“Oh,” Roman says, “okay. Sounds like a plan, then, you f*cking ghoul.”
“It’s a celebration of love,” Connor protests firmly. His face is simply radiating delusion out of Roman’s phone screen.
“I thought you didn’t need love,” Shiv says. “I thought you were a f*cking desert cactus.”
“Well, Willa’s irrigated my loamy soul. Now I’m a plant that needs a lot of water. I’m a marsh-dwelling fern.”
“Then why don’t you go back to your marsh and leave the rest of us out of it?” Roman suggests.
“Kenny said he was coming.”
“Well, then I’m definitely busy that day,” says Shiv.
“Oh, Shivvy, come on! It’s my big day.”
“The day our father died on the toilet? That day?”
“Everyone always talks about Pop croaking on the toilet,” Connor says crossly. “SNL, the fake news media, everyone. No one ever mentions Willa’s and my beautiful union of souls.”
“Hey,” Shiv says, “Mikey Day and Heidi Gardner did a respectable Connor and Willa impression, I thought.”
“Of us walking in on Dad dying on the toilet,” scoffs Connor. “How could we have gotten up there in time? Contrary to popular belief, not all billionaires have jetpacks at the ready. Fact checking’s a dying art, that’s for damn sure.”
“Can we focus on what really matters here?” Roman says. “The lifetime of primo masturbatin’ material I got out of guest host Kristen Stewart as me?”
“She was weirdly hot,” Shiv says.
“For the last time,” Roman says, “I’m not fathering your next child. One and done; that’s always been my philosophy.”
“I’ll have Kristen Stewart Roman’s incest baby. Not yours. This will be hard for your little rat brain to comprehend, but some of us have actual standards.”
“Jesus!” Connor huffs. “Can we really not have one conversation about me and Willa without it turning into an incest baby free-for-all?”
“No,” Roman says, “because you and Willa are very, very boring. Gotta spice it up. Right, sis?”
“You’re dead to me,” Shiv says.
“You two,” Connor orders, “Dad’s death day. The Grand Ballroom at the Plaza. Be there or be square.”
“The Plaza?” Roman says. “Seriously?”
“Willa’s choice. She insisted it be on land this time. That was one of the major stipulations. And she has some childhood nostalgia about Eloise.”
“Of course she does,” Roman groans. “It must be so refreshing, being married to one of the little people.”
“Have you thought about the optics?” Shiv asks. “Like, throwing a big, happy Eloise party on the anniversary of Dad’s death might be a little gauche, no?”
“Oh, come on. There’s the memorial gala that weekend.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t we spend the day itself weeping and rending garments, doing the whole grief thing?” Shiv asks. “That’s what people do, right? Grieve?”
“I’ll pepper in some somber moments. We’ll have bagpipes. Willa might do a Robbie Burns.”
“Really??” Roman says, feigning outrage. “Right in front of you like that? At your vow renewal?”
“The Scottish poet.”
“Oh, sh*t, he’s a poet too? Yeah, she’s definitely going to like him better than you.”
“The man died in 1796.”
“After a year with you,” Roman says with a theatrical wince, “that’s probably not a dealbreaker.”
Shiv chuckles.
“You know,” Connor says crossly, “Kenny going no-contact with you clowns makes a whole lot of sense sometimes.”
“Sorry,” Roman says. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. We love you, Con. We’ll be there. We can’t wait, right, Shivvy?”
“I think it’s a bad look,” Shiv says, “but I could use a night off Stepfording before I put my head in the oven, so sure. I’ll be there. If our brother is under strict instructions to stay the f*ck away from me.”
“Like he’ll need them,” Roman says. “That guy’s never speaking to you again, sissy saboteur.”
Shiv lets out a dark laugh. She looks bothered. “Good.”
Roman’s so not in the mood for everlasting sibling ennui. “Okay, gotta go. I’m doing sexy brunch with Gerri.”
“Seriously?” Con gripes. “This again?”
“What? She can’t get enough of me.”
“You do know that if word of this actually makes it to her,” Shiv says, “she might, I don’t know, sue you for defamation.”
“At first I thought it was just one of your off-color jokes,” Con says, “but I’m starting to worry. Romey, do you really think you’re going steady with Gerri Kellman?”
“Yeah, Rome,” says Shiv. “Is Gerri in the room with you right now?”
“She sure is,” Roman says, “and she’s looking foine.”
Connor sighs heavily. “Listen. I hate to say the words ‘psychological intervention.’ Especially with vow renewal bells on the horizon. But Roman, you’ve got to let this Gerri obsession lie.”
“Yeah,” Roman says, “vow renewal bells definitely aren’t a thing. Peace out, lame-os! What’s that, G-Spot? You want to pour syrup all over me and get to lickin’?”
“It’s not cute, Rome,” Shiv says. “We’re, like, this close to being seriously worried about your broken psyche–”
Roman hangs up.
“Am I not cute?” he asks.
“You’re an acquired taste,” Gerri says, popping a raspberry into her mouth. She doesn’t look up from the newspaper.
Roman helps himself to some fruit. “So I guess you heard what we’re invited to on the anniversary of Pop Pop’s tragic demise.”
“Was I invited? I thought it was more of a family thing.”
“Hey. You’re family.”
Gerri gives him an offended grimace. “f*ck you, too.”
“Maybe we should make it our relationship debut,” Roman muses, snickering. “That would be f*ckin’ hilarious. Boo hoo, once again, no one gives a sh*t about Con and his first lady of the night.”
He enjoys the twitch of a smirk on Gerri’s face as she flips the page in the paper.
“You know what would be kinda funny?” she says.
***
Verily, it’s a beautiful second wedding that nobody wanted, or whatever the f*ck. Roman and Gerri get there late, as planned, but not late enough to miss the circus. Connor’s vows go on for pages – literal, actual pages he holds in his hands – while he projects to the back of the room like some hacky Shakespearean actor. Willa watches him patiently, looking about five years older with every turn of the page. She’s dressed in a white pantsuit, like a Nancy Meyers heroine hot off a long-anticipated divorce. When it’s her turn, she says, “Con. Wow. What a year! Here we go again, huh?”. There’s a moment of awkward silence before everyone realizes that’s it and bursts into polite applause. Willa’s mom lets out an audible “Whoohoo!”.
Ken’s there with Rava and Sophie and Iverson; they sit rows behind the rest of the fam. It’s kinda sad, seeing them look so much like they used to when they were a happy(ish) family, when Roman knows that the divorce is done and dusted and Rava’s got some new boyfriend who’s supposed to be a major upgrade.
Ken looks thinner than he should, his hair buzzed short. Still a little dead. He looks wrong in a suit now. Roman feels woozy at the sight of him, even from just a quick two-second glance backward. He leans closer to Gerri.
After a pivot to Logan Roy mini-memorial time, featuring some f*cking bagpipes and Willa’s Burns recitation (which she sounds way more excited about than her vows, and which Connor weeps his way steadily through), the reception starts. The room is abuzz with tons of people, all giving off the vibe that they’re not totally sure how they should be acting. Ah, the classic second wedding/memorial manners dilemma. Roman wonders how many of the guests Connor had to pay. Paying for companionship – historically, kind of Con’s thing.
At the front of the glittering ballroom, there’s a huge black and white picture of Connor and Willa in a stiff prom-style cuddle. Next to it is an identical-sized stern black and white close-up of Logan. Both the pictures are surrounded by tons of white flowers. It screams nothing so much as triple funeral.
Snarking on everything with Gerri is Roman’s current highest priority, but she gets a phone call and dips out. She’s just consulting now, which is the closest Gerri will ever get to retiring, but apparently an “Oh, it’s really just part-time” consultant’s work is never done. She’s such a f*cking addict. At least it looks good on her, which is more than Roman can say for any of his relatives.
And speaking of relatives: Iverson wanders over, looking vaguely lost like he always does, off in his own world. Something about that look reminds Roman of Ken. Maybe there’s something thicker than blood after all.
“Hey bud,” Roman says. He feels suddenly, acutely sh*tty. He’s kept up on gifts that people on his payroll send out at the appropriate times of year, but suddenly, looking at his nephew and wondering how the f*ck he got so tall, it seems lacking. Rava must think he’s such a piece of sh*t uncle.
“Hey,” Iverson says.
“Look at these goons, huh?” Roman points at the black-and-white Connor and Willa. “What a couple of losers.”
Iverson chuckles halfheartedly.
Roman gestures at the other picture. “You missing Gramps?”
Iverson considers it. Roman can respect that. No one ever takes the time to consider it.
“Not really,” he says at last. “He was pretty mean.”
“Yeah,” Roman agrees lamely. Somehow, that feels truer these days than it did when his dad was alive. It’s so much easier to remember the mean stuff. It sticks around after everything nice fades. Some days, Roman can’t remember what it felt like to have his dad smile at him, no matter how hard he tries. But the rage, that’s forever. That’s easy.
Iverson looks at him. Roman feels itchy. Then the kid says, in a sparing-your-feelings voice too old for his age, “It’s still sad that he’s dead, though.”
“Yeah,” Roman says. “Yep.”
Iverson glances across the room. Roman follows his gaze to Rava and Kendall. Rava is saying something to Ken, leaning in, all sweet with pity and caring. Ken’s watching her like she’s still his wife. Roman feels bad for him. There’s nothing worse than the woman you love being right there and not yours.
“They’re divorced now,” Iverson says.
“Yeah, uh. I heard that went through. Family tradition. Hey, one divorced-parents kid to another, it’s kinda cool. You get two of everything.”
“I guess,” Iverson says. He doesn’t sound convinced. “I should go check on my dad.”
“Right. That’s cool. Tell him hi for me. And your mom. Good catchin’ up.”
“Bye, Uncle Roman.”
“Yeah, buh bye.”
And the kid’s off.
See you next year.
Despite himself, Roman glances at the photo again. His dad stares back. For a second, it’s like those eyes know everything. That Roman chose Gerri after all. That he didn’t crawl into the mausoleum like a loyal dog and die.
“Hey, loner. Whatcha doin’?” It’s Shiv. Roman finds he’s happy to see her. A good excuse to snap out of it.
She looks nice on the surface, all elegant in emerald green, and exhausted underneath. Her hair is longer than it used to be, past her shoulders, like she’s really leaning away from boss bitch and toward trad wife. It makes her look younger than she did for a while, like he’s got his annoying kid sister back and all it cost was her will to live. He heard from Gerri, back before she peaced out of Waystar, that Shiv kept pestering Tom for things to do at the company, ways to stay relevant. Matsson kept icing her out. And of course, God forbid Tom choose his wife and the mother of his child over being Matsson’s faithful little bitch boy.
“Just catching the old man up on all your sins since he kicked the bucket. Shaking the baby? Not cool.” In a spooky voice, Roman adds, “He’s aaalways watching, Shiv.”
Shiv scoffs. “Oh, well. Hi, Dad! f*ck off!”
Easy to say now.
“Hey, where is baby?” Roman likes the baby, for the record. The few times he’s seen her, he’s felt sort of simply, giddily happy, the way he used to feel when he was a kid and saw a fluffy animal. She doesn’t seem so bad, no matter how woe-is-me Shiv acts about her. Then again, Roman doesn’t know how it feels to procreate with the scheming asshole who stole your birthright and stare at the wee little you-and-him combo all day every day. Bad, probably.
“I don’t know, Rome. She’s not literally attached to me. She’s her own person.”
“She’s, what, eight months old? But that’s cool. I see you’re doing the whole Romanian orphanage school of parenting. Very nice. Can’t wait to see what that yields in a couple years. Eee! Eee! Eee!” He busts out a little Psycho music and some accompanying stabbing motions.
Shiv rolls her eyes. “She’s home with the nanny. She loves the nanny. It’s fine.”
“I bet she does. The nanny might actually emanate one iota of human warmth.”
“You do get that women are still people even after they’ve given birth, yeah? Not just Giving Trees?”
“Please. Women aren’t people. No one has ever scientifically proven that.”
“Still making Dad proud, huh?” Shiv glances pointedly up at the picture.
Roman flips her off, then Dad’s picture for good measure. Then he feels kind of queasy. Crosses his fingers behind his back.
“Where’s Tom?” he asks.
“Tom’s tied up at work,” Shiv says. “Tom’s always tied up at work. But don’t worry, he sent his ambassador and gave him permission to stalk me, so. Ah, there he is now.”
“Hey, cousins,” says Greg, snuffling on up like a truffle pig for disdainful vibes. He’s got a douchey business bro haircut and his suit looks like it’s finally known the touch of a tailor. But he’s still so inescapably dumb ol’ cousin Greg.
“Oh, hey, dude,” Roman says. “I haven’t missed you at all.”
“Wow,” Greg says. “Uh, that’s hurtful.”
“Good.”
“Though it’s less hurtful because I actually have your office now?” Of course he lifts his voice up into a question at the end. The guy is like grade-A human being repellent. No wonder him and Wambsgans are such peas in a gay-ass sociopath pod.
“Oh, boy,” Roman says. “So cool. Have you turned on a black light in there?”
“Uh, no. I don’t see – what cause I would have for that–”
“Turn on a black light in there,” Roman tells him with a sh*t-eating grin. “You’ll love what you find.”
Take that nightmare fuel, Slenderboy.
“Oh, look,” says Gerri, returning with two glasses of champagne. “The gang’s all back together.”
She passes one of the glasses to Roman. He allows himself a minute to bask in her presence. He’s been staring at her since he woke up – today’s a lot easier as long as he’s staring at her – but he’s still thirsty for her. Dangerously nearing dehydration. She’s glorious in a dark red dress, her hair down in loose curls, a necklace he got her flirting with her tasteful, tasty hint of cleavage. Sexier than she’d usually dress for a Roy family thing. Then again, today’s a special occasion.
No one spontaneously combusts at the sight of her, which is confirmation that none of these reprobates have any taste. Still, Roman stands taller, proud to be by her side.
Yeah. This day last year can suck it.
“Gerri,” says Shiv, giving her a chilly cheek kiss, “you’re looking well.”
“Thanks, Siobhan. You too.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Well, you know me.”
“Glutton for punishment?”
“Something like that.”
“We’ve really missed your expertise around the office,” Greg remarks, like he’s just the most courteous motherf*cker on earth.
“I bet,” Gerri says.
Greg waits for her to return the compliment. She doesn’t. Roman thinks about Frenching her in front of everybody.
“Look out, Bridezilla incoming,” Shiv mutters, interrupting that delicious Greg burn.
“Bridezilla and Willa,” Roman mutters back. “Lucky us.”
“Aw, look, Kenny’s hanging in there,” Connor says, voice lowered, when he reaches them. Willa hovers beside him, clutching her champagne for survival. Connor nods back at Ken across the room. “Do you think he’ll come chat?”
“I think it’s a miracle that he’s even standing up,” Roman says.
“Rava does it again,” Con marvels. “Man. Marrying a Roy, huh? Not for the faint of heart.”
Willa looks tragic and elegant, like a war widow. (She wishes.) Roman nudges Gerri. She nudges him back, chastising.
“Well, I’m not talking to him,” Shiv declares.
“Yeah, we’ve heard that a million times,” Roman says. “No one cares anymore.”
“Well, you should,” Shiv says. “Since he manhandled you like a little bitch. But since you have no f*cking self-respect–”
“Whaa whaa whaa whaa Ken was mean to me one time whaa whaa whaa. Zip it. I’m over it.”
Shiv lets out an indignant breath.
“Guys, come on,” Connor implores. “Not on our special day. You’re upsetting the bride 2.0.”
“It’s fine,” says Willa awkwardly.
“You’re upsetting her,” Connor insists, glaring. “Stop it. You hear me? Stop it.”
Yeah, Con’s officially in fine form. No time like the present.
“So, uh, hey,” Roman says, gesturing to Gerri with his champagne, “we’ve got news.”
Gerri gives him a tiny nod of approval. Full steam ahead.
“Is the news that the lawsuit’s finally happening?” Shiv asks. “I’m surprised you’re letting him stand next to you, by the way, Ger. Very generous, all things considered.”
“Lawsuit? Pssht. You wish. Guess who just tied the knot this morning?” Roman wiggles the fingers on his left hand. He nudges Gerri, and she obligingly holds her hand up. Their matching rings gleam in the chandelier light.
Plot twist.
“What,” Connor says.
His entire existence flattens, like a cosmic piano just got dropped on it.
“I know, I know,” Roman says. “I’m sure you’ve spent all year like, ‘When will these two crazy kids finally make it official?’ Well, one crazy kid and, I don’t know. His hot au pair? Is that our vibe?”
“Mental patient and overworked psychiatrist?” Gerri suggests.
Roman blows her a dickish kiss.
“You’re joking, right?” Shiv asks. The look on her face is, oh, delightful.
“Y’know, I thought you might say that,” Roman says, “so we got Gerri’s assistant to film the whole thing. Here you go. Visual evidence, ya chuds.”
He fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. The video of them this morning at the courthouse plays, the audio of their quick, no-frills vows spilling over the DJ’s very singer-songwriter-heavy playlist.
“Is that Catherine and Peti?” Shiv asks, jaw dropping.
“Sure,” Roman says. “We hang out all the time. They traveled here special just to be part of our happy day. What can I say? They love their new stepdaddy.”
“Well, there’s no way that’s true.”
“It was a surprise,” Gerri admits. Roman makes a face at her. She shrugs back, her mouth quirking.
“I can’t believe they stood there watching this,” Shiv marvels. “And they’re – what, smiling? Was someone holding them at gunpoint?”
“I told you,” Roman says. “They love me.”
He thinks maybe it’s more that after spending their lives under Gerri’s reign of perfectionism, they’d been overjoyed to see their no-nonsense mom do something so totally deranged. Like she was finally a person too, all emotional and sloppy, down in the muck with everyone else. After the initial shock, which admittedly screwed up everything for a month or so, the girls have been really cool. Welcoming, even.
It’s helped a lot this past year. Being part of a family, even if it isn’t his.
And hey. Now he guesses it is.
The video gets to the part where Roman and Gerri share a quick, deal-sealing kiss.
“Oh my God, Gerri,” Greg says in horror, “why?”
Gerri gives him an unimpressed look.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Ma’am. It’s just … are you dying? Because I wouldn’t, um. Necessarily trust him not to pull the plug. No offense, Roman.”
“Uh, offense taken,” Roman says, “you f*cking freak.”
“It’s a fair question,” Shiv says, marking the first instance in human history that she’s actually agreed with her husband’s Gumby-esque side piece. “This is very suspicious.”
“Is it so hard to believe that I might just be great at sex and affection?” Roman demands, pocketing his phone again.
“Um,” Shiv says, “yes.”
“That can’t be it,” Greg says.
“Are you going to kill him for the money?” Shiv asks Gerri. “Because, you know, God bless. You’ve earned it.”
“I’m keeping my options open,” Gerri says.
“WHAT IS THIS?” Connor yowls, finally regaining the power of speech.
Roman blinks innocently. “Did you not want to be anniversary twins? Wow, weird. This was not the vibe I expected from you. I thought you’d be thrilled that we could share something so gosh dang special.”
“This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, Rome,” Connor declares, waspish, “and that’s saying something for you, stupidity’s crown prince.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“Now, I’m never going to be able to look back on this day without thinking about this jackassery. This buffoon’s farce. This nuptial nuclear bomb. You happy?”
“Sorta,” Roman says, trying to look like he’s trying to hold back a smile.
“Hey,” Willa says, “I think it’s kind of fun! The more the merrier, right?”
Gerri clinks champagne glasses with her.
“So, when’s the divorce, huh?” Connor grumbles. “No, wait. The annulment. I suppose you’ll be throwing an even bigger shindig tomorrow to celebrate you joke-marrying Dad’s right hand lady for five minutes. It'll leave this humble gathering in the dust.”
“Oh, we can’t – uh–” Roman taps his chin pensively. “What’s that saying again? If there’s hole, you can’t annul? Point is: already sealed the deal, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re really condoning this charade?” Connor asks Gerri, appalled.
“It was a long car ride over,” she says with a shrug.
“This is unacceptable,” Connor declares. “I’m going to speak to someone about this.”
“Who?” Roman asks. “The Hot Courthouse Elopement And Subsequent Car Bangs Police?”
“Maybe!”
“So, uh,” Kendall says, shuffling over, “what’s all the commotion?”
His sudden presence is a surprise. For a beat, no one says anything. Shiv turns away, really fascinated by a section of wall over yonder. Kendall deliberately doesn’t seem to register her existence either, like he’s come down with a case of medically suspect sister-blindness.
“Roman and Gerri just got married on our anniversary,” Con spits, “like a couple of chumps.”
“Really,” Willa says, “I’m happy to share.”
Kendall meets Roman’s eyes. Roman forces himself not to look away. It’s sort of nice, in spite of all the wanting to barf. He’s missed that sad, deep stare.
“Right on,” Ken says to him. “Congrats.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Roman gives a facetious little bow.
“Look at you,” Ken adds, glancing at Gerri. “Leaving the company when the Me Too sh*t hit the fan. Marrying this asshole. My dad would really hate you right now.”
“High praise,” Gerri says.
Kendall looks at Roman again. Roman can see the snakes writhing around behind his eyes. The disgust, the jealousy. The injustice, too: that Roman, icky broken Roman, can somehow live happily ever after with his favorite MILF, when Rava’s gone and Naomi’s gone and Dad’s gone and the company’s gone and every reason to live is, oh yeah, gone. Roman’s the one who was never supposed to win, not supposed to have anything except endless jokes and the scar above his eyebrow.
Or maybe he’s just always waiting for his family to take everything so f*cking personally.
In any case, Kendall rallies. He offers a shadow of his old hypnotic grin. “It’s a good day, Romey.”
“Yeah,” Roman agrees. He takes Gerri’s hand, quickly kisses her fingers. She doesn’t protest. “Yeah, it is.”
“It was already a good day, actually,” Connor says, “because Willa and I are celebrating our enduring love, in spite of the fact that none of you assholes have ever given a sh*t!”
“Con,” Willa interrupts with the patience of a thousand preschool teachers, “you want to dance?”
“I can’t dance. I’m too mad.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my wedding … again … and I’d really like to dance with my husband. We didn’t get to before, right?”
Predictably, Connor softens at the slightest love offering from her.
“It would be my honor,” he says, somber, “Mrs. Roy.”
“Ferreyra-Roy,” Willa corrects gently.
“Mrs. Ferreyra-Roy.”
“Come on, old guy. I want to see some moves.”
They walk off hand in hand, with Connor sending only the occasional death glare back Roman’s way.
“That went well,” Gerri says.
“It was your f*ckin’ idea in the first place!” Roman reminds her.
“Yeah right,” Shiv says, at the same time that Ken says, “No one’s buying that.” They turn away from each other, furious.
“I guess I was picturing, I don’t know, a lighter touch,” Gerri says.
Roman grimaces as he watches Connor. “Should I go, uh, smooth that over?”
“Yes,” Kendall and Shiv say in unison. Then they both radiate some more Jinx! rage.
“Sounds like the votes are in,” Gerri tells him.
“Why don’t you come along then, huh? It takes two to make a thing go right.”
“I have faith in you,” she says, her eyes widening fake-earnestly behind her glasses.
“Yeah, yeah,” Roman grumbles. “Story of my life.”
But okay, maybe he smiles a little as he leaves.
***
Connor and Willa are murmuring to each other while they dance, just one couple in a crowd of them. It’s very cozy. They’re a sh*tshow in the spotlight, but they usually seem okay when it’s just the two of them in a corner.
“Willa Willa,” Roman says, clapping his hands. “Can I steal your guy for a sec?”
Willa gives Connor a You okay? look. Connor looks put-upon for a drawn-out second, then lets out a burdened exhale and nods. What a hero.
“Sure,” she tells Roman. “Be nice.”
She and Con share one of those quick, routine pecks that Roman always figured betrayed a sexless relationship. It sure did when he did ‘em with Tabs and Grace. Now that he’s been with Gerri for a while, though, he thinks it might just be what love looks like once it gets all broken in and boring and safe. (Although in Connor and Willa’s case, he’d still bet on sexless.) Then she traipses off to a nearby group of her more age-appropriate pals, leaving Roman to deal with his least exhausting but still very god damn exhausting brother.
“How’s the theatre peeps?” Roman asks, to start off casual.
Connor looks like he doesn’t want to take the conversational bait at first, but then he relents. “Baffling. Just between you and me? I don’t get how people can live like that. I never understand what any of them are talking about.”
“And usually you’re the one confusing everyone every time you open your mouth!”
“I know, right? That’s my thing.”
They exchange a slight smile.
“So, her second play wasn’t quite as tummy-churningly horrible as the first go, huh?” Roman says. He and Gerri had actually gone to the play, though they’d sat toward the back and slipped out unseen. It wasn’t just a hiding-their-relationship thing. Even with Connor and Shiv, who he never really lost touch with after that awful f*cking board vote, they all seem to be playing a nonstop game of ‘I don’t really care whether we’re in each other’s lives or not.’ Like if they just stay caustic and cazh, no one will ever have to admit how much it all hurts.
It would be kinda cool if the game stopped. One of these years.
“She’s coming along,” Connor says. “Maturing as an artist. You know, she’s got a new one in the works. Early stages.”
“Already? Well, uh. Whatever day that hits Broadway, I’m gonna be busy. I’m washing my pubes that night. So. Thanks for the heads up.”
“It’s uh, actually about my mom.”
“What?” Okay. Color him stunned. “Seriously?”
“She thinks it has a lot of resonance in the modern day zeitgeist. Feminist the-evils-of-patriarchy overtones. Y’know, people like that these days. Or at least they pretend to. No one likes feminism.”
“Oh, definitely not,” Roman agrees. He pictures Catherine and Peti yelling at him for that one, Gerri watching with quiet amusem*nt in the background. Sic ‘im, girls! It’s actually kind of nice to have people who care enough to try to stamp the cynical asshole out of you.
Connor sighs. “My mom, she always did have a pesky penchant for the feminism.”
“Yeah, it’s what landed her in the loony bin. Well, that and being cuckoo!” Roman twirls a finger next to his temple. For sensitivity’s sake.
“I think if we do it right, she might really be onto something with staying power. Will’s made some good points. I think she has a real vision here.”
“You, uh, you sure this is a good idea? And not, I don’t know, exploitative as sh*t?”
“I trust her,” Connor says serenely. “There’s no one I’d rather be exploited by.”
“You have made that really clear over the years,” Roman has to admit.
“And you know, it’s got the big time potential. We might be talking screenplay adaptation level. Prime Oscar bait. I was wondering, if we ever get to that stage in the process, whether we might … loop you in?”
“Yeah, right,” Roman scoffs.
“I mean it! You’ve got the studio background. We could really use you on board.”
“Thanks to my prestigious producing credits on such Criterion Collection masterpieces as Dr. Honk and The Biggest Turkey?”
“Hey. Everybody’s gotta start somewhere. It might as well be in a flaming dumpster.”
“You know I don’t do that sh*t anymore. I don’t do any sh*t anymore, in point of fact.”
“Ah, right. You’re probably too busy being Gerri Kellman’s fake trophy husband.”
“It’s not fake,” Roman protests.
“Come on,” Connor scowls.
“It’s not. You know all those times you guys accused me of humping a Gerri hallucination over the past year? That was just me, telling God’s honest, pervy truth. We were hanging out that whole time. She’s … y’know. My lady, or what have you.”
Connor sulks silently.
“You can’t say this wasn’t a unique f*ckin' ... vow renewal gift, Con,” Roman persists. He can hear the whine starting to come out in his voice. “Before, it was like ‘boo hoo, sad day,’ but now, you’ll always associate this day with your dumbass little brother stealing your anniversary, right? That’s funny, isn’t it? Objectively, that’s funny sh*t.”
“Humor is very subjective,” Connor says, wooden. “But yours is objectively terrible.”
Oh, Jesus. Of course this is becoming a whole big thing.
“Hey, uh.” Roman pokes his arm. “You’re not really gonna hate me forever over this, are you? Because that would be so annoying.”
“Depends.”
“On?”
Connor gives him a soulful stare. “Does she love you, Rome?”
Roman’s soul turns sour and tries to eat itself. Normal feelings stuff. “Jeez. Come on.”
“No,” Connor says firmly. “No emotional constipation. Let that feelings fiber flow through you. Does she?”
“I mean … I don’t know. What the f*ck does that even– I think so.”
Roman wipes a hand over his face. He thinks of Gerri all the ways he’s seen her this past year. Warm, cold, merciful, funny, serious, angry, horny, sweet, nervous, exquisitely bitchy. In pajamas. In the shower. Curled up with him on the couch. Straightening her hair. Staring at him across a table in candlelight or on a beach in the sun. Exhaling as she takes off her shoes. Sighing when he touches her right. Smiling at him so hard her nose crinkles. Being so much more real than he’d expected. Enough to make him real too. The Gerri in his head that he carries around, the one made up of all those moments put together, always seems happy to see him.
So that’s, like. Something.
“If she loves you,” Connor says, “then that’s different. Love, I can respect. If there’s love rain in the trauma desert, then I’ll share my special day with the two of you.”
“It’s pretty f*cked to call Dad’s deathiversary your special day,” Roman says, instead of a Thanks that would come out way too earnest. And he’s not even getting into the love rain thing. “Just, like, objectively speaking. Yeah. Very f*cked.”
“What, so I can’t have a special day because Pop ditched our wedding and croaked?” All of a sudden, Connor’s voice is weirdly wise. “That’s one thing the old man never learned: it’s not all about him.”
“Yeah,” Roman says. He glances at Gerri across the room. She gives him a tiny wave, a sly glint of a smile. “Not always.”
***
After Shiv and Kendall and Greg disappear, headed back to their grim separate realities without the emotional glue Roman and Connor provide, Gerri appreciates the quiet. It’s been a crazy day. An all right one, though. The music isn’t bad, and neither is the champagne. She’s feeling fizzy. Unstoppable.
Emboldened, she glances at the giant portrait of Logan.
His gaze in the picture seems eerily alive. It makes her think of all the times they met each other’s eyes across rooms and conference tables, knew exactly what the other was thinking. She could usually read his mind - a rare skill that turned into a curse. She’d seen every shift as his once-high opinion of her hardened into resentment and disgust after she was named CEO, after he found out about Roman.
To think he could have died at a family gathering surrounded by the kids who desperately loved him, and instead he croaked without them in the sky. So stubborn. A hopeless case to the very end.
Happy anniversary, she thinks, you miserable old f*ck.
She lifts her glass slightly.
“Hey,” Roman says, approaching her. “You ready to roll?”
As usual, he’s slightly handsomer than the last time she saw him. It’s not a new thing. It used to bug her back when they still worked together, getting clobbered by his inconvenient appeal every time they met again. Like he’d topped it off while he was gone just to spite her.
It doesn’t bug her so much anymore.
“I think we’ve put our time in,” she says.
“Uh, yeah. You could say that. Bunch of f*cking sad sacks.”
She pats his back. “At least you’re all still standing one year in. Could be worse, hmm?”
“I really hoped someone would’ve sniped Greg by now. Just: bakow! Right between those dweeby stoner eyes.”
“Ditto.”
“Anyway, Con gave us his blessing to leave before the horrors get more horrifying.”
“Thank God for that.”
Roman glances around the room. “Are Shiv and Kendall, uh …?”
“Both left, I think,” Gerri says. “It seemed like they couldn’t get away from each other fast enough.”
“Sounds about right,” Roman says with a wistful hint of a sigh. Gerri touches his shoulder, and he brightens a little. “Say, my beloved stepdaughters–” He pauses for her eye roll. “–were joking about the whole making-us-a-cake-at-your-place thing, right?”
“Nope,” Gerri says. “It’s funny; they bicker all the time, but as soon as they’re working on something together, they’re an unstoppable force.”
“Jesus. What’s that like?”
She pulls the photo Peti texted up on her phone. “Check it out.”
Roman gapes. “They didn’t make that.”
“They did.”
“It has – whatever the layers are called.”
“Tiers.”
“Tiers! f*cking tiers??”
“They can do tiers.”
“No way. They ordered that. That’s cake plagiarism if ever I saw it. There’s deception afoot.”
“You’ll just have to hold the accusations until we get home. No, but they’ve always been into all things culinary. They used to joke about opening a bakery together to piss me off.”
“They should. What, the world needs more Ivy-educated girlboss lawyers? The world needs f*cking cake, Gerri.”
“If you tell them that, you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“As opposed to curled up at your feet at the bottom of the bed?”
She smirks a little. “Exactly.”
“It’s cool that they could make it today. That they took time off work and life and all that jazz.”
“Of course they did. I’m their mother. And they like you, for some reason.”
“Because they know I’m giving you the good stuff. Letting you get your rocks off doing all manner of unspeakable things to little old me.”
“Yes,” she says dryly, “that must be it.”
“You’ve got a certain horny glow about you these days, Gerr Bear. The whole world can see it.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He lets out a laugh and bumps his arm against hers as they walk, the way he always used to when they worked together and he wanted an innocent excuse to touch her.
“I get that we were, like, kidding around today,” he says after a moment. “f*cking with everybody. Pissing in Dad’s cornflakes in the great beyond. But … this feels nice, right?”
He looks at her the same way he did when she showed up that day at the bar, ordered a martini to match his and sat down beside him. Hope on tenterhooks.
“Not bad so far,” Gerri agrees. She takes his offered arm, glancing at the ring settling in on his left hand, and together they head home, where her daughters and cake and the future are waiting.
