Chase joins us, parking his butt on a chair, too. They listen as I tell them the basics. “And honestly, I feel like it’s all my fault,” I say, when I’m done.
Josie gives me a sympathetic smile. “Some of it is.”
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it,” Chase adds, this time without teasing or giving me a hard time.
I scrub a hand across my jaw. “What do I fix? Does she even want to see me again? Is what I did so awful?”
“Let’s break this down,” Josie says. “You held something back, and you covered it up. I get that you had your reasons, but you need to apologize. You also need to let her into your whole heart. She’s going through something tremendously shitty. Having a huge deal pulled out from under her is awful.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I say, because the reality is I’ve been both good and lucky in business. I learned my trade, put in my time, and then moved up. Each year I became better, and each year my business grew.
Henley has been dealt some bad breaks. In some cases, she bore a decent part of the responsibility, like in our split. But this one? This one is Grade A, top choice, absolutely unfair, and not her fault.
“Let me help you imagine how she feels, then,” Josie says, meeting my gaze. “She probably feels like a failure. She probably feels like she’s been judged. And she probably also feels like she put herself on the line for you.”
Chase chimes in, “You just need to let her know you’re there for her.”
I flash back on one of the last things she said to me at the train station. She wasn’t even sure if she had a job anymore, and she wished she could have come to me for advice.
That’s when I know what to do. I know exactly how to restore this old junker of mine.
I push back on the chair and stand up. “I’ve got it.” I clap my brother on the back. “Thanks, man.” I give Josie a hug and then head to the door.
“Why do I feel like he’s about to make things worse?” Chase asks Josie nervously.
I glance back, and Josie shrugs. But the look in her green eyes is a hopeful one. “I bet he knows what he’s doing.”
She hands me a bag of cinnamon rolls, and I go.
49
Henley’s to-do list
* * *
—Get your act together.
* * *
—Straighten out this mess.
* * *
—Turn on your phone. You can’t hide forever in the couch, the chocolate potato chip ice cream, the tropical island Pinterest boards, and the Go-Go’s.
* * *
—But “Vacation’s All I ever Wanted” and the pictures of Bora Bora are calming me down.
* * *
—Buy cheese.
* * *
—Face the music.
* * *
—Fight for things with Max. He’s the one thing good you’ve got, and you will not lose him, too.
50
The great thing about being the so-called king of the Manhattan custom car business—sorry, John, it’s not you—is that your suppliers will take calls on a Sunday evening. They’ll open their warehouses in New Jersey and meet you after hours. They’ll do deals after hours.
And since I’ve got my black sports car, it doesn’t take me long to drive out to Jersey, grab what I need, and lug it back into the city. After a few pit stops and a sweaty run up the service elevator in my building, I snag a smaller version of my gift and order an Uber. The driver takes me to Henley’s block and I call her another time. It rings and rings and rings. No answer. Seems she’s turned on her phone, but now she’s ignoring me. That doesn’t bode well, especially considering I’m dragging fifty extra pounds for her right now.
But I won’t back down easily.
And maybe I won’t have to back down at all, since my phone buzzes with a text.
* * *
Henley: Missed the call! My arms were full of cheese! Dinner will be late tonight. But I promise it’ll be delicious. Does 9 p.m. work?
* * *
I glance at the time. It’s eight. Little does she know I’d wait all night for her.
* * *
Max: I’ll be here.
* * *
I park myself on her stoop.
Five minutes later, a beautiful brunette walks toward me, a grocery bag on her shoulder, jeans on her legs, combat boots on her feet. My heart speeds up, and it’s such a strange sensation, but one I’m going to have to get used to. I stand, swallow, and wait.
Nighttime casts shadows on her, but even though she freshened up, I can tell she wasn’t lying when she said she’d spend the day in tears. As she passes under a streetlamp, her face is illuminated. Her eyes are red. I walk down the street, and when her gaze meets mine, she flinches as if she’s surprised to see me. A well of nerves rises inside me. But screw that. I’m not nervous. I know this is right. I’m 100 percent confident I can help. My job is solving problems, and I know how to fix this one.