I hang up.
Turn off my phone. The screen goes dark, and something in my chest loosens.
Fuck Feldstein. Fuck the brief. Fuck partnership.
Today, nothing matters except making sure this wedding goes perfectly.
For her.
I head inside to shower and change. The house is chaos—bridesmaids shrieking about something, someone’s lost a shoe, Mason’s guitar playing drifts from the basement, off-tempo and anxious.
I make it to my room without being spotted. I strip off the salmon-scented clothes, tossing them in a pile for the dry cleaner to deal with. I take a quick, brutal shower, scrubbing away the smell of fish and highway.
The tux hangs in my closet like an accusation. When’s the last time I wore this? Some firm event? A client’s daughter’s wedding where I spent the whole time reviewing contracts on my phone?
This feels different.
Everything about this week feels different.
I’m adjusting my bow tie, fingers fumbling with the silk, when Mason appears in my doorway.
“Dude.” He’s already in his tux, looking nervous and happy and terrified all at once.
“What?” I focus on the mirror, the tie finally cooperating.
“Mom’s looking for you.” He leans against the doorframe, grinning despite the warning.
“Tell her I died.” I move to my cufflinks, silver and simple.
“Funny. She wants to discuss your ‘life choices’.” He makes air quotes and smirks.
“My life choices are fine.” But I can feel his eyes on me, assessing.
“Sure they are.” He shifts his weight, crossing his arms. “Is that why you just hung up on your boss?”
“You were listening?” I glance at him in the mirror.
“These walls are thin.” He grins wider. “Also, you were yelling.”
Oops.
“I wasn’t yelling.” I check my reflection, smoothing down my jacket.
“You were aggressively speaking.” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are serious.
I finish with the tie. Check my cufflinks. Avoid his eyes in the mirror.
“So,” he says, drawing out the word. “Poppy.”
“What about her?” I busy myself with my pocket square.
“You’re really gonna let her leave tomorrow?” The question lands heavy.
“She has a life in California. A business. I have—” I gesture vaguely at nothing.
“A job that makes you miserable and an empty house?” He raises an eyebrow.
Ouch. That was a low blow, even for him.
