on a regular basis, the hell with the consequences.
Alice is right. Winona is right. I’m not living my life. I don’t even know if I enjoy what I’m doing at Hudson’s any more.
I think I do? I love planning and strategizing. I love marketing. I love the feeling of accomplishment I get when I’ve launched a successful new campaign – but it never ends. I don’t know who or what I am without my planner talking to my watch and phone, telling me when to eat, breathe, and have a bowel movement. What would it feel like to go on an actual vacation – with Winona? To try to remember what I like to do when I’m not consumed with work?
After the Popup Palooza, and after the board votes for us to go public, I will find a way to delegate more. I’ll carve out at least one whole day a week for Winona, and I’ll make time at the end of every work day for her, too.
The cook doesn’t work on Sundays, so I pad into the kitchen barefoot and start a pot of coffee. My wrist feels weird; I left my wristwatch on my nightstand. The sharp white of my wrist mocks me, reminding me how that stripe of skin never sees the sun. I’m way too dependent on that thing. I frown, trying to remember if I plugged my phone into the charger last night.
Nope. Nope. I’m going to cling to my happiness a little while longer. Leaning on the counter, I inhale the bitter, invigorating scent of brewing beans.
And the ghost of my past whispers in the back of my mind.
This kind of happiness isn’t meant for you. Your drive is what makes you who you are. What are you, without that? You’ve got promises to keep. Promises you made by your father’s graveside.
I’m too relaxed. It isn’t my natural state. Change is hard.
To banish the harsh whispers, I summon up an image of Winona and me from last night. Not the glorious, fireworks-and-supernovas explosions of ecstasy. Instead, I close my eyes and focus on the calm that came afterwards. In my mind’s eye, she’s lying in my arms, drifting off to sleep, her eyes closed and her full mouth curled up in a smile. I’m stroking her hair, the ruby strands slipping through my fingers.
The tension in my gut unknots.
Take that, self-doubt. I just Winona’d your ass. Come at me any time you want, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.
As I stir milk into my coffee, the house phone rings. It’s Alice. I answer it with a grin and switch on the video monitor.
She’s sitting on her patio, framed by palm trees, the ocean a rippled sheet of turquoise behind her. “How are you doing, little baby brother?”
“Fine, thanks, Nagatronic 2000. Where are the paintings of Dad and Granddad?”
She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “I will take the secret to my grave.”
“That’s a little dramatic. You’ve been on another film noir kick, I take it?” I yawn loudly before I can stop myself.
“Good God, Blake, it’s almost noon.” Noon? Wow. I haven’t let myself sleep in like that in…God knows. She skewers me with a suspicious gaze. “Were you torturing your minions into the wee hours?”
“I wasn’t,” I say smugly. “I went to a twenty-four-hour ice cream sundae shop in Soho last night.” And followed that up with the best sex of my entire life – but I’m sure as hell not going to tell my sister that.
She rears back in her chair. “You did not!”
“You know me; I don’t lie to you.”
“There’s a first time for everything. What flavor did you have?” she asks suspiciously.
“You wound me, Alice. I thought you and I had a trust thing going on. And I had a banana split at a place called I Scream, in Soho. They’ve got a build-your-own sundae bar. I’ll have to take you and Tamara there next time you come to visit.”
“Way to go!” She nods, her skeptical look melting into a pleased smile. “Whatever possessed you?”
“The spirit of spontaneousness.”
She leans forward in her chair, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. Family trait, I just realized. “Nope, that’s not it. I know! Was it Winona’s idea? Were you with Winona last night?”
“Maybe,” I admit. Hmph. I could have been spontaneous all by myself. Stranger things have happened.
“Does it annoy you that I’m right all the time?” she says gleefully.