Leo Chose What to Call Him

Chapter 14 - Leo Chose What to Call Him

Leo did not call Roman Dad.

Not at ten.

Not at eleven.

Not at twelve.

Roman never asked.

Good.

At thirteen, Leo began calling him Ro because apparently teenagers are incapable of respecting syllables.

Roman pretended to hate it.

Naen knew better.

Marlow grew.

Not into an empire.

Into a good restaurant.

Forty seats became fifty-six after they leased the next storefront.

Naen became managing partner.

She worked fewer serving shifts.

More payroll.

Vendor meetings.

Scheduling.

Training.

She became the kind of manager David Kesler had never imagined she could be.

Not because she dressed better.

Because she remembered what bad management costs.

Every employee received digital tip reports.

Late arrivals were documented.

Emergency policies included actual emergencies.

No one’s paycheck went on the floor.

One evening, a server named Kayla arrived thirty-two minutes late.

Hair wet.

Hands shaking.

Sienna looked irritated.

Naen recognized the posture before hearing the story.

“What happened?”

Kayla swallowed.

“Cyclist got hit outside the station. I waited for EMS because he was confused.”

Sienna’s face changed.

Naen asked:

“Did you call?”

“My phone died.”

Of course.

Naen almost laughed at the universe.

Kayla said:

“I know this is my second late shift.”

That mattered.

Not every parallel should erase policy.

Naen said:

“Change and clock in. We’ll talk after service.”

Not fired.

Not no consequence.

Context first.

Afterward they reviewed attendance.

One prior late was transit delay without notice.

Final written warning? Maybe too harsh. Naen chose documented coaching and required backup contact plan.

Compassion did not mean no standards.

It meant standards that did not require cruelty.

Roman watched from table twelve.

He came once a month.

No more.

The restaurant belonged to Naen.

He liked being a guest.

Sometimes.

After closing, he said:

“You were thinking about David.”

“Yes.”

“Did you want to drop her paycheck?”

Naen stared.

“Deeply.”

He laughed.

They walked home.

No black SUV.

Roman owned one.

Often drove himself now.

Tonight they took the subway because parking in Queens remained a crime no prosecutor could solve.

Their relationship had become ordinary enough to contain boring conflict.

Laundry.

Schedules.

Roman leaving cabinet doors open.

Naen overbooking herself.

One argument lasted three days because Roman signed Leo up for an expensive summer coding camp after Leo mentioned it once.

Without asking Naen.

Again.

Money outrunning permission.

Naen canceled it.

Leo was furious.

Roman was furious with himself.

“Why cancel if he wants it?”

Naen said:

“Because I need you to learn we decide parenting expenses together.”

“I’m not his parent.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

That hurt.

Necessary.

Roman looked toward Leo’s closed door.

“What am I?”

Naen softened.

“Ask him someday.”

“Now?”

“No.”

Good.

They revisited camp.

Naen researched.

Leo still wanted it.

Roman offered to pay.

Naen agreed to half.

Leo used birthday money for a token portion because he insisted.

He went.

Loved it.

Nobody died from process.

Months later Leo brought it up himself.

They were driving home.

Naen in passenger seat.

Roman driving.

“Ro.”

“What?”

“If Mom died, would I live with you?”

The car went quiet.

Naen turned.

“Why are we killing me?”

“School health class.”

Wonderful.

Roman answered carefully.

“That would depend on legal plans your mom makes.”

“Do you want me?”

Roman’s throat tightened.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

“But wanting you would not automatically decide where you live.”

Leo looked out the window.

“Mrs. Alvarez is too old.”

“She will be delighted to hear that,” Naen said.

Leo ignored her.

“My aunt in Ohio is weird.”

True.

Naen had a cousin who could serve as guardian.

Not ideal.

The conversation became real.

Lawyer.

Estate planning.

Guardian nomination.

Roman was not automatically placed first.

That surprised some people.

Not Roman.

Naen nominated her cousin Sara as primary guardian, Roman as alternate if legally appropriate and if Leo wanted it.

At fourteen, Leo’s preference would matter significantly.

They explained.

Leo said:

“I want Ro.”

Naen looked at him.

“Why?”

“He knows my school.”

Excellent legal reasoning.

Then:

“And he doesn’t talk about Dad like he owns the story.”

Roman looked away.

That line nearly broke him.

Naen touched his hand.

Only briefly.

They updated documents.

No adoption.

Not yet.

No need to turn every bond into legal permanence immediately.

At fifteen, Leo asked Roman if he could use Caruso as a second last name on a school project.

Roman stared.

“Why?”

“Walker-Caruso sounds cool.”

Naen nearly dropped a plate.

Roman laughed.

“You don’t need my name.”

“I know.”

“Walker is your dad’s.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Leo shrugged.

“Because you’re family too.”

There.

Roman’s eyes filled.

Leo groaned.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re crying.”

“Dust.”

“In the kitchen.”

“Very dusty.”

Naen laughed so hard she had to sit.

They did not legally change Leo’s name.

He used Walker.

Sometimes wrote Walker-Caruso informally.

Choice.

That same year, Roman received final notice that federal supervision had ended.

No celebration.

Naen bought a cake anyway.

It read:

CONGRATS ON MEETING BASIC LEGAL EXPECTATIONS.

Roman stared.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No.”

He smiled.

Then Leo added icing bars behind the lettering.

“Prison cake.”

“Please never say that again,” Naen said.

They ate it.

The happy parts of life were becoming less connected to catastrophe.

That was exactly what Naen wanted.

Then Sienna announced she wanted to retire in two years.

She offered Naen majority ownership of Marlow.

The number was large.

Possible.

Barely.

Roman looked at the proposal only after Naen asked.

He read silently.

Then:

“Bank financing is expensive.”

“I know.”

“I could—”

Naen raised an eyebrow.

He stopped.

“Would you like me to describe options that do not involve me?”

“Yes.”

Good.

He did.

SBA loan.

Seller financing from Sienna.

Minor employee equity.

Naen chose a combination.

Roman invested nothing.

When the paperwork closed, Naen owned fifty-one percent of Marlow.

Sienna retained twenty.

Employees held a small pool.

The rest belonged to an outside investor.

Naen came home carrying one cheap bottle of champagne.

Roman opened it.

Leo stole one sip and pretended it was disgusting.

It was.

Naen raised her glass.

“To owning the floor beneath my own feet.”

Roman looked at her.

Not his building.

Not his lease.

Hers.

“Best thing you’ve ever said.”

“Better than I love you?”

He considered.

“Financially, yes.”

She laughed.

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Then kissed him.

For the first time, the woman David once ordered out of a restaurant owned more of one than anyone else in the room.