Page 5 of My Dearest Mackenzie

“Hi, Mack. How are you?” I heard the traffic honking in the background.

“Fine. What’s up, Susie?” I got right to the point. It never seemed like what she really wanted, but Susie had sold her shares in the company to my dad when her husband, Arthur, wanted to invest in real estate. They’d been successful, and I was grateful to not have to work with her or her two brunette, curly-haired, and “freckled from too many vacations in the Caymans” daughters—Sonya and Sylvia. They were both pains in my ass, always wanting something like their mom.

“I wanted to know if you were coming for the Jewish New Year. Did you see my email on it? As I said, Sylvia and Tom have included some friends this year, so you may enjoy meeting a few people your age?”

I’d seen the email, glanced at it and trashed it. It had popped into my inbox after the Frances Shakedown, as I’d come to think of the other day.

To the innocent, Susie’s invite might seem innocent and kind, but I knew it had a nefarious bent. “I’m not sure,” I told my aunt. “It’s three months away, Susie, but I’ll probably have a quiet meal at home.”

In reality, I’d do what I always did. I’d visit Milly’s grave, come home, and watch a livestream service over a bowl of takeout matzo ball soup. It wasn’t grand or even close to any tradition, but it was my own annual plan.

“That’s a shame. You shouldn’t be alone. It’s a holiday. Plus, Tom’s colleague is looking to launch a product in the skin care world. I thought the two of you could meet. She’s also single…and Jewish.”

Boom! There it was. My dad’s only sister coming in hot with a two-for-one. A potential wife with a long-term interest in my company.

“Tom was thinking of backing Traci. That’s her name. Traci Wechsler. Beautiful, strawberry blond hair, thin, went to Cornell. Come to think of it, she goes to the Hamptons on the weekends often. You should come out and meet her.”

I felt my head shaking side to side to the nonsense, my brain in overdrive on how to respond. My sort-of venture capitalist cousin-in-law, Tom, had been wanting to sink his teeth into my financially secure business for a while. “That’s so nice of you to think of me and the company, but I try not to do business with friends of family. It just feels more like a potential catastrophe than a safe zone. And I’m not dating anyone other than my job at the moment.”

“Milly would want you to come. Not just for the holiday but out to the beach house too,” Susie screamed over an ambulance whirring by. I imagined her sitting straight as an arrow, in the back of an SUV, privacy screen up, her black hair plastered into a bob, and not even glancing out the window to see what the emergency might be.

I laughed. “Milly wanted me to fall in love with some serendipitous person I met like in a movie, not a financial prospect of Tom’s. Thanks for the invite though.” I rolled my eyes at the thought of Milly believing the universe would send someone fascinating and worthy my way. I was a lot of things; lucky wasn’t one of them.

I disconnected the call and decided to go for a run outside. Best part of building a shower in my office was escaping to the nearby Hudson River Trail for a midday pounding of the pavement. By the time I returned with five miles on my feet and a clearer head, I’d forgotten Susie and Tom’s proposition and was ready to face the last few hours of my work week. It wasn’t often I took a weekend away from it all, but when I did, I did.

“Mack?” Corey poked his head in my office as I resecured my cuff link.

“You can go. Get out,” I instructed him, assuming he wanted to start his free weekend early. I wasn’t sure who was more excited about my weekend off, Corey or me.

“No, it’s not that.” He cleared his throat and stepped into my office slowly.

“What? It’s not like you to be bashful. Spit it out,” I told my assistant who was staring at me like he’d seen Santa Claus, for real.

“She’s here. Again.”

“Who is here? Susie? I just spoke with her.”

“Not Susie.” Corey approached with a caution I rarely saw him exhibit. “I know in the past I’ve played a few jokes or tried to set you up. But I heard you the other day—no more. I don’t even know how she is getting past security—”

“Cookies. Oatmeal chocolate chip, to be specific,” rang through my office, the one and only Frances Burns strutting right in as if she belonged.

“Definitely not Susie, although I might prefer her.” I turned toward Corey before quickly focusing on our visitor. “Hello, Ms. Burns. I’m not a big oatmeal chocolate chip fan.”

“Good thing I didn’t save you any.”

I couldn’t help the small smile spreading across my face. The tiny blond half-pint had nerve, I’d say. “What brings you back to stalk me?”

“Remember, I kickbox,” she sassed back.

I felt Corey’s head pinging between the two of us. “I certainly do. Now tell me, what can we do for you?”

She stood there perfectly still until I noticed a small twitch in her neck. She seemed to be motioning between Corey and the door.

“Do you want privacy? You have to use your words.” She actually glared at me, and my smile grew wider. “Now Frances, do you need to speak with me alone?”

“I do.” She jutted her chin out and stood as tall as her frame would allow.

“Corey, I know you would prefer to get out the popcorn and enjoy the show, but I’ll be okay. Promise.”

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