“No shit, Sherlock. But do we really need an intervention?”

“I need the intervention. I can’t do this anymore. I feel like a twenty-four-seven babysitter. Between the drinking and the women … just look at your brother. We are going to have it tomorrow afternoon. I’m asking Julian to participate. You need to think about what you want to say to your brother. How you love him, but you cannot have him in your life like this.”

Suddenly I realized, this was the real reason Griffin continued to live with Henry. But still I hesitated. “It seems cruel. Maybe we need a ‘Can This Marriage Be Saved?’ between you and Henry.”

“This is serious, Bae. I don’t want Henry to end up like my parents. Do you?”

“Is the new restaurant real or a ruse?”

“It’s real. But if we don’t get Henry in hand, he will be doing it without me.” My loyalty was divided. For the first time, I looked at Griffin. He looked thinner. Wearier. The toll Henry’s drinking had taken on him was etched in deep lines on his face. Griffin embraced me. “You can write down what you want to tell your brother.” He kissed my cheek.

The next afternoon when Henry arrived at VERT, we were waiting for him. Like an ambush. I hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and I was having second thoughts. What I didn’t know yet is that it would be worse than I even imagined.

When Henry saw Daddy with us, he knew. “Oh shit. Not some fucking intervention. Griff, you’re an asshole.” He went behind the bar to get a bottle of scotch. His tone of voice shook me. He was angry. Griffin followed and wrestled the bottle of scotch away from him. Henry elbowed Griffin with such force that Griffin doubled over. Henry grabbed another bottle and threw it against the mirror, which shattered. Glass flew everywhere. Hearing bottles break on slate shattered something inside me. My loyalty was being stretched between my two men and what they were doing to each other.

I was becoming doubtful as to whether I could speak. Griffin held out a third bottle of scotch, offering it to Henry, which made Henry sit down.

Julian started. His voice was clear and firm. He spoke of Henry in the past tense, as if Henry were dead. He said he was one of the most naturally talented and gifted creators and chefs he had ever met in his whole career. But like many geniuses, he had wasted his talent. Wasted. The way Julian said it, it sounded like a crime that was punishable by guillotine. He said he would no longer design for Henry nor would he ever for the rest of his life recommend Henry’s restaurants. I was next. Daddy grabbed my hand, and Griffin patted my shoulder. I started to cry but swallowed it.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. I have idolized you and Griffin from the very beginning. If I’m being honest, I have been jealous of you. You have so much natural talent.” I stopped. Memories mixed with emotions. I continued, “I was always so proud that you were my brother. Not anymore. I hate what you have become. What we become, Henry, is the only thing we can take credit for in life. It is our reputation. It is what we are. You were given all the gifts to become—the possibilities are endless. But what you became is a common garden-variety drunk.” I sat down quickly.