I’m such a rotten bastard that my assistant thinks I’m an alien for being a decent person. I rub the palms of my hands against my eyes.
Why do I feel this way? Why now?
I was fine. For years I was fine, just floating through life after everything that happened with Vanessa. But now? Is the way I’m living life good enough? Will I look back years from now and regret not being surrounded by more people who care about me, that I didn’t start a family?
Is that what I want?
I’ll never be a team dad, or the husband who’s thoughtful and considerate all the time. But I could be, couldn’t I? If I really wanted to do those things, I could try to do better. It’s not like I have a steady partner to even consider this with. I’m thinking about someone I’m going to fuck anonymously for fuck’s sake.
I pick up my phone and text Aiden.
What does a midlife crisis feel like?
Aiden
I’m not even fucking forty. How would I know?
I thought your retirement from the MLB was your midlife crisis?
Aiden
Maybe you should see a therapist.
I roll my eyes and place my phone screen side down on the desk. What is it I truly want?
I shake away my existential crisis and focus on work, and my upcoming night with Honey.
That has to be enough, because I’m not sure I’m capable of anything beyond that. I don’t touch my phone, just plug away at work until there’s a knock at my door.
“Come in,” I say, without even looking up.
The person in question comes and sits in front of me, making me abandon the current report that I was looking at.
“Krystal,” I say, noting the event planner's presence.
She handles everything from our building grand openings, client get togethers, to employee functions. She also helps with staging when needed.
Krystal doesn’t take any bullshit, and for the most part I let her do her own thing.
“Right, the tradeshow and awards in Vegas.”
“I’ll have everything planned, but I won’t be able to attend this year,” she says, leafing through her files.
Her nails are unpainted, and her outfit is simple business casual, as well as her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. She hands me a file, peering at me with her deep brown eyes.
“Why not?”
“My wife is having a baby,” she says, sitting back and placing her arms on the arm rests.
I’m not stupid enough to ask how exactly they made it happen and it’s none of my business.
“Congratulations,” I say.
Krystal rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.
“She’s due in October so I’m not risking missing anything by not being there.”
“Okay.”
