Page 57 of My Book Boyfriend
“But she’s the co-director of the Oasis Garden. She was out protesting in front of the office today.”
“The co-director?” my dad asks.
Freckles barks as if to emphasize the point.
“Oh, then there should be a picture of her among the protestors.” My mom opens her phone.
“Does she know you’re Rupert Evans?” my dad asks.
“Yes.”
“Can you trust that she’s for real?” my dad asks, frowning, as my mom holds up her phone.
“Same red coat, right? I see her.” My mom grins as if she’s solved a puzzle. “If you guys are holding hands despite being on opposite sides of this conflict, it seems like a pretty strong start to me.”
“But do you have any advice about how to convince Grandpa? I thought I’d write a memo detailing how Rowena and I being co-CEOs will be different from the Fell family fiasco. And now I’ll have to research how our leadership would differ from Percy Anderson’s.”
My dad nods. “Confronting that head-on would be good.”
If I can. I’ve always admired Percy Anderson’s work.
Thetalkwithmyparents helped. I stand at the stainless-steel island in my open-concept kitchen and drink a glass of water. The cursor at the end of my memo on my open laptop in front of me blinks. There were a fair number of articles detailing why the Fell family real estate dynasty imploded, including some details I hadn’t been aware of, and I was able to distinguish most factors. But Grandpa seems emotionally affected by the Fell story. Rowena is right that it’s ironic how he says it’s all business, and yet rationally, there is no way the Fell brothers are comparable to Rowena and me.
Percy Anderson is a brilliant businessman. He’s a formidable foe. I don’t have any answers on that front.
Choices.Do I play it safe and not save the garden? We’re already going against Grandpa by proposing we become co-CEOs. Do I risk even more and pitch the design that preserves most of the garden?
I need to call Lily and make sure today’s protests didn’t change her feelings for me. She picks up. My shoulders loosen. That wasn’t guaranteed.
“I’m sorry about walking by you earlier,” I say. “What I wanted to do was hug you.”
“Oh.” She sounds surprised.
What if she wants to cancel the date now?
“And thePage Sixarticle. I presume nobody realized it was you.”
“Maddie recognized me. She’s seen me in the coat and the dress before, and she knows we’re acquainted.”
“She’s a good reporter.” Her first article about the garden was quite compelling—not overtly in favor of the garden, but with enough subtle, heart-wrenching details to leave a reader rooting for it.
My hand grips the phone as I stare out at the black stillness beyond my living room windows. “I reserved 6 p.m. for bumper cars tomorrow night for our date.” I don’t ask. But I know it is a question.
There is silence, and my breath catches.Please.One more chance to persuade her that we suit even if I can’t save the garden.
“Yes,” she says softly. “I don’t break my promises.”
I haven’t said I will save the garden. I can’t promise that.
Chapter seventeen
Rupert
Theorange,blue,yellow,and green bumper cars slide around the ice as I wait by a short, vinyl, banner barrier. The bumper cars resemble large donut rafts on wheels with a plastic seat in the middle. I offered to pick Lily up, but she had some event at the New York Public Library on 42ndStreet. Bryant Park is busy, though. Disco music plays as ice skaters glide around the pop-up ice skating rink next to the bumper car arena.
Over a loudspeaker, I hear the time check for the ice skaters: “Ten minutes until Group B is over.”
I check my watch. Our timed slot starts in four minutes. I pull down my beanie hat around my ears. It’s crispy out right now. But then I spot her. Same bright-red coat.
