You, With a View(48)

I’m already backing out of the room. “We’ll figure it out later. I’ll be out front if you need me.”

But both men are in their own world already. Paul only nods, and Theo stares down at his phone as I ease the door closed behind me.

I can’t help pausing when Paul’s voice drifts out. “You don’t have to take that. You know what he’s going to say.”

“Maybe he—”

“Your father’s opinion isn’t going to change. He wants you to do something that you know isn’t possible.” Paul’s voice is as firm as Theo’s was a minute ago. “What’s most important is that you come to terms with what’s happening. Leave him out of it. He doesn’t have a say.”

“You know that’s not how it works with us,” Theo says, voice low.

“Teddy.” Paul sighs. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but now I’m invested.

That’s not true. I’ve been invested. I remember our game of Tell Me a Secret last night, when I confessed that his life seemed perfect. I know now, even if he won’t tell me, that it’s not. But regardless of the messiness on the inside, he’s built something amazing with Where To Next. Maybe there’s something to it, that even if I feel messy and tied up and lost, it doesn’t preclude me from eventually getting it right.

I just don’t know how to get there.

The phone’s ring cuts off. Theo lets out a sigh. “Okay, well, now I missed the call.”

“Good. He’s going to upset you for nothing. Let yourself be happy for a second, my god.”

The silence behind the door is deafening, and Theo says in a broken voice, “Don’t say it.”

“All right,” comes Paul’s quiet reply. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Alcohol. A metric ton of it.”



* * *





“Wow, this is . . . something.”

Paul steps across the threshold of the bar behind me, his eyebrows pulling up high. “Oh my.”

Theo’s the last to come inside. He looks around the Stardust Cocktail Lounge, glancing at Paul. “This was really our best option?”

“Noelle helped me search for bar on the internet, and this is what it told me.” Paul lifts a shoulder, which is cardigan-clad now that the sun’s gone down. “It ticked all your boxes, kid.”

“I had one box.”

“Then it ticked your box.”

The parquet floor that stretches between us and the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar is dull. I know without having to confirm that my shoes are going to stick to it all the way across.

Theo rubs at the back of his neck and sighs, eyeing the confused décor; there are several taxidermied animals mounted on the wall, including a tabby cat prowling on what looks like a foam core board toward a mallard duck, wings stretched mid-flight.

Peppered along the wood-panel walls are framed pictures of celebrities from the ‘80s interspersed with family portraits. A jukebox stands sentry in the corner, an old Dirty Dancing song playing. Overhead, a fan turns lazily.

But there’s a good crowd in here, and everyone seems happy, which is sorely needed.

Paul leans in conspiratorially, a smile on his face. “Good enough, right?”

“It’s awesome,” I admit as we make our way to an empty table.

Sure enough, the floor sucks at the soles of my sandals. I nearly lose my left one, but I eventually win the war and get to my seat. Theo sits next to me, and Paul settles across from us, picking up the handwritten menu lying on the table. Which, yes, is also sticky.

We order food and a round of drinks from our waitress. Once she’s gone, Theo turns his attention to me.

“Have you recovered from this afternoon?” he asks in that wry tone. But I’ve spent enough time with him now to hear the subtext. There’s genuine concern there. I may be seeing his cracks, but his wellness check makes it clear he’s seeing mine, too.

“I should be asking you that,” I deflect.

Theo’s eyebrows jump in surprise. “Eavesdropping again?”

“It’s a small house.”

“Sure is,” he murmurs, his mouth pulling up slightly.

“Too soon,” I say with a glare, but it lacks heat.

Across the table, Paul’s eyebrows raise slowly, and he pulls out his phone, tapping at the screen to show he’s minding his business.

“Is your dad causing waves?” I venture. Theo confided in me the other night; maybe he needs it now, too.

He leans back, eyeing me. “You really were listening.”

My cheeks heat as our waitress returns, setting down our beers. “Small house, I told you. Is he trying to get involved in your work issue?”

“He was our first investor and is still . . . enthusiastic.” Theo’s choosing his words carefully. He takes a sip of beer, and his mouth comes back glossy, a speck of foam clinging to the peak of his top lip. “Just wanted to give me advice, you know. Real caring shit.”

“Advice on your work issue?”

He looks down at the table, his mouth flattening. “Yeah, Anton likes to give him all the insider info, even though he’s not technically involved. They’ve got a cozy father-son vibe.”