Page 29 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“I blame myself for this,” she said.
“No, Reg,” I said, “it’s not—”
She held her hand up, so I stopped talking.
“Putting you on a Valentine’s Day campaign was a bad idea,” she said. “But I needed my two killers on this one.”
Win was a poetry major in college with an affinity for brightly colored socks. I suffered from low-level carpal tunnel syndrome. But we were the most successful creative duo at Art of the Brand, so in this context, we were killers.
“Henry,” she said. “As of this second you’re officially on vacation.”
“Vacation?”
“Yep. Extended. I don’t wanna call it leave because vacation sounds better. I should’ve done this months ago. You’re off till the New Year.”
“As innextyear? Reg, shit.”
“It’s already done. I just told HR.”
I looked out the window at the Baltimore skyline and added up the days until January—it was a chilling sum. I took a couple of weeks off after Brynn died because those were the foggiest, most shock-filled times. One Monday, though, I wandered into the office with my Yeti mug of coffee and asked Win what we were working on. I’d never been a workaholic, and I wasn’t under some sort of delusion that advertising was important. Frankly, I just needed something to do.
“And this isn’t me being a big sweetheart here,” Regina said. “This place needs you healthy.”
“She’s right,” said Win. “Iespeciallyneed you. The only computer program I know is Microsoft Word.”
Regina rolled a few inches closer to us. “And while you’re off, think about what’s next. We’re all still hurting, but financially speaking the agency’s on fire. It’s time to expand. Manny knew it. I know it. Brynn knew it, too, Henry.”
Folks on the business side had been talking about opening a second office for years. The plan was L.A. New clients, a bigger marketplace, a West Coast presence. Brynn and the others had gone there to scope things out.
Regina’s gaze was as sharp as dental equipment. “I know this is delicate because this is where you and Brynn lived. But you and Win are first in line to run things in L.A. I need my killers.”
Now I’m standing on thesidewalk staring up at our house. Cal has done his best to keep up the place, sweeping out front and tending to Brynn’s flowerpots. The year-old Christmas decorations, though, are a problem. The strings of lights droop. The wires are frayed, and most of the bulbs are cracked. The wreath Brynn made and hung on the front door is long dead.
I’d been at Art of the Brand for four years when she was hired. Creatives have no legitimate reasons to talk to media buyers, so I’d make things up because I had such a huge crush on her, and because when she smiled her nose did this crinkle thing that absolutely killed me. I’d take the long way to the conference room so I could pass her office. I’d try to strike up conversations in the kitchen.Mondays, am I right?Once, after discovering we’d both brought leftover pizza, I gave her a high five and she laughed.
“Maybe you should design a little card that says, ‘Do you like me as more than a colleague: yes or no?’ and leave it at her desk?”
Win said this after I suggested we set up a meeting with “Brynn inMedia” to go over some alternative strategies for our outdoor campaigns.
“What?” I said. “No. Shut up.”
“Dude” was all he had to say.
“Goddammit. Is it super obvious?”
“It is,” he said. Then he put his hand over his heart. “Also, bro, it’s adorbz.”
A noise from above pullsme back to the present, and I see an old man looking down at me from the bedroom window of the row house attached to ours. It’s Mr. Ross, our neighbor. I give him a little wave. He lifts his hand, then slowly closes his curtains, because he’s never been much of a waver.
When I told Grace about L.A. earlier tonight she said, “Aw. I was just starting to like you, Henry,” and that made me a little sad because it’s been such a relief to be able to talk to her about…well, being sad.
My evening with her and the kids inspired me enough to drive over here, but the idea of entering our house terrifies me because my brain will expect to find Brynn in there, probably standing at the kitchen counter and scrolling on Instagram.
Oh, hey. Where have you been? I have so much to tell you.
A car rolls by playing Christmas music. I take my phone out and look at Brynn’s picture on my home screen. Next time I’ll go inside.
When I asked Henry if he’d ever thought about leaving, I assumed he’d say no, because no one leaves Baltimore. When he told me about L.A. I joked that I was just starting to like him. My voice sounded so casual in my own ears, like it was no biggie. I was surprised how bummed I was, though.
