To Sir, with Love

I need something good to come from this day, and if it’s limited to a sweet treat that tastes like fall, I’ll take it.

Alec is the quiet, serious type. He takes his time. Sips his tea. Adjusts his glasses.

Finally, he looks up.

And I know.

I know.

I’ve always known.

I push the drink forward, staring at the streak of condensation left on the wooden table. “Bubbles isn’t going to make it.”

“It could. You’re still technically profitable.” He says it calmly, quietly, and I’m grateful. I don’t want a pep talk any more than I want a lecture. “But the sort of improvement you, Lily, and Caleb were hoping for isn’t there.”

I close my eyes and exhale.

“You should be proud, Gracie,” he says, shutting the laptop. “When you took over after Howie died, I didn’t think the store had a shot in hell of staying open. Your dad was smart and passionate, but he didn’t pivot as soon as he should have to adjust for changing times. You turned it around.”

“I turned it,” I clarify. “Not around. Not enough.”

I set three fingertips against the center of my forehead and close my eyes. “What do I do, Alec?” I ask quietly, looking up into his brown eyes. As a teen, my brother-in-law had been quiet and even a little aloof, though incredibly kind once you got to know him. He grew out of the aloofness, but not the kindness. He’s the type of man you can count on.

He picks up his cup of tea and stares down at it a minute before sighing and reaching for my sugary pumpkin-flavored drink. He takes a sip then studies the drink. “I can’t decide if I like this or not.”

“It grows on you. A little too much,” I say as he slides it back toward me and lifts his own cup once more.

“You do what you want to do, Gracie.”

I make a little face at the vagueness of the answer.

He gives a slight shake of his head. “I’m not talking about what you want for the business. I’m talking what you want for your life.”

The question churns something deep inside me. To deflect, I reach across the table and give his forearm a sisterly poke. “Hey, look at you! Speaking from personal experience, or just been brushing up on your Oprah vibes?”

He smiles, but his eyes are shadowed as he looks down at his drink. “Let’s just say you’re not the only whose life didn’t play out quite like you planned it.”

Instantly, I feel like the worst sister on the planet, and this time my hand on his arm is less playful, more comforting. “I should have asked sooner. How are you?”

His brown gaze is so tormented when it lifts it hurts my heart. “You’ve talked to your sister?”

I raise a shoulder in confirmation. There’s a tricky line between help and interference, and I don’t want to betray Lily’s confidence.

Alec drags a hand over his face. “How am I? Hmm. I’m frustrated. I don’t know where her head’s at. I don’t know what she wants. I don’t know if I’m supposed to bring home adoption papers or the name of a different doctor…”

“What do you want?” I ask, repeating his question back to him.

He exhales. “I want to have a family. I want my wife to know she is my family, even if it’s only ever meant to be the two of us. I want to give her a million babies, if that’s what she wants, however I can…”

Alec looks at me helplessly.

I place my palms on either side of my cold, damp plastic cup and roll it between my palms, watching the green straw move back and forth as I imagine dancing toward the line of interference without actually crossing it.

“Have you told her any of this? Does she know how you feel?”

He blinks at me. “She knows I love her.”

Oh, men. So sweet. So clueless.

“I’m sure she does,” I say with a reassuring smile. “But does she know that she’s enough for you? You know how Lily is. She’s never failed at anything in her life. I wonder if she’s not feeling a little lost knowing that she might not be meant to bear children naturally. I wonder if she doesn’t just need to know that you’re there.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I should cut back on the travel is what you’re saying.”

I smile, and Alec nods. Point taken. He gestures toward my drink. “Can I have some more of that?”

I shove it toward him, and he takes a long sip, winces, studies the cup. Then takes another sip. “Yes. Yes, I do like this. Now, back to you. Do you want to run Bubbles for the rest of your life? Because if that’s what you want, I’ll help however I can. The numbers don’t tell a great story, but it’s possible this is just a bad chapter.”