I’m not supposed to follow in their footsteps. I’m not responsible for continuing their legacy. It’s mine to choose, and unlike theirs, it doesn’t even have to be tangible. It could start with this exact moment: refusing to stay quiet, to be complicit. Fighting to protect the people I care about.
It could be that small. That huge. But I don’t think there’s anything that would make my parents prouder of me.
“I love you, Alex.” Tears well in my eyes, and his expression softens. “I love you on purpose. Not situationally. Not when it’s convenient. No strings attached, no conditions. I know I hurt you with all of this, and I promise I won’t ever keep secrets from you again. I swear it, up and down, back and forth, with every part of me. But please, just think about everyone you care about here, in this building. Believe me just for a little while. Follow through with it for their sake, and if I’m wrong, I’m wrong, and if I’m right … at least we’ll know.”
Alex comes to me, cups my face in his hands. We’re both quiet for the span of a few breaths, holding each other and saying nothing and thinking everything.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again. “You deserved better. From everyone.”
His thumbs brush my wet cheeks, and he pushes his forehead against mine. “Did you tell Tracy…” He gulps. “Did you tell Tracy I sent Robert the presentation?”
I look up, his words transmuting into something different as they register. “You believe it,” I whisper. “You believe me.”
“Did you tell Tracy?” he asks me again.
“No.” I shake my head. “Of course not. I love you, and that means I’ll protect you at all costs, so of course I didn’t tell her. Is there something else I don’t know?”
For a while he says nothing. Then, “I’m not sure. Maybe. I’m not sure.”
Hope blooms in my chest. “Can it help Tracy get her proof?” I ask him, carefully as I’m able. “Can it invalidate the acquisition?”
“I’m not sure,” he says again, shaking his head.
But it’s not because he really isn’t sure. It’s because what I’m suggesting he do, ultimately, is betray his father. I know it, and he knows it.
I’ve been planning this for a while.
The timing’s right.
Spare no expense.
If I gave you anything, it’s the Harrison hustle.
“I wanted your job.” The words jump out of me from nowhere, but I’m glad I said them. This was the last secret between us. The very last one.
His voice is quiet, almost nonexistent. “What?”
“I applied for your job, because … I don’t know. Because I was under a false impression about what I was supposed to want, and so I pushed myself toward a path that wasn’t a natural fit for me.” I look up at his blurry face, a kaleidoscope of caramel color through my wet eyes.
Alex gulps. “I didn’t know.”
I laugh darkly. “I know you didn’t know.”
“That’s why you…”
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s why I hated you. But I came around, because I realized you were meant for that job, and I was meant for something else. And then I fell in love with you, because … because how could I not? You’re wonderful. You’re funny and charming and you carry so much life, and you never forget anything I tell you, no matter how offhand. You listen, and you make people feel seen, heard, understood. Not just me, everyone. You’re just…” I sniff, and Alex presses his lips to my temple. “You’re really worth loving. Like, so worth it. I hope you know that. But it’s because I love you that I can’t look the other way. Alex, your own team could get splintered in an acquisition. Maybe they replace Gus with someone they want as Bite the Hand’s editor in chief. Maybe Andre gets laid off, maybe Fari does. I can’t live with that. Not knowing I could have done something to stop it.”
There are ten full seconds of silence. I hold my breath.
He steps away, leaving me, and rubs two hands over his face, looking positively miserable. I want to be a wallflower inside his brain.
His voice comes out broken. “I don’t know what it is you want from me right now. You say you’d protect me at all costs, then expect me to turn around and not to do the same for him?”
“I’m not expecting anything from you,” I whisper. Which is the truth. Alex doesn’t owe us anything, and if he chooses to sit with this information and do nothing about it, I wouldn’t blame him. After so much of being used, he’s earned the right to stop participating altogether. “I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to be in the dark anymore, or ever again.”
Alex turns away. He pushes his palms against the table, the muscles in his back flexing. “When I was eleven, Robert Harrison said he’d never turn his back on me. And he never has. I can’t turn mine on him.”
It’s the best he can come up with, and to Alex, that’s enough. Even though it comes in a package of unanswered phone calls and traditions you never formed, money that patches bandages it shouldn’t have to. Alex is worth something so much fiercer than what his father is willing to offer—and he just can’t see it. If I could fill that void myself, I would. I’m sure his aunt and his cousins and Freddy have tried. But the love Alex wants the most was never mine to give. I was just the first person he threw his broken heart at who was naive enough to pick it up.
“My flight to London is on the last Monday of January,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Ten o’clock at night. I’m not asking you to choose between me and your father. I don’t want it to have to be that way. But you loved me hard enough to make me feel more than enough just like this, who I am, without changing a thing. And I love you hard enough to ask you to finally choose yourself over any of us.”
Alex parts his lips as he exhales. His jaw tenses like it does whenever he’s working through what he wants to say. He comes up with “I love you.”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing a little. “I love you, too.”
We stand there, not looking at each other on the ninety-eighth floor, both of us crying, swirled up in a love that is more than enough and still isn’t even close.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
My last weekend in the city is dedicated to the Fuck It List. It’s like a bucket list, but for things that cost a lot of money, and you’re just kind of feeling like Fuck it.
Tickets and a champagne voucher at the Edge. The Roosevelt Island Tramway—which we hop on, off, and then immediately back on again, because I’m not trying to spend my last days in New York on Roosevelt Island. Dinner at a David Chang restaurant （to this request, Brijesh offers a disgruntled but acquiescent “Fine”）。
By Sunday night, we lie flat on our backs on Sasha’s rooftop for six whole freezing minutes. The sky is backlit with golden orbs, a million city lights bleeding together to lighten it a bluish purple. We ooh and aah like lunatics, pretending we can see even one single star. After, we go inside in a heap of giggles and drink hot toddies until we’re plastered.
“Casey,” Sasha says. Her eyes go cross-eyed as she looks at me. “Sorry I was gone so often during college.”