"The nicest."
"Then you'll be her friend, because that's still a great thing to be, and hope her feelings change."
Silence as he digests this. When he's done, he jumps off the bench. "Let's go home."
"Stomachache cured?"
He rolls his eyes. "I never had one, Dad."
"Right." Grinning, I toss our things in a nearby trash can and put a hand on his back, between the wings of his shoulder blades. "She'll come around."
But his mind has already moved on, it seems. "What are we doing for Thanksgiving?"
"For Thanksgiving?"
"Maria is going with her family to Canada. Turner is celebrating at his grandfather's house in Martha's… somewhere."
"Vineyard," I correct.
"Vineyard," he repeats. "What are we doing, Dad?"
His question stumps me. The previous years we've always celebrated with my mother, who flies up from Florida for the holidays. Food and a few games, watching the parade on TV. That had been enough before.
"Grandma isn't coming this year," I say. "She's going to New Orleans with a few friends from her retirement community." She'd felt guilty about it, but I'd heard in her voice that she wanted to go. I'd told her to do it, and that we'd see her for Christmas instead.
"I know that," Joshua says. He jumps up on a low ledge and starts to walk in a line, one foot in front of the other. "But what are we doing? We can do anything we want, Dad."
"I suppose we can. What do you want to do?"
He thinks, holding his arms out for balance. At nine, he's big enough to think he doesn't need to hold my hand anymore, but I walk next to him just in case. "Mike's dad is having a Family Company Day for Thanksgiving."
"A Family Company Day?"
"Yeah. It's like a big fair, and he said there will be cotton candy for all the employees and their kids."
"Where does Mike's dad work?"
"Coney Island."
That explains things. "Well, my company isn't really like that."
"I don't know what your company is like," he complains. "I had to explain it in class a few weeks back and I made stuff up!"
"I buy companies, then I make sure they work, and then sell them on." I've explained this to him before, but I understand that it doesn't make much sense to a child.
Joshua jumps off the ledge and lands neatly, knees bent. "What are you doing for your company for Thanksgiving?"
How am I having this conversation with my kid, right after having it with Frederica Bilson? I'm not even a holiday person. But as I stare into my son's wide, bright gaze, I know it's time to become one. Joshua deserves nothing but the best, but he's stuck with me, and I'll just have to buck up.
"Not enough," I admit. "They've been working very hard for me, but I haven't told them that."
"Thanksgiving is the time of year to tell people stuff like that," Joshua lectures. "Last year we wrote thank-you notes to our classmates with things we like about them. Perhaps you should do the same at your company?"
"Perhaps I should," I murmur, putting a hand on the back of his head. "You're smart, kiddo."
He looks up at me. "That's why I faked a stomachache. I've never had one before, so I knew they'd take it seriously."
I smile back at him. "Clever, but in the future, we don't run when things get difficult."
"I know, Dad."
An hour later, when we're both safe and secure back in our apartment overlooking Central Park, I sit down in my home office and open my laptop.
Subject: Company Thanksgiving Celebration
Ms. Bilson,
Your budget for this project has just been significantly increased. So significantly, in fact, that there is no limit at all for your initial suggestions. Perhaps something that includes employees' families?
Think big, Strait-laced.
Tristan Conway,
CEO Exciteur Global
I press the clicker to change the slides on the screen. Beside me, William and Luke shift to the side, looking at our audience. "So," I say, "here are all three options for easy comparison. Feel free to let us know what you think."
Tristan and Clive gaze back at us across the meeting room, flanked by two women from Exciteur's HR and event-planning team. Tristan taps his fingers against the table and studies the slide on display with an inscrutable expression.
The three options on display all have clear budgets, timelines, and concepts. A Thanksgiving lunch on the company, where we rent a nearby restaurant. The second option, a cash bonus in hand for all employees, on a sliding scale.
The third? Renting the Wilshire Gardens in Central Park for an evening, the amusement park that's set up for a few months every fall. Inviting everyone's friends and family… and booking a nearby bar for singles to go afterwards.
It's outrageously expensive, but Tristan's email had specifically asked for family friendly. It had also included that nickname. Strait-laced. Taken from the intimate setting where we'd agreed to leave it and into the workplace. I'd deleted that before I forwarded the email to Luke and William and told them we had to go big.
And now Tristan is saying nothing.
Just staring at the three options, his eyes narrowed in thought. The people on either side of him glance over. Once, twice. Waiting for his verdict.
I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to let any nerves show. "What do you think?"
"Is option three feasible within the time frame?" Tristan asks.
I nod. "Absolutely. We've already reached out to the amusement park to inquire about availability."
Clive frowns. "The cost is considerable."
"It's high in comparison to the other two," I admit, "but in terms of renting a venue, it's really quite affordable."