Page 93 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

Sofia studies me over a plate of stress-cooked pasta. “You ever think maybe you were sabotaging yourself, Mac?”

"I'm not sabotaging myself," I insist.

"You're hiding in a wine cellar, avoiding your problems," Lucia interjects. "That's textbook self-sabotage. And eat the cannoli. Nonna stress-baked them while giving the wine bottles relationship advice in Italian."

Outside, the snow continues to fall, making everything look magical. The kind of magic I stopped believing in after Roberto, after promotions lost to less qualified men, after years of being too much and not enough all at once. The kind Alex made me believe in again, until I proved myself right about trust and power and men who look perfect in suits.

My phone lights up with one last notification. Alex's latest press statement about "focusing on innovation throughtransformative leadership." Corporate language that says everything except what matters. Everything except "I trusted you" and "you broke that trust" and "I might have loved you anyway."

Using one hand to brush her dark bangs from her eyes and another to point with a cannoli, Lucia looks at me. “You know what you have to do now, right?”

“Chug the ’82 Brunello and order another plate of the tiramisu?”

“No. You have to write a new exposé.”

I blink. “A new what? Lu,” I snort, “I think the one and only was bad enough.”

“No. No, no, no.” She shakes her head. “Not on Drake Enterprises or Alex. Or Big Tech. No. You need to write an exposé on you. On your life. On everything that happened. Your career. Your firing. Your re-hiring.” She exhales. “On what happened with Roberto. Truth is: It might be the only way to get Alex to understand.”

I frown. “To understand what?”

“That it wasn’t him that you didn’t trust. It was yourself. You didn’t trust that being yourself was enough for anyone. Roberto made you feel for so long that both couldn’t exist.” Her green eyes grow glazed. “But you know that’s not true. You’ve always known it. Alex just reminded you of what was real.”

I don’t realize the tears are falling until my sister Sofia reaches out and wipes one from my cheek.

I sniff and glance between them. “You both knew I was self-sabotaging?”

“Well, yeah.” Sofia shrugs, pushing a curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. “But you’ve got the classic Gallo stubbornness. We knew you’d figure it out. Eventually.”

“When?” I ask. “When I was old and decrepit and drooling on my shoes?”

Lucia pipes up. “We’d hoped you’d get it together a year or two before that.” She nudges me again, rising to her feet. “Now,come on.” She offers her hand. "Time to face the music. Preferably before Keith writes another song about corporate heartbreak and revolutionary healing."

I let her pull me up, leaving behind vintage wines and empty plates and all the things I never meant to break.

Above us, life continues. Below us, my heart remembers how to beat. Between us, hope flickers like holiday lights through falling snow.

29

THE PRICE OF TRUST

ALEX

The Apex Club sits thirty stories above Seattle, where monthly dues cost more than most mortgages and the membership waiting list reads like a Forbes "30 Under 30" roster. Tonight, floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the approaching snowfall while I take out my frustrations on a glass of scotch that’s quickly disappearing.

Usually, I sit at a certain booth. With sometimes Grayson and Connor in tow.

But not tonight. Tonight calls for sitting at the bar.

I check my watch. 8:12.

Dad's running his 'usual 40-minutes late' again. These 'meet-ups' of ours only happen once every six months, but the pattern never changes. He'll arrive late, full of excuses about board meetings and market timing, just like he did when I was sixteen and waiting for him to show up to my debate finals.

Just like he did when my mother finally stopped waiting.

“Give Marketing whatever it wants.”

“Make sure the bathrooms in your buildings always have soap.”

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