The setback, p.13
The Setback, page 13
“Which I hear he still owns.”
My nostrils flare. “Yes, but only because he did me a favor, and I decided to let it go.”
Now she’s smiling for real. “Magnanimous.”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” She shrugs. “I just complimented you.”
“Stop smiling that stupid, knowing grin. You’ve done that since we were kids, so don’t think I don’t see it.”
Now she’s beaming. “Helen, I don’t understand why you can’t call a spade a spade.”
“I owe him a favor, so I’m going to review his business plan for him. That’s all.”
“You’re going to. . .” Her eyes widen. “Whoa.”
I stand up. “What does that mean?”
“I thought maybe you were having some fun on the side with the only person here who might possibly understand what you are. But you’re reviewing his business plan?” She whistles. “This is more serious than I thought.”
“Shut up.” This time, I’m the one who throws the elephant.
“You’re totally going on a date.”
“Are you going deaf? Did the doctors miss something huge? I said I’m reviewing his business plan.” And now I’m roaring like an insane person.
Abigail has never looked more smug in her life.
“It’s not a date.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
“I hate you, and I hate Hamlet, and if you don’t stop, I’ll. . .” I stomp my foot. No one in the world ticks me off like Abigail does. Except maybe David almighty Park.
“You’ll what?” She lifts her eyebrows. “You’ll start a hostile takeover of Charles Schwab where all our retirement savings and the kids’ college funds are?”
“Do you really invest with Schwab?” I can’t help my lip curl.
“Oh, come on. What’s really going on with you and David? Because for you, reviewing a guy’s business plan is like Netflix and chill to anyone else.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I say, “but David almighty Park helped me out. You know how much I hate being in debt, so I’m going to help him enough that he can never say that I owe him again.” I shrug. “That’s it.”
“Alright,” she says. “If you insist.”
“What now?”
“You’re calling him David almighty Park, and you’re pretending that’s an insult, right?”
“Pretending?” I roll my eyes. “How has my lawyer sister not grasped the nuances of sarcasm yet? I’m mocking him.”
“Are you? You’ve used it enough, and with a very distinct tone, that it almost sounds like an endearment. Like a mother calling her kid a stinker.”
She’s still laughing when I storm out.
Which means I’m almost twenty minutes early when I pull up to Brownings. I plan to just sit in my car, but then I see him. David almighty Park—which is definitely not an endearment—happens to glance out the window. When he sees me, his eyes light up, and he lifts his hand.
He’s so handsome that I want to put my car in reverse and head back home. So what if Abby’s still there gloating? I should not be sitting at dinner with this man, going over his business plan. Thanks to Abby, no matter how I say that in my mind, it sounds dirty. My mouth’s as dry as a Bordeaux Cabernet Sauvignon, and I feel like I’ve been backed into some kind of cage.
When he waves, I realize that I can’t leave.
He would certainly press to know why, and that would be worse than Abby’s mocking. I’ll just have to endure this one meeting, and then I can put him off when he asks for the others. Maybe I can send him my recommendations via email instead. Honestly, he’d probably get a more thorough evaluation that way.
Only, when I get inside, I notice he’s sitting at the table without a single folder, paper, or even a notepad.
“I thought we were doing our first consult today.” I haven’t sat down yet. If he even sounds the tiniest bit like thinks this is a date, I’m gone.
“We are, aren’t we?” He kicks my chair out and points.
I try to imagine him doing that with Amanda, and I can’t even fathom it. She’d be mortally offended. “But you don’t have files, papers, or anything at all.”
“I thought you had a photographic memory,” he says. “Do you need me to have files?”
I shake my head. “But I figured you’d want to write some of my thoughts down.”
He shrugs. “I have a decent memory, too.”
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine,” he says.
And now we sound like dueling parrots. “What are you eating?”
“Generally speaking, I like to glance at the menu first.”
“Is it your first time here?”
He shakes his head.
“Then let’s see that photographic memory at work. What’s on the menu?”
His eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know, maybe a column with burgers, and one with sandwiches?”
I close my eyes. “The top reads ‘Browning’s Drive-in and Flaming Gorge Motel.’ Then below that, there’s a blue box with a phone number. Underneath that there’s a pink box that says Burgers on the left, Sandwiches on the right. The burgers are as follows: Cheeseburger, Double Cheeseburger, Bacon Cheeseburger, Double Bacon Cheeseburger, Pastrami Burger, Jalapeño-Bacon Cheeseburger, which is missing the tilde over the n, Mushroom and Swiss Burger, Bleu-Bacon Burger, spelled wrong, and then a space, and then French fries. The sandwiches—”
“Stop,” David says. “Alright. I believe you. Geez.”
“You didn’t before?”
He pulls a face. “I mean, I did, but I thought it was only for things you’re trying hard to retain.”
“Nope.” I tap the side of my head. “I have basically stored nearly every dumb thing I’ve ever seen up here.”
“Your future husband’s in for a real treat.”
“I won’t ever have a husband,” I say. “But assuming I’m not being argumentative, what do you mean?”
“You’ll recall every single mistake he ever makes.”
“And that’s why I’ll never get married,” I say. “Men assume going in to things that they’ll be making mistakes. Doesn’t that seem problematic? But besides that, I’d never be able to afford a divorce.”
Instead of laughing, he looks sad. “If you can’t afford a divorce, who can?”
His tone really bums me out. “I was kidding.”
“So you do plan to get married some day?”
“Oh, I wasn’t kidding about that. I just meant about that divorce thing.”
He’s looking at me with sympathy now, and I hate it. “You’re not married, either.”
The waitress shows up then, handing us menus.
“She doesn’t need one,” David says, “but I still like to browse my options and try new things.”
“An optimist,” the waitress says. “I like that.”
As unimpressed as David seemed to be with my photographic recall with the menu, he’s at least that impressed by my suggestions for his company. In fact, once I start making them, he begins asking more questions than I anticipated.
“You’d actually have sold off the entire factory?”
“Semiconductors have been reporting one of the lowest profit margins of any sector in the past few years,” I say. “You should have seen that coming with the shortage in—”
“But what about my supply chain? I need to have them or I can’t manufacture—”
“That’s the reason that when you sell it, you insist on a ten-year contract as part of the deal.”
“Ten years?” David whistles.
“Indexed for inflation,” I say. “And you should make sure that part of the sales terms hold your company as the priority client, regardless of sales volume or profit.”
He moves from one section of his company to another rapid fire, but finally, as he finishes the last bite of his French Dip, he stops. “No wonder you never do consults.”
“How do you know I never do them?” I ask. “It’s not like I have a website.”
“I might have heard that you didn’t before I asked for one.” Is he blushing? “But you agreed to do some for me.”
There’s no way I’m going to touch that. “Now that we’ve had one, don’t you agree that this one time was as good as four consults with—”
He throws his hands up. “Hey, now. You can’t go back on our deal. You said four, and I mean to get all four.”
“But what more could we talk about?”
“I’m going to draw up a plan to put all these suggestions you just made into action. I certainly need your input on the implementation. Or are you saying you think I can handle the execution as well as you would?”
I roll my eyes. “And then what? Will you need me to look over your shoulder as you present the plan to your board, too?”
“Would you do that?” He looks entirely earnest.
“David,” I say.
“Say it again.” He smiles.
“Say what?”
“My name.” He leans toward me, his elbows on the table. “I don’t think you’ve ever said it without swearing directly after.”
That makes me laugh.
“David, listen.”
“I’m listening.” His eyes are far, far too intent for a casual conversation over sandwiches. “I always listen when you talk.”
“We aren’t dating.” That’s not at all what I meant to say, but after his weird demand that I say his name again, it feels more important.
Instead of laughing at me, or agreeing that it would be absurd, he just leans back and folds his arms across his broad chest. “Tell me the stock prices on my company won’t fall when I announce the sales of two of our biggest subsidiaries.”
“Oh, they might,” I say. “But your business will be stronger in the long run, and in another month or two, once it becomes clear why you did it and that you’ve strengthened your positions, the stock will soar.”
“But the reason I asked that is that people might worry.”
“I mean, sure, they might.” He changed gears fast.
“Helen.”
Something inside my chest flutters at the sound of his voice, like the rich purr of an expensive sportscar.
“You’re saying we aren’t dating because you’re worried that we are.”
Oh, shoot. He’s smarter than I thought he was. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. When his leg brushes against mine, it feels. . .intentional.
“David, let me rephrase. Just as people might have worried the stock will fall, with reason, us going to dinner, or spending another hour or two together over the next few weeks, might confuse outsiders. But I want it to be clear between us that we are not dating.”
He sits up so quickly that my heart pounds in my chest. His head leans toward mine, his eyes staring at my mouth. And then his head drops slowly, his hands bracing against the table on either side of my body. His lips are a hair’s breadth from my mouth when he whispers, “What if I don’t feel clear about it either?”
In that moment, something my sister said comes back to me, practically flashing in neon letters in my brain. I thought maybe you were having some fun on the side with the only person here who might possibly understand what you are.
Some fun on the side.
He knows what I am.
That’s what I do. That’s always been what I do. Kyle. Thomas. Braxton. I love them and leave them, and I never look back. Why in the world didn’t I think of this earlier?
Because of all the men I’ve ever had fun with, David almighty Park may be the most interesting. And also, the best looking. Without warning, like a sidewinder striking, my hand whips behind his head and drags his mouth against mine.
He reacts quickly, like he was just waiting for me to attack.
What I don’t expect is the jolt of lightning that shoots through me, from my mouth outward, burning a path through me. It’s almost like he’s claimed me. Property of David almighty Park.
Oh, no, no, no. Helen doesn’t play like that.
I lean in, matching his energy with my own.
Until a strange sound distracts me. Someone’s rapping on the table. My brain decides to engage enough that I identify that the sound’s coming from the knuckles of our waitress against the table top.
“This is a family place,” she hisses.
Whoops.
I stand up, leaving a two-hundred-dollar tip in the hopes that will keep me from being banned. With only three restaurants in the entire town, I really can’t cause problems at any of them.
David’s smiling like the cat that caught the fattest mouse in town.
For some reason, it only makes him hotter.
Which annoys me.
“Let’s go,” I say.
He follows me out without complaining about not getting to pay the check. Thank goodness. I can’t handle one of those guys, not even as fun on the side. When we reach my car, I point at the passenger side. “Get in.”
“What?” His eyes light up. “Why? Are we going somewhere else to make out more?”
Is he kidding? “I figured we should find a hotel.”
“A hotel?” His shoulders droop. “Are you serious?”
I’ve never in my life had a guy be disappointed by that suggestion. “I was, yes. But now, I’m sensing that’s not something you want.”
“Helen, why would we go to a hotel? That was such an amazing kiss that I clearly forgot where we were, but I barely know you.”
“Do you really need to know me?” I don’t even try to disguise the disdain in my tone.
“Yes.” He frowns. “And what’s more, I want to get to know you, maybe more than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re terrifying in all the best ways.”
“Not interested.” I unlock my door and open it.
“You’re not interested. . .in getting to know me?”
I nod.
“But you would want to find a hotel.” His voice is flat. He’s clearly upset, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. It’s not like I said he’s uninteresting.
“David, I’m picky, okay? Even for something like this.” I wave my hand between us.
“And what is this to you, exactly?”
“You’re here for a while, and so am I. Does it have to be more complicated than that?”
“You’re profoundly screwed up.” David shakes his head, pivots on his heel, and heads down the street.
I’m not sure four words have ever stung me quite so much. For some reason, as I drive back to Abby’s, I’m crying. Me. Helen. Captainess of Industry. Queen of Business. Destroyer of Companies. Rebuilder of the Broken Conglomerate.
Crying.
Over David almighty Park.
If he thinks I’m doing those other three consults now, he’s lost his ever-loving mind. I will never talk to that jerk ever again.
12
Amanda
I hated Thanksgiving as a child.
For most of my life, I counted on the school to provide a somewhat decent breakfast and lunch for me. I mean, sure, the meat was questionable, and the produce was almost always from a can, but canned peaches aren’t so bad. They were usually swimming in sugar, at least.
And when you’re hungry, you’re not very picky.
I’d also never really had anything better, so the hamburgers at school tasted pretty good. The corndogs were fine. The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, they’d make a really good, really big turkey dinner. It had the stuffing you get in a big gelatinous blob, and cranberry sauce that came from a can, and the mushy orange yams that came soaked in that thick syrup.
I loved it.
But the actual day of Thanksgiving, the day on which we were meant to count our blessings and say prayers and all that? I was always at home on that day, and if I was lucky, I’d find a hot dog that I could microwave myself. If not, well. Let’s just say that one year, I found out what it means when a can looks like it’s eaten too much and needs bigger pants.
I wound up trashing the clothes I was wearing when that can of mushroom soup exploded. I could not scrub the smell out, no matter how many times I tried. Whenever Thanksgiving draws near, I swear I can still smell that same odor.
And right now, I am staring at the recipe that Abby sent me for green beans. Sure enough, it calls for cream of mushroom soup.
“Hey,” I say. “What could I substitute for the cream of mushroom soup in the green bean casserole?”
Mandy rolls her eyes. “I bought it. It’s in the back corner of the can cabinet.”
We have a can cabinet? Focus, Amanda. “Yeah, but say I had an aversion to mushroom soup. Then what could I use instead?”
Mandy arches one eyebrow. “Why would you have an aversion to mushroom soup?”
“Yeah, why do you?” Maren puts her hand on her hip. “Is it really unhealthy or something?”
I hate that she’s already calorie counting as a junior in high school, but I really don’t have the bandwidth to argue with her about that right now. “Maybe you can mix this up for me.” I’m practically gagging just thinking about that smell.
“I’m making the stuffing,” Maren says.
“I can do it,” Emery says. “Here.” She holds out her hand for the recipe.
“You just add water to make the stuffing.” I glare at Maren. “Emery’s making the rolls, the sweet potato casserole, and the mashed potatoes.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Maren says. “Emery’s perfect, blah blah. But in case you didn’t notice, the rolls came out of that bag, so maybe her halo isn’t exactly gleaming.” She points at the orange Rhodes Rolls bag that’s almost floating on the top of the trash can. Somehow it stuck to the side of the trash bag, staying visible even though the bin is mostly empty.
“Still, I think you should make the green beans.” Otherwise, I’ll feel guilty about Emery doing everything.
“I’d rather not,” Maren says. “You’re the one who volunteered to host Thanksgiving. I told you it was a stupid idea.”
“But Donna’s house is too small, and Abby’s pregnant,” I say. “I certainly wouldn’t have volunteered otherwise. Believe me.”
