And then Nick got in the way.
Two days before the party, a music video came out. No, dropped. That was the word people used around the office: Check out the video that just dropped. As if it had fallen from the sky. The music video featured a dancing Angie Aguilar looking wholesome and All-American in skinny jeans, a flannel shirt, and, naturally, Alma Boots’ signature sheepskin boots. “Walk a Mile in My Shoes”—that’s what the song was called. Two million views in less than twenty-four hours.
A stupid, brilliant move by a stupid, brilliant man—Nick.
Bobby never got to have his party. Because when Nick invited Angie (he was on a first-name basis with the singer) to the celebration, everything changed. The venue (Norwood), the budget (astronomical), and, of course, the purpose of the party altogether. When Logan Metcalfe, their CFO, announced the profit projections, the crowd had raised their fists in the air and actually chanted Nick’s name like a bunch of drunk college kids. They all, it seemed, lacked a basic understanding of how fiscal quarters worked—they were crediting Nick with numbers that had been achieved months before. The video had nothing to do with it! Bobby had been so disheartened that he deleted his speech from his phone.
When Angie Aguilar took to the stage to sing (wearing Alma Boots shoes, of course), Bobby decided he’d had enough. He tracked Gina down and told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted to go home. He had expected resistance—she was a big believer in the importance of celebrating—but she quickly acquiesced. It turned out that Calan had already asked her to come home and she’d been trying to find a car to take her back to Alma anyway.
Back at home, Bobby sulked. Gina either didn’t notice or didn’t care. (Looking back, Bobby is convinced it was the former—Calan-related matters were her biggest source of vulnerability, but at the time, Bobby still hadn’t understood how much their son’s troubles burdened her.) When Bobby cried that night, she had held him. She had rubbed circles on his back and spoken to him in a soothing voice. But she hadn’t been all there. She was distracted, her thoughts consumed by their son’s struggles. He could feel it. When he called her out on it, she didn’t deny it. In fact, she chided him for being spoiled. Not everything is about you, she said. And she hadn’t stopped there.
Gina accused him of spending too much time at the office. Over the past months, she’d met with Mr. G, the principal, several times, all by herself. Do you know how that made me look? she asked him. That man already thinks I’m some hysterical, overprotecting mother. What message do you think you’re sending when you refuse to stand by my side?
Bobby should’ve apologized. He should’ve promised he’d be a better partner, a better father. Her words were not untrue: he had been absent. But, in that moment, all he could do was snap at her. What did she think he was doing at the office, all day and night? He was working, that’s what. Providing. Making sure their son had a legacy to inherit, one that was profitable—not a sinking ship like Charles had left him. And maybe if Gina paid more attention to his work, she’d know that. Besides, their son needed less parenting, and more independence. So, he was bullied. What kid wasn’t? Bullying built character. Mr. G was right: Gina was an overprotective mother.
That night, they had broken a promise they had made on their wedding night: they had gone to bed angry at each other.
The next day, Bobby left before breakfast—another marital first. He spent the whole day feeling rotten. He was a failure at everything in his life. As CEO (he couldn’t inspire a team like his brother could), as a brother (fraternal jealousy consumed him, even after all these years), as a husband (his wife was loving and compassionate and he held that against her). Still, Bobby didn’t apologize. He felt like he deserved to sulk. Deserved to throw himself a pity party.
Zofia was the only one to sense his mood. Bobby was good at hiding his emotions—all overlooked children are. She brought him a ham and cheese croissant with his first coffee (how had she known he’d skipped breakfast?) and quietly complimented him on turning Alma Boots around. She didn’t make a fuss—Zofia wasn’t the sort to make a fuss about anything—but her eyes beamed with admiration. It had a been a long time since someone had looked at him like that.
A week after the Angie Aguilar party, Bobby had made a reservation for two at Daniel. He had sent Gina a bouquet of sunflowers (her favorite), along with an invitation to meet him at the restaurant at 7 p.m. A car would pick her up at 5:30 p.m. There would be hibiscus tea and chilled sparkling cider in the car, and the driver was instructed to play songs by Oasis and Pearl Jam. Zofia had arranged the whole thing (in retrospect, a cruel detail).
It was Bobby’s way of making amends. They’d already made up by then, but the air between them was heavy with the things they’d said to each other. Gina thought he had to get over his decades-old rivalry with his brother. Bobby felt she had to get over her helicopter-parent tendencies. They had a long road ahead of them, but he was confident they’d reach full reconciliation. They loved each other. Gina
