“Don’t raise your voice,” his father growls.
Alex laughs darkly. “A scolding? That’s new.”
A fist hits the table, and I jerk, squeaking a little. “Just…” His father exhales in obvious exasperation. “Stay. Keep doing whatever it is you’ve been doing for the past two months. GrowBite the Handhowever you see fit. Spare no expense. Invest in anything you thinkworthy. Money is no object when it comes to that brand right now. Got it?”
I roll my eyes. Like father, like son.
“You cannot possibly think,” Alex says, “that with you gone, Dougie will allow us to launch BTH as a subsidiary. He hates me almost as much as he hates you. I feel it every time we’re in a room together. He’ll probably try to get me fired.”
“So you’re going to give up without trying?”
“That’snotwhat I said,” Alex retorts, masculine bravado flaring. “I’m only making a prediction, and I don’t even hear you denying it.”
“Well.” Robert clears his throat. “I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”
Alex says, “Guess so.”
Here’s the thing. Even if I weren’t hiding in a closet, this wouldstillbe one of the weirder conversations I’ve been privy to. Robert sounds like he’schallengingAlex. And Alex sounds like he’s… accepting it.
After a beat of silence, Robert asks, “Late night?”
“Yeah.”
“Sonja?”
“Dad.” Alex exhales. “I dated Sonja for three weeks when I was twenty-one.”
I briefly ponder how to acquire Sonja’s Social Security number and least favorite way to die before I remember that Alex is just a coworker.
“Right. I guess it’s been a while since we’ve… caught up.”
“Twenty-five years, give or take.”
“Don’t be that way, Alex. You’ve always been independent.”
Alex says nothing. But I can feel it—the way his heart is stretching outside of him, asking for a chance to be known. Maybe he doesn’twantto be independent.
“Seeing anyone new?” Robert asks.
A chair scrapes along the floor. “No.”
Footsteps cross the apartment. Seconds tick by as Alex’s dad pokes around. The creaky bathroom door swings open, then closed again. I huddle deeper in my corner.
“Why won’t you use your trust, Alex? This place is a shoebox.”
Alex sighs. Maybe this is a conversation he’s tired of having. “If you don’t understand the reason by now, there’s nothing I can say to make you grasp it.”
“You realize, if I die first, you get half my money, and if I die after Linda does, you get everything?”
“You realize I’m going to donate it all either way?”
There is a stony silence on the other side of my barrier.
“Here,” says Robert. “Take my house key in case this place gets condemned. Our Upper East Side town house will be empty through Christmas.”
“Why?”
“Linda and I are going away for a few months. I’ll be back in January.”
