Page 84 of I Saw You First

“Wil? You there?”

I snap back to the conversation. “Oh, sorry, bad connection. Say it again?”

“I asked if you thought she was ready for the move or if she’s a little green. She’s only worked there for what, four months? I guess she’s really on the fast track.”

I’m in an impossible position. If I tell Cam that even though she’s new to retail, I do think that she’d succeed in the smaller market store, I lose her—in the store and outside of it. If I lie and discourage him from interviewing her, that makes me an asshole.

I take a deep breath. “She’s great, Cam. You should set up an interview.”

Dad’s waiting for me at the loss prevention desk when I get back from grabbing lunch at Einstein Bros. Bagels at the far end of the parking lot.

“Bring your lunch into the Performance Center, and we can chat,” he says.

“I usually eat in the Dugout,” I tell him, “so I can catch up on emails.”

“Today, you and I are going to catch up.”

This can’t be good.

I have two things in common with my father: our names and our love of baseball. He grew up as a Twins fan in that storied era of Harmon Killebrew and Tony Oliva and passed his love of the sport down to his children. You almost have to love baseball if you work at Hometown Electronics, or at least tolerate it. My biggest love for it now comes from the kids at the nonprofit. But I didn’t get that from Dad.

“You want half of this?” I unwrap my Tasty Turkey on sesame.

“No, thank you.” He sighs. “Chanelle has me on a strict diet. We’ve got that cruise in April, and my cholesterol and blood pressure didn’t look great the last time I was in.”

I look up in surprise. Dad doesn’t talk to me about personal things. Ever. We’ve only ever talked about my grades or my career or the store, and on occasion, the Twins.

“Are you okay?” Is this why he pulled me into the Performance Center, to tell me his health isn’t good?

“Well, I’d be better if I knew I could count on the merch manager at the flagship store to stay the course.”

There’s the father I recognize. Mr. Wilshire.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Revenue’s up, the store looks great considering the product we blew through over the holidays, and my captains are knocking it out of the park.”

“Funny how you should bring Aurora into this.”

“It’s Abbey. Abbey and Jimmy,” I retort. “Of course I’ll bring them into this. They’re a big part of our success.”

“I’m not talking about merchandising or revenue. I’m talking about your career.”

He’s talking in circles. “I don’t follow.”

“You only have a few weeks left of this rotation before moving on to AGM. If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. At work or outside of it. Toe the line, Wil.”

I tilt my head. He’s gained weight over the years, and his face has rounded out under the sandy hair that’s now flecked with gray. He played baseball in high school but hasn’t made time for exercise in recent years. I remember only a handful of times he played catch with me out in the yard when I was young. Chanelle came to my JV games, but Dad never did. Not one.

He usually says what he means, but today, whether it’s because I’m exhausted or impatient or stressed or whatever, I’m not getting it. “Spit it out, Dad.”

“I’m talking about Aurora.”

“Abbey,” I snap. “What about her?”

“You know exactly what about her, Wil. Kelsey saw you dancing with her at the gala.”

“And?” I stick my chin out in a challenge.

“And,” he echoes, “are you willing to throw away your career for a fling with your direct report?”