“Even more impressive,” she says. I get the distinct feeling that now she’s mocking me. “Now that I know how you have the world’s nicest ass, would you like to explain to me what the hell is going on with you out there?”
“He’s just a jackass.” My eyes start to twitch just thinking about that day at his house.
“And . . .” Brynn motions me to continue. “More than four words would be helpful.”
“I went over to his house on Tuesday to plan like we’ve been doing and it was going really well. Liv and Marie weren’t lying when they said I was enjoying it. His foundation is setting up to do some real good in the world. He is really looking into fixing problems within the League—I guess there are a lot of problems with the way some of the older retired players are treated. But he doesn’t want to stop there. We’ve been finding projects and charities that address inequality in their communities.”
I’ve been reaching out to a lot of the organizations he’s researched. One of my favorites is an organization that provides professional clothing to men and women. It seems like a small thing, but they provide haircuts and classes to prepare people for interviews. It’s life changing for the people it helps. One thing I’ve noticed about the causes Quinton seems to champion is that, at their core, they provide dignity. Helping underprivileged people out in a way where they can help themselves and not feel like they’re begging for charity. It’s really beautiful.
“I understand why he chose the football field and the national anthem to make a stance. There’s so much passion behind his actions and we were taking it to the next level. It was going surprisingly well, then it wasn’t. He said some really hurtful things and made it clear that he didn’t respect or value the work I was doing.”
I leave out the details. I don’t want to hear the words that have been bouncing around in my head for the last two weeks aloud. Some part of me thinks that even though they’ve already consumed my mind, speaking them will cause them to become a truth.
“It sounds like that means you two need to talk more, not less.” Brynn gives the advice of an adult, which is not what I’d like to hear.
“There’s nothing he can say that can excuse his behavior.” Or that can slow the avalanche of self-doubt he set in motion. “For a person so set on using his voice to create change, I’m not sure he truly understands the power his words have. And how damaging they can be.”
Brynn leans against the door and I know she’s prepared to stay in the bathroom for as long as it takes to get me to agree to take her side. What she doesn’t know is stubborn is my middle name, so we could be in this bathroom all damn day.
“Have you told him that?” she asks.
“No.” Is she crazy? Maybe she had some gin before she came over. “I’m not his mom and he’s a grown-ass man. He should’ve learned basic manners a long time ago.”
“I can understand that. It’s not your job. Except wait!” She perks up. “It literally is your job!”
“Oh no. Not even close.” I shake my head. Setting up press conferences, curating emails and Instagram posts, drafting speeches and statements, and planning this event was enough. I know I’m not emotionally stable enough myself to take on a twentysomething rich boy, with what seems like some serious daddy issues. I’m still a disaster, but therapy at least taught me how to set basic boundaries. “I know you mean well, but I’ve been through a lot this year. I really can’t add someone else’s baggage to the mounds of my own issues.”
“That’s fair.” She bites her bottom lip and taps an embroidered tennis shoe–covered foot against the beige tile. And I think my little conundrum might’ve finally broken Brynn. I don’t know if I should be proud or apologetic.
“We can be cordial. I can stand near him and not say something rude.” Maybe. “But from now on, I’m just going to show up and try to hoard my paychecks before I get fired in January.”
“That’s it!” Brynn brightens and pushes off the door. Not the reaction I thought she’d have after I informed her of my impending unemployment status. “Have you told him that you have a stake in this too? That you could lose your job?”
I feel all of the wrinkles in my forehead when my eyebrows try to high-five each other. “Of course I haven’t.”
Is she insane? I know I haven’t been the most professional dealing with Quinton, but that’s a little too low even for me.
“Why not?”
I don’t know if she is messing with me or not, but I answer anyways.
“Because my job isn’t to trick him into submission.” I mean, it honestly might be. Something tells me there aren’t many lows Mr. Mahler won’t fall to. “It’s to give him another option to feel heard. I support the protest he’s making. If he wants to stop kneeling, it will have nothing to do with me. I won’t hang my burden on him. I won’t try to manipulate him with my problems.”
Not that he’d even care if I got fired. He basically taunted me with his ability to make that happen at his house.
She walks toward me and takes my hands in hers.
“It’s not manipulating him, Elliot.” Her voice is softer and so are her eyes. It’s a look I know well. One people gave me for weeks after my dad died. Until their lives moved on and I was still stuck in the cyclone of mourning. “I don’t know what you’re going through and neither does he. But maybe, if you opened up to him, he’d be understanding and you could both get along better.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell him my sob story for him to not be a jerk. You never know what
