my watch. “Come see me in thirty? I have to square away these notes from the job site today, but then I’ll have time.”
“Alright. I'll see you then,” they say and make their way back to the group.
I get back to my office, quickly typing out the notes from today’s visits and sending it off to David to review. As soon as I hit send, my desk phone rings and it’s a call from my assistant, Sue.
“Hi, Cora. Maureen Hansel with the Philadelphia Fine Arts Center is here to see you. She said she doesn’t have an appointment.”
Worry and confusion nip at me. “That’s okay. I have time. Send her up.”
A few minutes later, Sue walks Maureen into my office then shuts the door. Maureen, as always, looks flawless and styled in an effortlessly chic way. I, however, look like I’ve been at a construction site all day—steel toe shoes, jeans, and helmet hair.
Maureen extends her hand. “Hi, Cora. Sorry to barge in like this.”
