Foundation

by Lainey Davis

  “Now,” she says, staring at me. “Why don’t you tell me why that gal is running the show now instead of the broody drink of water you’ve been canoodling?”

  I whip my head around and glare at Valerie. “Because Isaac Brady is an arrogant piece of toilet paper and I’m done wiping my ass with him.”

  The women around me swallow, wide-eyed. It’s a good thing the excavator fires its engine back up, because that’s about all I can handle saying about him. My insides churn. I’m feeling something I recognize as emotional pain, and I practice deep breathing to shove it all back down inside, where I store all my responses to the things my parents have said to me over the years.

  Emma stands up and wraps her arms around me. “What are you doing,” I shout over the machinery. Maddie stands up and smashes me into a hug from the other side. Thankfully, Valerie stays where she is, but the second she leans forward and begins patting my leg, I lose control.

  I look down at my shirt and see wet splotches, realizing my eyes are crying.

  “Just let it out, babe,” Emma says. And I do. I let it all out. All the years of rejection from the people who were supposed to love me. All my stress at the prospect of losing a home I had literally crafted for myself with my bare hands. All my rage that my boss had reneged on our arrangement until I stood up and yanked back control over the meetings I was supposed to be orchestrating.

  And finally, I cry—yes, ok, it’s me crying. Not just my eyes—I cry for Isaac, who seemed like he was worthy of peeling back my fortress walls. Just a little. Not a lot. But as soon as I did, he stomped all over everything. I cry on my friends until I’m all dried up inside.

  Emma sits back down and smiles at me. “Don’t you feel better?” She asks. “Like, you think you’d feel totally empty after gushing out all the heavy shit, but I find, after a big cry, I feel renewed. Remember when Thatcher and I were on the outs and you helped me cry?”

  I nod. She’s right. She’s always right. That’s why I love her. She’s both right and good, has her priorities in the right place. And she listens to me when I call her out on her bullshit. Which is the only reason I consider listening to her when she says, “Now, I think you should call Isaac tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Zack

  ORLA, LIAM AND Cal stand on my front porch pounding so hard on my front window, I worry they’ll shatter the glass. I crack one eye open to make sure I’m not imagining them out there, and then try to go back to sleep on my couch, where I’ve fallen asleep with my laptop on my chest.

  Eventually, one of them locates the key they each have to get in my house and soon, all of them are standing above me, smelling like sweat and Brady rage.

  “Dude. You stink.” Cal waves at the air, pulling his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth. I groan. It’s been three days since I got home from South America, and I’ve only slept a handful of hours. I’ve been here in my living room the entire time, working with Ray on his research and typing up plans to bring him in to speak with my dad and Uncle Kellen.

  “Like you guys smell so good,” I mutter, trying to hide my head under a throw pillow, but Liam yanks it away and tosses it across the room. He stands above me with his hands on his hips, glowering.

  “You’ve missed several family runs, and at least two group runs for the corporate relay,” he says, disapproving. He pauses, and adds, “Your girlfriend wasn’t there today, either, so we came to make sure you were—“

  “Jesus, Liam, that’s not why we’re here.” Orla cuts him off and I struggle to sit up at the mention of Nicole. Thoughts of her sting my breastbone, like when I run too fast on a frigid day, even though I’m working really hard on ghosting her until she forgets my name.

  “We’re actually worried about Zack’s health and safety,” Orla continues. “Uncle Mick didn’t seem worried when you didn’t come back to work after Paraguay, but—and I’m not trying to imply anything negative here—but that really isn’t super informative. If Mick’s not worried, I mean.”

  “It’s not like your dad was worried,” Cal interjects, helping himself to the bag of corn chips I have by my feet on the couch. “Uncle Kellen just sort of mumbled and grunted when we asked him if he’d heard anything.”

  The room falls silent as they all find someplace to sit, and then I become aware that they’re waiting for me to say something. “Dude,” Cal says, bouncing a chip off my forehead. “You have to tell us what’s going on.”

  I sigh and drape a forearm over my face. “Well the big thing is that I finally had it out with Dad.”

  “Had it out how? Like…you told him to fuck off about the relay team?”

  I shake my head and struggle to sit up. Liam hands me his water bottle and I squirt a bunch into my mouth. “I mean, we were talking about when my mom left.”

  Liam nods. “That’s a significant conversation. Did he have his gourd tea?”

  “Oh man,” Cal makes a fart sound with his mouth. “Dad and that fucking tea. Am I right?” He looks around and Orla glares daggers at him. “Sorry, sorry. Zack, please. Continue.”

  I sigh and tell them about my fight with Dad. “It wasn’t a fight in the end, I guess. But anyway, he heard what I had to say about my friend Ray and his machine learning research and…well, I’m pitching him and Kellen later this week.”

  I tell them about the landslide work, how I’m imagining we can apply Ray’s machine learning interests to a bunch of aspects of our work at Beltane. By the time I’m done talking through it all, I’m actually feeling really good because I realize I’ve internalized a lot of the material I’ve been writing out for the past few days. I grin and rub my hands through my hair, trying to smooth it out.

  “It’s good you don’t work from home much,” Orla says, frowning. “You look like shit.”

  I grin at her. “Thanks, cuz. Seriously, I like it that you always tell it to me straight.”

  She sniffs, and seems to regret it, between the post-run funk of my brothers and my unshowered odor. “I thought that’s what you like about Nicole.”

  God, please don’t make me talk about Nicole, I think. But I’m not lucky enough to avoid that land mine. “One minute you’re suited up taking her on a date and the next…you’re grunting like a cave man when I say her name.” Orla is giving me her very best bossy face, like she’s gearing up to twist my earlobe until I talk to her.

  I clench my thighs together in case she gets any ideas about punching me in the junk like she used to do when we were much younger. “Look,” I tell them. “Things were getting intense with Nicole. Neither of us can handle that right now. We’ve got work shit.”

  Liam says, “hmmm” like he knows something. “I overheard Lisa talking about the project at her house. Since when do you outsource a job midway through?”

  Since I’m terrified to see her and face the reality that I’m catching feelings for her. Since my dad told me she totally dismantled that meeting in Paraguay and somehow Beltane still got a consulting contract. Since I made her think I doubted her ability to bad ass her way out of that situation so that everyone wins.

  I shrug. “Like I said, when I fought with Dad I told him how I felt about being passed over for that department head position. This presentation with Ray is top priority for me and in my opinion, a top priority for the future of the company. Lisa is more than capable of taking the lead at this stage.”

  My siblings and Orla share a silent conversation with each other and then grunt at me a few times before standing. “Ok,” Cal says.

  But Orla coughs into her hand, saying “bullshit.” And I roll my eyes at her.

  “Well,” Cal continues, “we’re all going to the cafe because we’ve earned some greasy diner food. You’re not invited unless you promise to shower and come to work tomorrow.”

  I throw a couch cushion at them as they file out of my house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Zack

  “WELCOME ABOARD, RAYLAND,” Uncle Kellen says, shaking hands with
my friend the following week. Beltane wasn’t able to offer Ray a dazzling salary for when he finishes his PhD, but we can offer him total creative control over his machine learning projects, absolute freedom over the types of projects he selects and, of course, the responsibility to lead his division and begin creating software to help all the different divisions of Beltane serve their clients more efficiently.

  It’s been a few decades since we added a new division to the Beltane Engineering portfolio. This is the most exciting thing to happen since Cal talked Dad into getting some drones. Already, Cal and Ray are deep in conversation about who will manage the drone projects meant to make our inspection safer. I hear Ray say something about programming unmanned robots to scope through pipes, and soon my entire family is calling for whiskey and walking toward a nearby bar.

  “This is a fine day for Beltane Engineering,” my father says, pulling me in for a side hug. He means it, too. He didn’t have to fake enthusiasm for any of my or Ray’s ideas, and he actually suggested a sweet bonus for me as a finder’s fee for getting Ray on board.

  Professionally, my life is a dream. I’ve got everything I set out to achieve, really. Autonomy over the projects I’m working on. The opportunity to put my hands in the dirt. Ray and I are actually working with three neighboring counties to monitor landslides all around Pittsburgh and every day I spend helping the programmers with their data points is like the Olympics for a guy obsessed with math and pressure and soil composition.

  The only problem is, despite my own insistence that I need to be a lone wolf, that the love and acceptance of my family is enough to fulfill me personally, I can’t shake the ache in my chest when I think about Nicole.

  I keep reminding myself we weren’t actually together. We never set parameters, let alone made declarations of monogamy or said anything about feelings. I just…need her. And as I stare at the drink in my hand, I know that the reason she’s not here is because I shoved her away.

  She would have left anyway, I think, swirling the whiskey in my glass. It would’ve fizzled out and she’d leave.

  If all these things are true, why does it feel like such shit when Lisa tugs on my sleeve and asks me to sign off on some new permits for the project with Nicole’s yard?

  “Give us a minute, Lisa,” my uncle says, tugging on my sleeve and pulling me over to a table where he and Orla are sitting with some snacks. I say nothing, but reach for a soft pretzel bite and dip it into the warm cheese. Kellen looks at me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Can’t help but notice you’re a bit glum, kiddo,” he says.

  “Only you would say a word like ‘glum,’” I mutter.

  Kellen sighs. “My Orla tells me you’re skipping family runs lately.” He waits for me to crack and start talking to him, but he might as well not hold his breath. I eat another pretzel. It might be the first food I’ve had today, which explains a lot about how my guts are churning.

  Eventually, I look over at him and Orla, blinking at me like two Irish owls, and say, “I’m a lone wolf.” As I say it, I recognize that I’m probably drunk.

  “Hmm,” Kellen says, sizing me up. “Lone wolf? Tell me what you mean by that.” I can tell he doesn’t actually want me to respond, so I don’t. He continues. “Were you alone when your brother Liam helped you figure out who should be financially responsible for your client’s rotational landslide? Were you perhaps alone when your college roommate brought a new direction and energy into the family business?” He leans forward, his voice dropping. “Were you alone at the country club with Bitchy Bitsy Kennedy denigrating her daughter where everyone could hear? Don’t look at me like that. I talk to people.”

  Kellen yanks the bowl of soft pretzel bites away from me and sets his hand on mine. “We’re engineers, son. Precision is important to us, so let me explain to you why you are not a lone wolf. The etymology of that expression refers to a female wolf, one who has been driven out of the pack. If anyone is a lone wolf in this scenario, it’s your mother.”

  I open my mouth to interject something, but nothing comes to mind, so I close it and he continues. “Nobody is saying she needed to put up with your father’s philandering. But anyone who’s going to use a tiny baby as a pawn for financial gain is going to get the cold shoulder from this family.” He snorts. “You are not a lone wolf. You are very much an integral part of the pack here, Isaac. You and I both know that large ungulates are easier to bring down when you’ve got help.”

  With that, he stands, kisses Orla on the cheek, and glides away from the table before I have a chance to work out who is the ungulate and who is my helper-wolf in his metaphor. Sensing my distress, Orla says, “He means you need to call Nicole and eat crow for whatever asshole things you said and did to her.”

  “What do you know about it,” I scoff, trying to reach for the soft pretzels again.

  “I know your head hasn’t been in the game since your trip, and your split times are suffering.” She shrugs. “Your run tracker posts are still set to public, by the way. You need to adjust the notifications in your app.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Nicole

  I HAVEN’T TAKEN Emma’s advice about calling Isaac, and the longer he doesn’t call me, either, the angrier I get at both of them. Why would she suggest I grovel to him when he was the one who was rude? I don’t have time for rude.

  I also miss him like crazy. I miss his beard scruff on my thighs and his snarky text messages. I miss sitting at my house and working next to him, yet not feeling suffocated by him.

  Ever since we set our course with Augusto, work has been like a high speed boat race, and I’m loving getting splashed with the sea foam. Everything is thrilling, from deciding which designers to hire to mapping out production schedules. It might be possible I’m fast tracking everything so that I’m working around the clock and not taking time to dwell on my confusing feelings.

  Augusto has already approved a shoe design, in fact, and some local university students have somehow stitched up a few pairs in the maker space, whatever that entails. So yeah. Work is amazing. Lisa says I’m about a week away from being able to plant grass in my back yard, and I’m feeling beyond ready for the relay run.

  I haven’t told Tim anything about my budding enjoyment of running as stress relief. He doesn’t need to know he had a good idea, and he doesn’t need to know I’ve started actually using my treadmill desk for sprint drills in the middle of the day. I looked up a speed program online.

  I’m determined to finish my portion of the relay in under 45 minutes. Emma and Maddie said my calves are starting to look cut, and I’ll go ahead and accept the compliment in time for tea-length dresses and pedal pusher pants.

  Mark interrupts me as I’m flexing my calves, staring at the subtle way my body has changed. That feels too passive—my body hasn’t changed. I fucking chiseled myself a new shape. I’m going to phrase it that way.

  “Nicole? Nicole!” He taps his loafered foot impatiently when I don’t answer.

  I sigh. “What am I late for now?”

  He sits down and spreads out a stack of papers. “We’re finalizing guest lists for Augusto’s launch party. You’ve already approved media outlets and foundation heads, athletes, the fabulously wealthy…”

  “I trust your judgement, Mark,” I tell him, patting his hand. “That’s why I promoted you to run point on this event.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Ok, well, like I said I’m getting Alice to vet the caterers and suggest drink pairings for the signature cocktails, oh! And I’m choosing the band. Augusto said ‘anything South American sounding,’ so I’ve got a drum corps coming and—“

  “Mark, babe, I’m working on the notes for the investor meeting that happens prior to the party.”

  He practically snorts at me before leaning forward. “Are you bringing a date?”

  I snort out a puff of laughter at that. “Mark, I will have absolutely zero time to entertain a stupid date. Besides, I don’t need to network or look good for the boss. I�
�m already basically related to the boss.”

  “Nicole.” His voice is firm and there’s something new behind his tone. “You work on a team, you know.”

  “Yes, Mark, I’m well aware of all the valuable contributions of my coll—“

  “Babe. You’re working us all to the bone and we’re tired. The team has sent me to tell you we need a night off. So if you can please approve all these invoices, expenses, and seating charts, I can deliver a little relaxation.” His nostrils flare a bit as he stands, glowering at me.

  “Oh,” I tell him. I sink lower into my chair, feeling defeated. I’ve been selfish. “I wish you’d told me this a week ago, Mark. Shit.”

  He sighs. “It’s ok. Now. Sign these papers so I can go the fuck home and swing some kettlebells and maybe get laid this weekend.”

  I snort. “What must that be like.” I start signing the papers and reading over everything he’s prepared. It’s all in order. The vendors, the venue, the presentation plans for the event. Mark even has someone writing prepared remarks for Tim and me to deliver.

  Eventually I realize Mark is staring at me, and I look up at him, confused. “What?”

  “Don’t ‘what’ me! You know exactly what it feels like to get predictably laid and you’re being too damn stubborn to make it happen for yourself.”

  “Oh, christ, not you, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, he was an asshole in Paraguay. Jet lagged, tired from running, under pressure from his family. The man said some fucked up shit. Nicole, you also said he encouraged you and seemed to actually care about the things that interest you. Namely spackle.”

  I bite my lip. It’s true, Isaac seemed worth my time for awhile. But I’m not sure if I can deal with someone who cracks like that under pressure.

  Seeming to read my mind, Mark raises a brow at me. “He stood out in the rain in your yard in February. In Pittsburgh. Trying to make sure you could save your house.”