Page 49 of My Dearest Mackenzie

I brought my hand to her cheek and smoothed my palm over her skin, making my way to her hair, gliding my fingers through her soft locks. It was as sincere a moment as I’d ever had, but I wasn’t sure how to put it into words. “I’ve had a lot of experiences in life. Privilege is practically my middle name—”

She interrupted. “Don’t. You work hard. You built most of what you have,” she insisted, and it was pure Frances.

“Do you always have to prove a point? Your point?”

“I do…and you grew your company.”

Pinching her cheek, I admitted, “I did, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t lived a good life. I’ve never wanted for anything, other than my mom. Which I never say to anyone. When I got over her, I decided doing what I wanted, working, playing, was enough. Then, you came along. I don’t know how but you made me want something I’d tabled for myself. Now here you are. And yes, I have left you at key moments. My own pride got in the way.”

“Well, I just meant that one minute we were at dinner, and the next in the Hamptons in a bed…”

“Well, on a kitchen counter first,” I clarified.

“Ha. Now move. I have morning breath.”

“I don’t care,” I said, and I didn’t. I hoped she truly understood this was awkward for me too. Not the “waking up in the Hamptons with someone” but caring for another person.

Although, for the record, it wasn’t often that I woke next to a woman.

“Let me brush my teeth. One minute,” Frances said while wiggling out of my arms.

She would not be denied and slithered out from the bed. I decided to do the same, and hurried to brush my teeth if it meant getting back in between the sheets with Frances.

While Corey was shocked, I’d called off the morning. I imagined him doing some kind of Millsy dance in excitement over it.

Which was exactly what he was doing that afternoon when I walked into the office, armored in a suit and needing a strong cup of coffee before my afternoon of shitty tasks.

I found Corey in my office, whistling “Here Comes the Bride,” and asked him, “Do you always prance around my office when I’m out, planning imaginary weddings?”

He stopped mid-track and held his hands up in the air, declaring, “Guilty!”

“Okay, let’s get to work. I need to talk to the supplier for the new bottles for the new scent. They were having some sort of shipping issue.”

Corey nodded and started walking out toward his desk before turning and asking, “How was the night?”

“Get that smirk off your face, Corey,” I said while laughing. He feigned hurt and I finally gave in. “Fucking great. Now get them on the phone. I need to solve this issue and then I have to run out for a bit.”

After sorting the packaging issues and negotiating a better price, I checked my email and stood up to go. I had a visit to make, and I’d grab a coffee on the way. There was something on the edges of my mind, a piece of the puzzle that I’d been trying to jam into the wrong slot.

Alex drove me to the Upper East Side and pulled over at a little local coffee shop a block away from where I was heading. I went in, grabbed two coffees, and walked the rest of the way to my destination. The doorman quickly opened the door for me, knowing who I was, and buzzed me up without calling. Which was how I surprised my dear aunt Susie at her apartment. I knew she’d be home because it was a Thursday in August. Tomorrow morning she’d dash to the Hamptons like everyone else in her world.

“Mack?”

“Here, I brought you a coffee.” I handed off one of the disposable cups and took a long slug from the other while walking inside her gaudy apartment.

“What are you doing here? I mean, it’s nice to see you, but unexpected.” She smoothed her dyed-black hair behind her ear, showing off her Botoxed cheek. “Did you want to talk about the potential business arrangement with Tom? We could still arrange a meeting with Traci, the woman I told you about. I understand not wanting to do it over the Jewish New Year, but Tom’s not here. Obviously.”

“No.” I spoke firmly, walking farther into the apartment, saying hello to the housekeeper, who was staring at me as if I was the only person to ever barge in there. I probably was.

“I was getting ready to leave in the morning. The kids are all coming out to the beach place for the weekend.”

I nodded. “I don’t really care.”

Standing in front of the grand piano that no one played, she asked, “What are you upset about, then?”

I faced her and asked what I wanted to know. “Do you ever go out to Westchester?” Something about the house and my chat with Frances had started the thoughts churning in my mind. The last twenty-four hours an onslaught of questions had clouded my brain.

“No, it’s not my place to go. It’s yours—remember?”

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