“That bad?”
“That good.”
“That’s worth pursuing.”
“That needs to be forgotten.”
“Why?”
He looks at me like I have two heads. “Why? When did you start asking all these touchy-feely questions? Because. That’s why. Because.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“I take that as a compliment. Dad’s good at compartmentalizing. Great at business. Has a healthy relationship with the ladies.”
“He dates zygotes.”
“At least zygotes can’t talk.”
“Jesus, Andrew, why all the anger? Why don’t you just sit down with Amanda and have a mature conversation about whatever conflicts you have?”
He frowns and looks me up and down. “You grow a new X chromosome I don’t know about? Where’s this coming from?”
I cross my arms and lean against the counter, drinking my non-alcoholic coffee. “Nothing wrong with talking about feelings. Real men can do it, too.”
“Real men don’t have feelings. We have penises with needs. That’s our version of emotions.”
“Oh, you must really win over the ladies with lines like that.”
“My bed’s warm enough.”
“Could be warmer with Amanda in it.”
Pink ears. “Shut up.”
“Fine. I’ll shut up. Let’s talk about making me CEO, then.”
He makes a nasty sound in the back of his throat. “Dad would never, ever consider it. Besides, I’d fight you for it. And win.”
I look at him. Really look at him.
He’s terrified.
And he’s right. He would fight me for it and win. Not because I wouldn’t be the natural successor to Anterdec after Dad retires (which is his euphemism for dies).
But because I want something more than what Dad and Andrew have in their life. Being a CEO isn’t part of that more.
Terror is what happens to people who start to let their inner selves shine through. Who let themselves hope. Who open themselves to the possibility that real, raw, dirty, messy love is out there and that it’s worth it.
Andrew’s scared shitless, and he should be.
The day Shannon walked into that meeting eighteen months ago and Toilet Girl turned out to be real I was scared shitless, too.
And that’s exactly why I pursued her.
Business challenges involve the thrill of the chase. The brute negotiations where power in the form of money changes hands. The merger of two businesses, the acquisition of a smaller company by a larger entity, and the give and take of oneupmanship that defines the capitalist system.
I’m good at those power struggles. Andrew is great at them. Dad’s the king of it all.
Not my kingdom, though.
Toilet Girl shocked me to the core that day in the bathroom, self-effacing and visceral. Stunningly self-deprecating and yet defiant. Shannon went toe to toe with me verbally and was so...something. If I knew the words I’d use them.
“You’re right,” I say, acquiescing. I know when to stop the tug of war and just let go. “I don’t want it.”
“Bullshit.”
“I have something better.”
“Shannon is better than being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company?” he asks, earnest and genuine. No snark. He’s trying to understand.
I pause, blinking a few times. But I don’t wait too long.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Now who’s getting all touchy-feely?
A carefully-constructed case with facts and judgments, analyses and explanations, builds in my mind like a tower. Like scaffolding. Like a court case designed to defend my premise.
But you can’t do that with love.
And I don’t have to validate my own feelings.
“Why?” I echo him. “Why?”
He nods.
“Because.”
He gives me a grimace and a glare. Mom shines through in him just then. It’s surreal.
“You’d give up fame and fortune and power for love? How cute.”
“No. The great part is that I don’t have to give up love for anything.”
And with that I go back to texting Grace, ignoring my little brother as he makes himself his second cup of whatever it takes to get him through the day.
Poopwatch, Day 2...
Shannon takes the day off and refuses to text with me. She says it’s bad luck to see the groom before you poop out the engagement ring. An old tradition carefully noted in the Emily Post Guide to Modern Weddings.
I work out with Andrew. A lot.
Poopwatch, Day 3...
The closest thing to intimacy with another person I achieve today is the moment Grace’s fingers brush against mine while she hands me my morning coffee. Shannon won’t talk to me, won’t text with me, won’t acknowledge my existence. She’s taken another day off work and I’m burying myself in projects that don’t matter.
Meanwhile, Grace works hard at arranging The Proposal 2.0. The day passes in a blur of meetings and the tedium of waiting for something I have no control over.
Jason appears at my office long after all the staff have gone home for the night. The cleaning crew has taken over the floor, men wearing jetpack vacuums and women carefully sanitizing phones as I hear and knock on my door, the kind of rap rap rap that comes after a person has tried repeatedly to get your attention.
I open the door to find Shannon’s father standing there, a neutrally friendly look on his face.
“May I come in? I realize I should have called, but this wasn’t a planned visit.”
I rub the back of my neck and motion for him to come in. He walks with a steady, comfortable gait, attired in his standard jeans and casual shirt. He hasn’t shaved in days.