Page 6 of A Temporary Forever

“And yet, you feel responsible for all his mistakes.”

Fuck him for calling out my obsession to right my father’s wrongs.

I just can’t stand by and not address all of his horrible deeds. He negatively impacted the lives of so many others who suffered only because they crossed his path. I have the means to fix that, so I do.

“This party sucks.”

I shoot him a grin, done with the conversation, and return to my now-former coworkers for a few moments before we break to get some work done.

Well, they do. I walk into my office with nothing really on my agenda. Collecting a few of my personal things, questions swirl, unanswered and unsettled, in my mind.

I really enjoyed fixing what our father fucked up in this company, but once the basics were covered, I kept looking for more things to solve.

I tried to satisfy that call outside of work, but that didn’t make the days at the office any less dull.

Having grown up in hotels run by my father’s company, I always pictured myself running one or more of them. And it came quite naturally to me. Like slipping on a well-wornjacket. A perfect fit.

Only underneath it, there’s been an itch. A need to fix. To turn things upside down, inside out. For the better.

But fuck if I know what I’m looking for. And will I ever find it?

I pick up the small box of stuff I didn’t even know I’d accumulated. A book, a stress ball, a photo of Finn, Saar, and me in Italy, and a few sentimental trinkets from our hotels across the world, where I worked for a few days or even a year in the past.

“Anna, could you please have this wrapped and ship it to my home?” I drop the box at the counter.

The receptionist looks up, sniffling, tears welling in her eyes. “Of course, Mr. van den Linden.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She stands up, fidgeting with her hands. “I’m just sad you’re leaving.”

“Anna, I’ll come and check on my brother. He and Reilly need you.” I wink at her and call the elevator.

Multiple gazes follow me as I step inside the car, and I force one more of my signature smiles before the door slides closed.

I blow a raspberry. Fuck, this feels final.

My shoes pound on the belt as I increase the incline. Hitting the gym seemed like the best option on a Tuesday mid-morning, when most people are already productive in their careers or lives.

Deciding to leave Quaintique-Linden wasn’t easy, but it felt right. I didn’t envision that the actual physical act of stepping away would bring this much emptiness.

And it’s only been two hours.

I guess I was supposed to plan for this. Why didn’t I? Despite many people believing I’m the jester in the family, I have my life more organized than any of my siblings.

What does a person without a job do? Not that I need to work. My trust fund and my shares in Quaintique-Linden would more than cover me for the rest of my life.

But having money isn’t the same as having a purpose. Only how does one find one?

Maybe I can have lunch with Saar before she leaves. That would cover at least two hours.

Fuck.

I missed the opening night of some exhibition at MOMA. Perhaps I can do that after my lunch.

The greenery shimmers behind the tall glass windows of the gym. Maybe I’ll take a walk in Central Park.

That thought makes me chuckle. Last time I did that was with my nanny when I was in middle school.

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