by Con Riley
Tyler intervenes before she can insist on cooking up a storm, distracting her by putting slices of bread in the toaster oven. He’s so patient when she tells him to be careful, like she’s never before uttered that same warning, even though Jon’s heard her say it plenty. It takes a moment or two to grasp that she’s not kidding when she says, “It can be temperamental,” like she’s mentioning it for the first time.
Tyler easily answers. “Good to know, beautiful.” He carefully adjusts the dial until she nods. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“You’re welcome.” Peggy visibly puffs up, oblivious to Tyler’s kindness.
Jon’s not sure he can stand it.
One of his hands steals to his chest, like it might be gaping open.
What’s he supposed to do with so many feelings this early in the morning?
Carl’s phone buzzing again is a well-timed distraction. Jon leans closer to him when Carl frowns. “What’s up?” he quietly asks after Lorna rises to answer a knock at the front door.
“More people cancelled.” Carl picks up his glass and then sets it down abruptly. His voice is low when he says, “I thought I was doing better with them. They worked hard for me here, like they trusted me for once.” His exhale is less dismissive than beaten. “Should’ve known that wouldn’t last for long.” He swallows some juice and grimaces like it’s bitter, his eyes on Jon’s coffee cup the whole time. “I’ve been trying to make it work,” he finally gets out. “Maybe it really is time to cut my losses.”
“Don’t be so fast,” Jon says as two sets of footsteps echo along the hallway, and he hears Lorna talking with someone. “Maybe this is one of your guys.” But it’s not a member of Carl’s team who stands beside her when the kitchen door swings open again.
Stan holds a hardhat like a shield, not sure of his welcome.
There’s a long moment of silence before Peggy does exactly what she does best. “Is this another work friend of yours, Mr. Snyder? How exciting!” She clutches her hands to her chest. “I can’t believe you all gave up your Saturday morning for me.” She pats the seat next to her until Stan takes it. Then she cups her chin in her hands. “You must be Eric!” she insists, ignoring the startled shake of Stan’s head. “I heard all about you yesterday. Mr. Snyder talked my ear off about ‘his kid.’ He thinks you’ll do just fine in business. Only make sure you don’t go forgetting that people mean as much as money, like the damn fool he works for.”
Everyone but Peggy flinches.
Stan’s the first to recover. “You’re not the first person I’ve heard that from lately.”
She’s oblivious to any subtext. “That’s because it’s true, dear. Just look around this table! See all the people I’ve got?” She waits until Stan nods. “They make me feel like the richest woman in Seattle.” She stands and grasps at his arm, then talks the whole time it takes to show Stan around her garden.
Jon sticks with Carl as he organizes his tools out on the lawn, but snippets of conversation drift their way across the grass. Carl’s shoulders stiffen, like Jon’s seen so many times at work, when Stan admits that he’s the boss of the whole operation rather than the apprentice. Peggy’s forgotten her earlier conversation and simply queries, “That seems like a lot of work for one young man, dear. Are you sure you’re old enough to be the boss?”
Carl’s shoulders relax just a little when Stan’s voice travels. “Yup. But I don’t run it all on my own. I have a great team, and I had a right-hand-man who taught me so much. Seems like… well it seems like I forgot some of what he taught me lately.”
“Don’t worry about forgetting things.” Peggy is sweetly serious. “It’s okay to forget as long as you have someone to remind you.” She pats Stan’s arm and adds, “Did I tell you that you remind me of my late husband? He was tall, just like you.” It’s a faint echo of their first conversation that Jon has to get away from.
Tyler’s alone in the kitchen, elbow deep in soapy water when Jon stands behind him and holds him tight.
“Well, hello to you too.” Tyler tilts his head back and purses his lips, requesting a kiss that Jon delivers. “So what do you think?” he asks, his hands still busy rinsing dishes. “They about to kill each other, do you think, or will they go ahead and make up?”
Beyond the window, Carl points up to the roof above the garage, and Stan slowly nods. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, heads tilted in the same direction, Stan listening intently as Carl speaks.
Jon could analyze their body language if he tried, but he gives up right away when Tyler leans back and asks, “You think we should stay here or go out and help? What do you want to do, hotshot? Stay or go?”
What does he want, right now?
The answer to that is about as obvious as the neon sign over the pizzeria. Staying with Tyler is everything that he wants.
Going would be his very last choice.
Chapter 28
WHEN MONDAY morning comes around, donuts and cupcakes fill the breakroom. Bakery boxes cover every table, and Jon pauses after pouring his coffee to lift a couple of lids. There are so many more here today than ever before. It’s an extravagant display suggesting someone must have scored a huge deal—a move so perfectly from the Anthony Nelson playbook that he expects to find an eat me note amongst them. Jon selects a jelly donut and heads off to track the man down himself to find out what he’s celebrating.
Anthony’s booting his PC when Jon finds him in his office, but confusion creases his brow when Jon thanks him for his donut. He takes a slow sip from a takeout cup of coffee before he answers, waiting until Jon gets done chasing a stray drip of jelly with the tip of his tongue after it dribbles down his wrist. “I’d love to take the credit, Jonathan, especially if it earned me that free show.” He passes Jon a napkin. “But I’m not guilty, this time.”
“Where’d they come from then?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Someone celebrating a birthday, maybe?”
“There’s dozens of them. Swear to God, it’s like a bakery threw up in there.”
Anthony shrugs. “Still nothing to do with me.” He takes another quick sip, and his eyes narrow. “Talking of sweet things, you still hung up on that super-cute guy? The one you’re definitely not dating while you’re here?”
Jon wipes off his fingers and then pulls out his phone. Tyler smiles sleepily out from the lock screen, vaguely out of focus, his face mashed against a rosebud-speckled pillow.
It’s the best photo Jon’s taken in his whole life.
He shows it to Anthony and says, “We’re definitely dating.” The fact they’re definitely doing a whole lot more is still new. It’s too much to blurt out first thing on a weekday morning, but Jon goes ahead and adds, “And I’m definitely staying.”
“In Seattle?”
“Yes.”
“So that you guys can stay together?”
“That’s the plan.” One that he knows Tyler is on board with.
“Damn. He must really be something.”
Jon simply nods and takes another sip of coffee when Anthony says, “Okay, so setting aside how that’s all sickening, and I’m not one bit jealous, I have two questions for you. Unless Bettman is about to open a West-Coast division, what’re you going to do for money?”
And isn’t that the million-dollar question?
It’s certainly been on his mind just about every free second this weekend. He settles for a shrug that’s non-committal. A lifetime of growing up with business plans and spreadsheets counts for nothing when he looks at his phone screen again, and his MBA is only a very expensive piece of paper that he sees differently from his new Northwest perspective. Funding it had been a final I love you from his mom rather than an expectation. All her hard work meant he should use it, but he should honor her investment by working just as hard on something worthwhile he loves. He’ll build a career that meets his own definition of success rather than anyone else’s, because if he’s learned only one thing in Seattle, it’s that most things here
can flourish, if they’re tended with care.
Anthony leans over his desk, and his voice drops as he asks his second question. “You talked to Stan about it, Jonathan? Because if you didn’t already, I bet he’d make you an offer.”
“You got a minute, Jonathan?” Carl interrupts from the doorway. “You too, Anthony, if you’re not busy right now.” His expression is open for once around his competition, unguarded rather than closed-off. It’s a first in the whole time Jon’s been here that’s only confirmed when Carl speaks again. “Listen. I did a lot of thinking over the weekend. I’m retiring,” he announces. When Anthony offers his hand, Carl firmly shakes it. “I wanted you two to be the first to know, after I told Stan and Eric.” He rubs at the back of his neck and adds, “And I wanted to apologize, Anthony, for giving you a hard time in all those bullshit meetings.” He lets out a deep breath that Anthony mirrors. “You’re excellent at what you do, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that already. Your guys have a whole lot of respect for you, and I know you’ll run two teams just as easily as one.” His voice lowers. “Stan’s lucky to have you.”
Anthony’s clearly delighted. Touched by Carl’s confession. It’s obvious in the way his voice lowers. “You know I guessed you were in a real difficult position, don’t you? I never took any of what you said to heart.” He’s so plainly honest that Jon can’t help agreeing with Carl’s assertion; Stan is lucky to have him.
Carl glances at the napkin Jon still holds. “I see you found the donuts.” His tone is as gruff as ever. “Jeez. Can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“They were right there in the breakroom,” Jon insists. “I didn’t exactly have to try hard to find them. You want to hide something around here?” he starts, as Carl chuckles and pumps his hand a few times as well. “You should probably leave it in the accounting department. The systems they have? No one will ever find them. It’s like The Land That Time Forgot up there.”
It’s just his luck that Stan Hallquist joins them right when Jon’s at his most unprofessional, throwing shade at the one department Stan’s told him to stay well away from.
“I-I mean….” Fuck it. He wasn’t going to be on anyone’s payroll soon enough. He might as well go ahead and tell the unvarnished truth. “It wouldn’t take much to straighten up that whole mess, Stan. You just need one person to lead it instead of three people all with different agendas.”
“Here’s a funny thing.” Stan slings an arm around Carl’s shoulders. Maybe it’s the light in the hallway, but both men look a decade younger at least. “That’s exactly what Carl suggested while we were up on your roof all Saturday fixing that hole.” He tilts his head toward Carl and Anthony and says, “If you guys want to head to the breakroom to share Carl’s news, we’ll be right behind you.” It’s an order couched as a suggestion that both men easily follow.
Stan tips his head toward Jon’s office this time. “Shall we?”
The nameplate shines as brightly as it did on his first day when they head in, but Stan avoids the seats by the desk and crosses to the windows instead. The view isn’t as impressive as the one from his own office, but Stan studies it hard like he’s seeing it all for the very first time. He speaks when Jon stands beside him. “It’s all yours, if you want.” He turns to make eye contact. “The job turning the accounting department around. I’ve seen what you can do with figures. Besides, someone spent a whole lot of time on the weekend telling me that I’d be a fool to let you go.”
“You want me to come work for you?” Stan nods, but Jon’s already shaking his head. “I can’t. I’m grateful, but—”
“But you want to do something different?” And that’s it exactly, which must show on his face, because Stan nods like he answered aloud. “You have something specific planned?”
“I have a few ideas.” Most of which revolved around getting his hands good and dirty. He’s looking forward to a whole lot of backache in his future, with homegrown produce as part of his paycheck. And if he ever gets sick of spinach, life doesn’t have to be too complicated; he’ll go ahead and sow a new crop.
“Any of those ideas have a start date.”
“Nope.” It’s freeing and terrifying at the same time to say fuck you to his 401k, but he has forty plus years to get back to it, if he’s lucky. “I do know there’s a dog-walking gig coming up soon. That’ll bring in $10 a day at least. More if Princess brings along some friends. And I think I know somewhere I can get a couple of shifts a week waiting tables.”
Stan barks out a laugh like Jon’s kidding, then he stands in silence that must weigh heavily if the way his shoulders sag are any measure. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He continues before Jon can answer. “Carl said this about you—that you go all in or not at all. Can’t say I want to lose that.” He crosses his arms like Jon hasn’t already turned him down flat, and instead starts negotiating. “So how about this for an idea? Don’t burn any bridges. Take on rationalizing the accounting department for me as a short-term project while you explore your options.”
“How short term are we talking about?”
“A year.”
“Six months,” Jon counters. “Less if I get done before that.” Stan’s broad smile has him adding, “And no reduction to my completion bonus.”
“What bonus?” Stan’s smile doesn’t dim one bit.
“The one we can talk through later. I think we have someplace else to be right now, before the interns make too big a dent in those donuts. Don’t know if you noticed, but they kinda love the big guy. They’ll want to know exactly why he changed his mind about retiring.”
“Oh, that’s simple enough.” Stan pauses in the doorway, mirroring his posture from the very first day that they met. “I told him the truth.”
“What did you say to get him to retire?” It’s a nosy question, the kind Bettman instructed recruits never to ask, driven by personal interest rather than business factors. That doesn’t stop Jon from elaborating. “Did you admit that all of this has been bullshit?”
“Yes,” Stan agrees. “But that wasn’t what swayed him. It was the damnedest thing that swung it. I told him that I’d miss him. That’s all. I told him that I’d messed up over and over with people I should’ve taken better care of, despite all the advice he gave me. I ignored it all back then, sure as shit that I could make my wife want me again if I could show her I was successful. It’s too late to make it up to her or to my kid. I don’t even know if they’d talk to me again, not if they hate me as much as I hate myself for letting fear of failure rule me back then. But once you’ve been that broke….”
He doesn’t need to complete that sentence. Jon’s mother had shown him day after day how fiercely fear could keep a nose to a relentless grindstone. And hadn’t he only joined a high-earning fast track in the first place because of fear she’d otherwise work forever? Look where that fear had gotten them both.
Stan says, “So that’s why I told him that I’d miss him if he died. And then he told me to quit bawling like a baby and help him fix the hole in your roof instead of letting in more water.” He shrugs like he hasn’t said something so profoundly touching that Jon’s vision wavers until he blinks a few times. “Come on,” he adds. “If you want another donut before Eric and those interns of his eat them all, you better shake a leg.”
But Eric isn’t there when they push their way into the breakroom into the middle of Carl making an announcement that turns into an impromptu retirement party. Jon half listens as people—interns, managers, and Carl’s entire team—express open concern for his health and good wishes for his future, but Eric’s still missing when they get done.
Jon pushes his way to Carl’s side. “Where’s Eric?” He looks around again to make sure he hasn’t missed him. “You know he hero-worships you, don’t you? Is he doing okay with your news?” It’s got to be a blow, given they’re so close.
Carl’s answer is surprising. “He’s doing okay. He’s somewhere around here with Tyler.”
; “Tyler?”
“Yeah, he turned up looking for you right before you and Stan got here. Have to admit, I wondered if something was up at first. You know, with your—”
“Peggy.” Jon already has his phone out of his pocket, checking it for a missed call or message. The screen just shows Tyler sleepily smiling out at him before the lock-screen times out.
“But,” Carl continues, “he looked real happy, so I guessed that wasn’t why he was looking for you.”
“Did he say what he wanted?” Jon speaks up over the hubbub of people drawn by the lure of baked goods, noisy like a flock of starlings.
“Just that he had something real important to show you. When I told him you were having a heart-to-heart with the boss, Eric took him on a tour until you got done with your conversation.” Carl points down the hallway. “They were headed for the meeting room when I last saw them.”
“The meeting room? When?”
“About ten minutes ago. Eric wanted to show him the project you had us all slaving over for weeks.” He sheepishly smiles, like he hadn’t hated the whole idea at the start. “Said Tyler might get a kick out of seeing what you’ve been doing every single day since you got here.”
Jon has a flash of insight so sharp it’s like Carl just shoved a blade between his ribs.
It twists, sharp and intense, when he pictures Tyler seeing what he’s spent the whole summer drawing.
If Eric flicks the switch to make the meeting-room glass wall turn opaque, the apartment over the garage that Jon sketched will be right there, along with Peggy’s house and the rest of the street.
Without Jon there to explain, what the fuck will it look like to him?
Tyler will see every flaw and fault that he meticulously drew in detail, along with the cost of demolition that he wrote next to Eric’s drawing of a wrecking ball and bulldozer. The bird’s-eye view of the whole plot—one that Jon drew long before he fell in love with everything he found there—was inked onto the glass too, along with its value.