Playboy Prince

When did I realize it? Realize he was cheating on Mom? Leaving her alone, with her pain, all the time?

I knew, deep down, for a long time. Somehow, I managed to ignore all the signs. Somehow, I convinced myself it was something else.

And not him abandoning her.

And even when I realized it, I didn't follow him to a hotel room and tell him off. I didn't announce his affair at his office. I didn't do anything except pull away.

Fall into the same depression my mother did. Follow the same patterns my mother did.

That wasn't my fault, but it was fucked up.

How do I explain that? Where do I even start? I barely understand it myself.

"I really do wish Harrison the best," I say. "I don't know him that well, but he seems like a great guy, and he's happy."

"You don't like Lee?"

How did he pick that up?

"It's all right. I wasn't sure, at first. Harrison wouldn't be the first man to think with his—" He nods to his crotch.

It's absurd, this kind, distinguished man imitating a lewd gesture. I can't help but laugh. "She's beautiful."

"That feels important when you're young. Maybe always. He… he hasn't always been the wisest in matters of the heart. But he adores her. Even the things others don't like about her."

"Oh?"

"I thought she was… what do you call it, a mean girl?"

"That's it."

"I thought she was a mean girl when I met her," he says. "Maybe she is. She needs to learn to treat people more fairly. More kindly. I worried about Harrison, because he's not strong in those areas. He isn't the type of man who stands up for himself. Certainly not to beautiful, powerful women."

"He's quiet."

"Yes. I thought she was manipulating him, but she wasn't. He knew she needed to work on treating others better. But there was another side to that behavior. A positive."

There was?

"She is ruthless, yes. For him. As part of his team. He needs someone with that power. The ability to push her feelings aside and seize what she wants."

"I didn't consider it that way."

"You don't need to like her. You don't need to approve. I'm not sure I do. I wouldn't choose her for him, but it's not my choice. He's making his choice with open eyes. He sees her. He sees who she truly is, and he accepts her. That's all I can ask of him."

"It sounds romantic that way."

"Maybe it is." He takes a long sip of his brandy. "That was where I faltered with Ella. Where we both faltered. There was more. Work. Putting my own goals first. Not understanding what it meant to be a team. But now I'm interrupting your story."

"We're here to celebrate your son's marriage. It's okay."

"And you'd rather put it off?"

"No… Yes." I take another sip. "I'm just trying to find a way to say it."

He nods. "You told me, last time, about your parents having a rocky marriage."

"There were good times. Trips to the beach and Magic Mountain and New York." The ones Mom attended. "But there were other times. My mom, that vibrant person who painted flowers and loved art and wore bright pink—I only saw bits and pieces of her. She was depressed. I didn't realize it when I was younger. I didn't realize it until I got help myself…" My stomach drops. I might as well rip my heart out and put it on the table.

I've talked to Liam about some of this. Not all of it. He knows my… history. Six months after I started working with him, I had a bad depressive phase.

I didn't even realize I was in that phase until he asked me what was wrong. Warned me my performance was slipping. Not in a mean way, though I'm sure I thought he was an unrepentant asshole at the time.

He pushed me. I resented it, at first, but I needed it.

When I realized what was happening, I had to march into his office, sit down calmly, explain my depression as if it was any other health condition. As if my repetitive stress injury was acting up and I needed a brace and a week of rest and a little physical therapy.

And not like my brain was broken, the same way my mother's was.

I told him what I'd noticed. I made a list of action items. As if it was any other project. I started going off about them, saying I was back in therapy, and I was looking for a psychiatrist to talk about medications, and I was exercising every day again, even though I barely had the energy to get to work.

I went on and on about how I was going to fix this problem and I wasn't going to cost him productivity and I wasn't going to be difficult. He wouldn't need to fire me.