“I can’t wait.”
“You can go alone after the season.”
“I’m in China after the season.”
Blake glances at my wife, and I follow his gaze. She’s smiling, but discomfort is apparent on her face. “For how long? If you don’t mind my asking?” she says.
“I don’t mind. You can ask me anything. Five months.”
Her mouth makes an O. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Right?”
“That’s right,” I say. But that’s the thing. Do I have to travel? I’ve managed marketing and some acquisitions for years now. It was a position my dad put me in, and neither Blake nor I enjoy working with each other. Most times we don’t see eye to eye, primarily because we both need independence and control. Two sharks rarely survive in the same tank.
Blake’s turned mainly toward hospitality and fashion, and I’m tired of those areas. I’d rather take acquisitions. Since Bishop does that, I ought to look outside the family business for work.
I lean in and pitch this idea to Blake and Bishop, and I’m whispering a bit, arranging a time to meet, when the server comes and asks my wife, “And for your dad?”
The table falls silent, and I lift my gaze to the teenaged blonde. I don’t correct her because I know Blake will. First, lobster rolls should get delivered to the table at the same time as all other appetizers even though they come from two different places.
Second, my salad had two tomatoes on it when Blake ordered no tomatoes for me. And now this, a presumptuous teenager calling me Benny’s dad. It’s not my job to teach kids manners.
Jesus. My wife is the waitress’s age, so I guess I should teach her a lesson. “It’s Daddy,” I say. “There’s another one available at the table should you need one for yourself.”
The girl turns bright red. She’s mumbling something, clearly at loss for words while I hold her gaze.
“I didn’t mean to presume you’re her dad.”
“But you did,” my wife says.
“I’m terribly sorry,” the young woman says, looking like she’s gonna cry. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Sure you do,” Bishop says. “He’s older. She’s younger. It makes sense, but it’s not true. So I think Daddy should spank you for it.”
She’s nodding, high ponytail bouncing. “Yes, sir.”
I snort. “He’s joking. It’s fine. Go get me the dessert. Cherry on top so I can pop it.” I can’t help myself. She’s making it easy with all the blushing and profuse apologizing.
The server scampers across the deck.
Under the table, my wife squeezes my hand as if I need comforting. She pulls back quickly when I don’t respond, but I snatch her wrist and weave my fingers though hers. Under the table, we hold hands, and suddenly, I’m not feeling very old at all, even if I appear that way to others.
“You’re not old,” she says.
I laugh.
“I’m upset she said that.”
“It’s fine. I’m not offended.”
“You’re so cute, Hudson,” Bishop says.
I roll my eyes.
Blake excuses himself and tightens his tie, ready to stand.
“Sit down, Blake,” I order.
He raises an eyebrow.
