He entered the kitchen.
Again, no shirt.
“Oh, Brittany. How are you doing?”
Her eyes stayed on the laptop.
Greg opened the refrigerator.
Closed it.
Opened a cabinet.
Closed that too.
I watched him.
“What are you looking for?”
“You had two servings of dinner.”
“I worked out today.”
“Four hours ago.”
He ignored that and eventually left with six almonds.
Six.
After Brittany went home, I found him watching television.
“Greg?”
“Could you please wear a shirt when Brittany’s here?”
He looked genuinely surprised.
“Why?”
“Because it’s awkward.”
“For who?”
He smiled.
“Oh, come on. Let someone besides you see how good I look now.”
I stared at him.
He flexed one arm.
“She doesn’t see men like me every day anyway.”
“She came over to discuss inventory, not inspect yours.”
Greg laughed.
I didn’t.
“I’m serious. Please put on a T-shirt when she’s here.”
I should have known that particular “fine.”
It was the same “fine” Greg used when I asked him not to leave wet towels on the bed.
Technically an acknowledgment.
Legally meaningless.
A few days later, Brittany came over so we could review sales.
Before she arrived, I saw Greg’s gym bag near the stairs.
“Already went.”
I looked at him.
He was wearing a T-shirt.
Good.
Maybe we’d solved it.
Brittany arrived.
We made coffee and opened our laptops.
Twenty minutes later, Greg walked into the kitchen.
Shirtless.
I slowly lowered my mug.
He had changed.
He’d actually been wearing a shirt and had removed it.
Greg leaned against the counter.
“So, Brittany, take a look. Not bad for a guy who’s almost fifty, right?”
Brittany clicked something on her laptop.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Greg grinned.
“I’ve been working hard.”
“Oh.”
“That’s great.”
Brittany opened another spreadsheet even though we hadn’t finished the first.
Greg either didn’t notice or chose not to.
“I used to hate taking my shirt off. Now I figure, why not?”
I watched my sister study cell F17 like it contained instructions for disarming a bomb.
“Greg,” I said.
He kept talking.
“You’ll probably never meet another man my age with a body like mine.”
Brittany finally looked up.
Greg smiled.
“So go ahead and admire me. You’re lucky to have a brother-in-law like this.”
That did it.
I closed my laptop.
Greg looked pleased.
“I’ll be back in three minutes. I forgot to give you something.”
I went upstairs.
A week earlier, after Greg ignored my request the second time, I’d prepared for the possibility that his new personality might require visual aids.
I returned carrying a small box.
“For you.”
Greg looked delighted.
“What’s this?”
Brittany leaned back.
Greg lifted the lid.
Then stopped.
Inside stood a miniature cardboard version of him.
Flexing.
I’d used a picture Greg himself had posted after reaching his latest gym goal.
Above Cardboard Greg’s head was a speech bubble.
GO AHEAD. ADMIRE ME.
Brittany made a choking sound and covered her mouth.
Greg stared at me.
“What on earth is this?”
“You.”
Brittany lost the fight and laughed.
Greg pulled the little standee from the box.
“Why would you make this?”
Underneath was a print-shop mockup for an order I had designed but not approved.
Same Greg.
Much larger.
The mockup showed a full-size cardboard version intended for the lobby of his gym.
At the bottom:
FULL-SIZE DISPLAY: APPROVAL PENDING
Greg’s eyes widened.
I sipped my coffee.
“Reese.”
“Yes?”
“No! How could you? Cancel it right now, please!”
“Why?” He held up Mini Greg. “Because that’s humiliating!”
“All of it.”
“Be specific.”
Greg pointed at the mockup.
“Me standing around half naked asking people to admire me.”
Silence.
Greg looked at the miniature.
Then at Brittany.
Then at himself.
He was still shirtless.
Brittany suddenly became fascinated by her coffee.
Greg put Mini Greg down.
“Okay. Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I did.”
“You said it was humiliating.”
“It is.”
“Because…” He gestured at the cardboard version. “Look at him.”
“I am.”
“He looks ridiculous.”
“He’s using your exact words.”
I tapped the cardboard standee.
“So is he.”
“That’s different.”
Brittany spoke before I could.
He looked at her.
She shut her laptop.
“I wasn’t blushing because I was impressed. I was embarrassed.”
Greg stared at her.
“The first time you came in without a shirt, I figured you’d just finished exercising.”
She pointed toward the kitchen doorway.
“The second time, I thought it was weird.”
Greg shifted his weight.
“Today I wanted to crawl under the table.”
He looked genuinely stunned.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you’re my sister’s husband. I kept assuming eventually you’d put on a shirt and save all of us the conversation.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Greg looked at me.
I refused to rescue him.
Then Brittany added, “I almost started texting Reese to ask whether you were home before I came over.”
That wiped away what little amusement remained on his face.
“Twice. Deleted both times.”
I turned to her.
“You never told me that.”
“You were already trying to handle it.”
That landed on me too.
I’d been so focused on getting Greg to behave differently that I hadn’t actually asked Brittany what his behavior was costing her.
“Okay,” I said. “I should’ve asked you.”
Greg picked up his shirt from the back of a chair.
Apparently he’d brought it downstairs with him specifically so he could remove it before entering the kitchen.
That detail did not help his case.
He put it on.
She nodded, but I wasn’t finished.
“Greg, why doesn’t my opinion count anymore?”
He frowned.
“It does.”
“Then why do you need hers?”
“I don’t.”
“You took your shirt off before coming in here.”
He glanced toward the chair.
Caught.
“You wanted Brittany to notice.”
Greg rubbed his thumb along the edge of the cardboard standee.
“Why her?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he looked at Brittany.
“Because she knew me before.”
That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“Before all this.”
He gestured toward himself.
“When you tell me I look good, part of me thinks you’re supposed to.”
“I’m your wife, not a customer-service survey.”
Brittany leaned against the table.
Greg gave a small shrug.
“She knew what I looked like before I lost the weight. If she noticed…”
“You’d know it was real,” I said.
He nodded.
I remembered the Greg who used to change shirts three times before a barbecue and wouldn’t get in a swimming pool on vacation.
“I was proud of you before anybody noticed,” I said.
“I’m proud of the work you did. I’m proud that you have more energy and feel better.” Then I pointed at Brittany. “But she doesn’t owe you a reaction to it.”
This time he didn’t answer immediately.
Finally he looked at Brittany.
“I think I kept pretending you were impressed because I liked that version better.”
Brittany nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
A few seconds passed.
Then Brittany reopened her laptop.
“Please remain clothed during quarterly sales meetings.”
Greg almost smiled.
“Deal.”
I picked up the print-shop mockup.
He noticed.
“So you really ordered that thing?”
“What about Gigantic Greg?”
“Approval pending.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Meaning I haven’t approved it.”
He exhaled.
“So you weren’t actually going to send a six-foot shirtless version of me to my gym?”
“Depends. Were you planning to keep visiting our sales meetings half naked?”
I smiled.
Then I pulled out my phone and deleted the pending order in front of him.
Greg watched the screen.
Greg looked at Mini Greg.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He picked up the miniature again.
He studied his own cardboard face.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I really posted this picture?”
“Publicly?”
“With three fire emojis.”
Brittany raised a finger.
“Four.”
Greg groaned.
Then he looked at her.
“I really am sorry.”
No dramatic hug.
No instant family therapy session.
Brittany simply turned her laptop toward me.
“Can we please figure out why our inventory system thinks we sold twelve imaginary products?”
Greg started toward the stairs.
Still wearing his shirt.
Halfway there, he turned back.
“Can I keep this?”
He held up Mini Greg.
Greg looked at the speech bubble.
Then at us.
“Because that’s objectively hilarious.”
Brittany snorted.
I handed him the box.
“He’s all yours.”
Greg tucked his cardboard twin under one arm and went upstairs.
For once, nobody had to watch him leave.
The following Tuesday, Brittany texted me before coming over.
“Is Greg home?”
I stared at the message.
Before I could answer, another appeared.
“Actually, never mind. I’m coming over.”
Twenty minutes later, we were back at the kitchen table trying to understand why our shipping costs had jumped.
Brittany didn’t ask about Greg again.
Then we heard footsteps.
She glanced toward the doorway.
So did I.
Greg walked in carrying his gym bag.
He was sweaty.
And wearing a T-shirt.
Brittany looked at the shirt.
“Nice outfit.”
“Thanks. It’s from my new collection.”
I laughed.
No flexing.
No unnecessary stretching.
No sudden need to discuss his body.
He took out a bottle of water.
“Seriously, are we okay?”
She considered it.
“Fair.”
“I meant what I said last time.”
That was enough.
Greg started to leave, then stopped.
“Oh. Reese?”
“Yeah?”
“Your business partner is terrifying.”
Brittany didn’t look up.
“Quarterly sales meeting. Stay dressed.”
He disappeared upstairs.
Brittany waited until his footsteps faded.
“Okay.”
“Much.”
She returned to the spreadsheet.
No celebration required.
About an hour later, Greg came downstairs again.
Still dressed.
This time he was carrying Mini Greg.
“You kept him?” I asked.
He set the cardboard figure on the kitchen counter.
Brittany stared at it.
“Why is he here?”
“So I don’t forget the lesson.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“He’s very committed to personal growth.”
I pointed at the speech bubble.
“He’s also still demanding admiration.”
Greg studied it.
Then he turned Mini Greg around so the cardboard figure faced the wall.
Brittany laughed.
“Leave him like that.”
Greg looked at the cardboard figure facing the wall.
“For how long?”
“Let’s review his behavior next quarter.”
He left Mini Greg on the counter and went upstairs.
The next morning, I found the little standee in the same spot, except someone had made one improvement.
A strip of paper had been taped across his chest like a tiny T-shirt.
In Greg’s handwriting, it said:
UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.
I was still laughing when he came into the kitchen dressed for the gym.
He followed my eyes to his cardboard twin.
“Maybe a little.”
Greg reached for his water bottle.
Then he reconsidered, peeled off the paper shirt, turned Mini Greg back toward the wall, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Gym.”
I pointed at the standee.
“You forgetting something?”
Greg glanced down at his own T-shirt.
And left.
