Page 2 of Snake

Autumn had not lacked for a parent to help her learn makeup or fashion or any of those so-called ‘girly’ things. Her ‘motherly’ advice had simply come with a twist. And she’d learned how to change a tire, chop wood, take care of minor home repairs, and all those so-called ‘manly’ things from Pops.

They’d divorced during her senior year at Cornell, and she hadn’t been surprised. They’d done all they could to shield her from the crumbling of their marriage, but last few years had been noticeably tense, and Autumn was no fool. Their breakup had had traditional Mom and Dad energy too, she thought. All about who was or was not supporting and appreciating whom.

Those who thought same-sex marriage was an aberration or abomination had clearly never really known one. Marriage was marriage, just as love was love. It succeeded or failed for the same set of reasons, no matter the gender and genitalia involved.

“Thank you, lovey,” Pom said as he drew a hand through his (now artificially) dark locks. “You look tired. You’re sagging around the eyes. But you wear that Chanel like Coco herself designed it for you.”

That was Pom: a dollop of criticism sweetened with a dusting of praise.

Autumn ignored the criticism and smiled at the sweetening. She smoothed her hands over the tobacco brown skirt of the 1990s suit. As a natural ginger, she stuck primarily to neutrals and earth tones. “Thank you. It’s vintage. Just got it last week.”

Pom gasped with dramatic flourish. “You went to the Toggery without me?”

Autumn laughed and sat down. She took a long, grateful sip of her flat white before she replied, “As I recall, someone left me on read for eight full hours last week. I can’t be held culpable for anything I might have done without that someone during those hours.”

“I was with a client who needed handholding through a complicated wallpaper selection.” Pom was an interior designer. “If you’d said in your text that you were planning a pilgrimage to the Toggery, I would have gotten rid of her sooner!”

Autumn smirked and took a bite of the muffin Pom had bought her. “You schmooze, you lose.”

He sighed theatrically. “The corporate world is making you hard, Ginge.”

Probably he meant it as a lighthearted poke, but his tone was serious. That criticism was less a dollop and more a bolus, and it hadn’t come with a sugary layer. Autumn swallowed thickly and had another sip of coffee. She let the hurt roll through her and out, and she didn’t draw attention to it by countering.

He wasn’t wrong. She’d worked hard to turn her skin to steel so she could move through the world without bleeding. But she didn’t want her dads to bounce off.

They sat in quiet for a minute or two. Then Pom made a wry rhetorical pivot. “Speaking of hard, how is your Pops?”

An affectionately irritated chuckle and an eyeroll were Autumn’s first reply. Her dads had been apart for a decade, but as long as she was between them, they’d grab her arms and play tug of war. Pom in particular. “You promised not to do that to me anymore.”

“I promised not to pull you into the middle again,” he clarified. “I’m just asking how he is. Because I care. I’m a very caring person, you know.”

“Yes, you are. But you’re not a big forgiver and forgetter.” She let that sit until he shrugged petulantly. “Pops is good. I’m having dinner with him tomorrow. I’ll tell him how much you still care.”

“He gets dinner? When did he graduate to dinner? Why do I only rate coffee?”

“Pom.” She filled those three letters up with a lecture and wrapped them in a boundary.

And he backed off. “I’m sorry. Truly, Ginge. That was a crappy thing to say. Not an excuse, but I’m greedy for every moment I can get with you, and it feels like that’s less and less time every year. These thirty-minute coffees are great, but ...”

Something she suspected was true for every divorced family, no matter the orientation of the parents: fighting over the kids didn’t stop when the kids grew up. Instead, it became their problem to handle.

“It’s dinner this week because I had to cancel our coffee on Monday,” she explained. “An important meeting went long, and I couldn’t get away. But it’s not a regular thing. My regular thing with you both is coffee every week and dinner for holidays and special occasions. I won’t let us lose that, no matter how busy work gets. I promise.”

Pom reached across the table and picked up her hand. “I worry about you, Gingersnap. You go-go-go all the time and never rest.” He sighed. “Remember when you wanted to be Patti LuPone?”

Laughing with true amusement, Autumn squeezed her dad’s hand. “I was ten, Pom. Besides, I don’t think the life of a Broadway legend is filled with a lot of lazy days and hammock naps.”

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~oOo~

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For decades, MidWest Growth & Progress had claimed the top three floors of an eponymous, moderately tall building in Mile Square; then the Work from Home movement had gained enough momentum to fundamentally change corporate culture. Nowadays, most corporate workers in the United States were at least hybrid if not fully WFH. Less than twenty percent were fully in the office Monday through Friday.

The giant skyscrapers of most American downtowns had stood empty or close to it for years, but eventually the moribund commercial real estate market—of which MWGP was a commensurately moribund participant—had finally figured out how to pivot. Now most of those once-empty offices were apartments and condominiums, shops and markets, entertainment and dining venues. America’s downtowns had come roaring back to life, and the corporate real estate landscape had been remade.

MWGP had leased out two of their own floors and now called only the top floor of their building home. The other floors were a mix of smaller corporate headquarters, a boutique executive hotel that claimed five floors, several floors of luxury condos, and three floors of mixed-use space.

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