Never Got Over You

by Scott, S. L.

  My mom smiles, a silent message of gratitude aimed at me. Rubbing my dad’s shoulder, she says, “Only the best on this special day.”

  Covering her hand with his, he looks at her, and it’s easy to see the love shared between them. Don’t get me wrong, my dad can be an asshole when it comes to business, but never to my mother. “It’s brilliant. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, Cookie.”

  “You know I love to spoil you.”

  Glancing at Andrew and then at me, he laughs. “She does. Find yourselves a woman like your mother, sons, and you’ll never go a day without smiling.”

  Speaking of . . . While I was at law school, Andrew was stuck in the thick of marriage and kids talk. Part of joining “the family business” entails expanding the actual family by raising future Christiansen execs to keep the line of succession going.

  Andrew looks at me. “Was that Mr. and Mrs. Dalery arriving a bit ago?”

  Leaning in, my mom whispers, “Dalen Dalery came with her parents. She looks . . .” She pauses and then lowers her voice even more. “Distinctive. She’s really changed since high school, Andrew.”

  Distinctive? Wow, if that word doesn’t raise a red flag, I’m not sure what would.

  My mom is blind to the fact that Dalen used to be crazy. If she knew that Dalen cheated on my brother back in high school, she’d go all mama bear on her despite the cutesy baked goods name.

  He looks over his shoulder like a man on the run, and asks, “How long do we have to stay?”

  Since my dad is shaking hands and back to greeting guests again, my mom laughs between us. “Two hours, and then you’re free from all family duties tonight.”

  Andrew gives her a hug. “You’re a good cookie, Cookie.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she adds.

  My brother and I leave them to it and make our way back inside, shaking the hands of people we know and some others who introduce themselves. Eventually, we part ways. He returns to the bar, and I head for the buffet. I don’t get two cubes of Swiss cheese on my plate before I’m cornered. “Hey, Nick.”

  Speak of the devil. And holy fucking whoa!

  I pop my eyes back in after they bug out. Different is an understatement. Dalen leans in, and air-kisses are exchanged. What? We’re in LA. This is what we do. But I’m still in shock by the drastic change in her . . . “I, uh . . .”

  “It’s been years, Nick. How are you?” Her hair, formerly brown, has gone platinum with big curls pinned to the sides of her head. It reminds me of a centerfold from some magazines my uncle gave me when I was sixteen.

  Her tits are making quite the grand entrance in the low-cut dress. Keeping my eyes above deck is going to be a testament to my willpower. She wasn’t flat-chested back then, but mountains is the only thing that comes to mind now. Looking around me like I’m hiding my brother back there, she asks, “I haven’t seen Andrew tonight. Is he here?”

  “He’s around.” I almost feel bad for selling him out. Almost. But let’s get real . . . pun intended, which makes me think of Natalie, Dalen has no interest in me. It’s always been about my brother. It always will be until he’s married with kids. And I can’t say she’ll even get the hint then. Since she’s not in a hurry to leave, I step back from the table, out of the way of other guests trying to get to the cheese, to force my eyes to look at anything other than her chest. I ask, “Still living in LA?”

  “In Hollywood, actually. I have an apartment near Sunset. Great views of the Hills and close to everything.” She moves around me, touching my wrist as if she’s afraid I’ll leave. “I hear you’re in law school. I never took you for the lawyer type when you were younger.” She pops a grape in her mouth.

  “What can I say? I like to surprise people and graduated last May. I’m working with my brother and dad now.” With impeccable timing, I spy my friend cutting through the party and know my night is about to change. For the better.

  Harrison barrels up, hand raised ready to smack down on mine. “Dude, bring it in.”

  I lay a fiver down, and we bump shoulders after that. “You made it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Cookie’s parties are always worth the stop-by.” When he casually looks to my side, he does a double take. “Holy—Dalen?”

  Either she’s changed more than her physical appearance or she’s gotten better at hiding her crazy because sounding sweet as a kitten, she says, “Hi, Harrison. Look at you all grown.”

  I’m not sure he physically bites his tongue, but he definitely holds it. Harrison is an honorary Christiansen. You mess with one of us, you mess with all. He says, “Wow, you look . . .” He’s wise to think twice about his words before sharing them. She waits, shifting in discomfort with every exaggerated second that ticks by. “Great.”

  She beams, his compliment feeding the need she apparently has to please. “Thanks, Harrison.” She pinches his cheek. “You always were a sweetheart.” Moving to the other side of us, she rubs my bicep. “It was good catching up. And if you see Andrew, will you let him know I’m here?”

  “Absolutely. Have a good night.”

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, Harrison says, “Holy shit, that’s quite a look.”

  “Yeah, it is.” But I don’t want to spend my time talking about Dalen. “I promised my mom we’d stay for another hour.”

  “We can go upstairs to burn some time?” See? Harrison gets me. He also has to deal with the same rules in his family, so he’s learned to work around them. “And yes, I did greet your parents. Cookie’s in her element, isn’t she?”

  I laugh. “Ah, yes. These things don’t stress her. They invigorate her.” I shake my head. She has endless energy. “Grab some food, and we’ll head up.”

  “On it.”

  We hang out in my room as we always did—me taking the recliner and him settling on the couch. It’s an ugly-ass chair, but it’s so damn comfortable that I can’t get rid of it. I kick the footrest up. It feels like we’re teenagers again when we hang out like this. I miss it. And I know he regrets not going to Stanford. His dad is even more of a hard-ass than my dad. Without the benefit of having Cookie to soften the blow. “Maybe it’s time to approach your dad again.”

  Harrison finishes his appetizer plate and grabs the plate of desserts to polish off next. “He won’t budge. I need two years of actively selling real estate under my belt in some other office before he’ll bring me into his. The first two years are garbage, and he’d rather not smell the stench of my humiliation, as he puts it so kindly.”

  “That sucks.”

  After taking a drink, he lowers his glass with little left inside it. “How do things stand with you and your dad?”

  “Good as long as I’m fulfilling his plan.” The thought has me finishing my drink as well. “I’m flying to New York next week. Andrew says it’s a good opportunity.”

  He studies me, searching for the cracks in my story to decipher how I really feel about it. “Why you?”

  “It’s a company we’re in talks with to buy. They want to meet one of us, and Dad thought it would be a good job for me since I’ll also be delivering the contracts.”

  “Ah, I see. A takeover.”

  Kicking back, I set my glass down on a table beside me. “No, first, we’ll ask nicely.”

  He chuckles and starts munching on a mini piece of cheesecake. “How kind of you.”

  “I haven’t mentioned it since there aren’t a lot of details and it might fall through, but my dad and Andrew want to be in New York. They want the address and the presence. If all goes well, talk of moving me out there has been tossed around.”

  His eyes narrow just enough to notice as he seems to mull over what I said. “Is this something you want?”

  “I’d miss surfing.”

  Taking a bite of cookie, he chews, and then asks, “And your best friend?”

  “Let’s not go that far,” I reply, teasing. “Of course, man. It’s not a done deal, but they’d make it worth my while to pursue.”
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br />   “There’s a lot of valuable real estate in New York.”

  That’s my friend. Nodding, I add, “Sure is, and I like the way you think.”

  He gets up, snooping through stuff that’s been sitting around since I was a preteen. Holding an MVP trophy from my junior year in high school, he asks, “Isn’t New York where Tatum and Natalie were from?”

  “Sure is,” I repeat my earlier answer, suddenly wondering what the chances are that I would see her again. One in eight-plus million. Guess that settles it.

  What’s the point in hoping when the odds aren’t in my favor?

  My head is finally getting the message, but now I’m dealing with my stupid heart. And that hasn’t received the memo.

  10

  Natalie

  I underestimated Nick and that night in Catalina.

  It’s not that I didn’t think twice before I walked out of that hotel room. It’s that I knew nothing would come of hanging around. What could I possibly say to him? “We had fun playing games and having dinner together, you caught me before I hit the ground like a sexy superhero. I live in New York. You’re in LA. We make perfect sense, so should we make a go of it?”

  No, of course not.

  I had just gotten out of a terrible relationship.

  Bi-coastal should be reason enough.

  One night does not mean we’re meant to be.

  It was a fantastic night, though. One of the best times I’ve ever had. That’s why I still think about Nick, but I can’t justify the time I’ve allowed myself to dwell on him.

  Even the few crappy dates I’ve been on since May haven’t erased him from my thoughts. So what will?

  Fingers crossed someone comes along who can end this ridiculous man ban, once and for all. Yes, I’m still on an embargo. When I met Nick, both love and sex were off-limits. As if one has anything to do with the other. I’ve learned it doesn’t, but I would have sacrificed that pledge to get physical with him. Now it’s been so long since I’ve had either that I’m open to one or both these days.

  My best friend is a great friend, but I’m lonely when I lie in bed. I miss being held and falling asleep in Nick’s . . . I mean, in someone’s arms.

  A text lights up my phone next to me on the bed. Holding it above me in the air, I read what my brother sent.

  Jackson: Hey, you asked to let you know if I heard anything. Paperwork for your sign-on bonus crossed Dad’s desk today. Financially, it’s worth considering, especially since Mom and Dad created the position specifically for you.

  My parents appreciate the dedication my younger brother has shown working there all during college. I appreciate having a spy amongst the ranks.

  Me: Thanks for the heads-up.

  Jackson: What are you thinking?

  Me: I’m not. I’m processing what this means.

  I know what it means, but I’d like to live in denial for a few more hours.

  Jackson: I’ll see you tonight.

  Me: See you, J.

  Tossing my phone to the mattress, I sigh in frustration. How will I ever convince them for an extension when they’re already making alternate plans? For my life.

  Getting up, I pull on my sneakers, needing to go on a run. It’s the only way for me to burn off this anxiety before seeing them this evening. If I don’t get rid of this nervous energy, then this celebration will turn into a disaster.

  I tuck my phone into the pocket of my workout pants and head for the door. “Later, Tatum,” I call, and then wait.

  She comes rushing from her bedroom right on schedule. “Before you go, how do I look?” She spins, her deep pink sequin minidress catching the light. I can tell how good she feels by the genuine smile.

  It’s easy to tell her the truth. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Eyeing my workout clothes, she asks, “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”

  Waving it off, I reply, “I have time. I need to fit in a run to get my thoughts straight.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” I tighten my lips. “It will be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Okay. The champagne is chilling, and the hairstylist is on her way. I’ll have her do my hair first.” Her attention returns to the screen of her phone.

  “I won’t be long.” I slip out. As soon as I close the door, I head to the stairwell, then rush through the lobby and feed out onto the sidewalk. The freedom of the outdoors fills me with relief the moment it hits my throat.

  I start jogging, my life whirling around in my head and spinning faster with every step I take. I need to block out the constant reminder ticking I hear as soon as I wake up in the morning. I’m never able to forget that the countdown has begun.

  Since graduating, I don’t understand who I’m supposed to be anymore—an independent business owner or my father’s daughter who makes him proud? How do I balance my dreams with everyone else’s plans? Better yet, how do I not disappoint my family, who have already done so much for me?

  On most days, a quick run allows me to breathe easier and loosens the knot that keeps me tied up in the stress of failing. Today, it’s not working, so I run faster on my way to the park.

  I was raised to believe I could do anything, but now I’m being asked to compromise what matters most to me or give it up altogether. My small company, STJ Co., combines my favorite things—shopping and spending another person’s money. But with only two months left on my loan, I have to prove this can be a valuable asset to the St. James portfolio. Sure, it’s not a big moneymaker—yet—but I’m building a solid clientele, and I’m proud that the business I started is blossoming.

  But a position at Manhattan Financial Group, Inc. has been haunting me since June, so clearly, what I’ve achieved is not considered good enough.

  How will I justify the continued operation of a business that’s still in the red? I’m not used to failing, and in most people’s eyes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. How do I get my family to see me as more than some frivolous girl who they hope falls in line with their plan?

  I stop when I reach the edge of the pond, bending over and resting my hands against my thighs. Catching my breath isn’t easy, but when I see the time on my phone, I know I need to head back so I have enough time to slip back into the role of a proper St. James for the night.

  A party in our honor months after graduation feels a little strange because we’ve moved on from that part of our lives. But with Tatum’s parents traveling so much and mine running a multimillion-dollar business, this was the date they chose. Four and a half-months late. It’s the gesture that counts.

  As soon as I enter the apartment, Tatum says, “It’s going to be okay, Nat. I promise.” My best friend knows me well.

  “Thanks.”

  The stylist pauses when Tatum peeks around her hips, her eyes finding me just inside the apartment. “The plan is we go to dinner, we schmooze, and we collect our gifts, then the real party begins. You only graduate from college once.”

  “Technically, it was months ago, though.”

  With the artist working her hair magic, Tatum continues like this is everyday life for us. It kind of is, but still . . . “Don’t be a party pooper. We have the rest of our lives to be depressed. I know you’re stressed, but maybe your parents will surprise you and offer to carry the STJ loan a little longer.”

  I toe off my sneakers and kick them by the door. “That would be amazing, but I have a feeling my time is up.” I don’t like being negative, so I fix my attitude and push off the table. Pulling the bottle of champagne from the fridge, I ask, “Who’s ready for a glass?”

  * * *

  “. . . So, here’s to my big sister and her best friend. May you live your adult lives as bold as you lived your youth. Cheers!”

  I stand and raise my glass, tapping it to my brother’s. “Thank you, Jackson.”

  The sound of crystal clinking together is the making of a melody—this one officially launching Tatum and me into the world. Before I sit down, I
add, “I’d also like to thank John and Martine, my amazing parents, who have supported all my endeavors from ballet at five to backing my company at twenty.” Raising my glass higher, I add, “And for this lovely celebration.”

  I drink my champagne and take a deep breath, nervous about broaching the topic of extending the loan to keep my company afloat until we can turn a profit. Hopefully, my toast is a good segue into that conversation later.

  When I sit, my dad sets an envelope down and pushes it across the table to me. “We’re proud of you, Natalie. You worked hard and graduated with honors. It’s good to see the St. James tradition succeed in your generation.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Taking the envelope, I ask, “What is this?”

  My mom, looking New York chic in head-to-toe Balmain, rushes into the private room. Even breathless, she is as fashionably chic as she is late. I can only dream of being so put together. She lovingly calls my fashion sense Hamptons meets California coastal casual. Although she’s never critical of me, she does encourage me to refine my style, hating that I wear cutoffs sometimes. She leans closer and whispers, “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Glancing at my dad, I add, “And thank you for the gift.”

  Taking advantage of the opportunity, he asks, “What are your plans after the gifting thing?”

  “The ‘gifting thing’ is my plan. If you have time in your schedule, I’d like to talk to you this coming week about potentially extending—”

  “No, Natalie. The agreement was for you to do that for a few years and then come on board with the financial group. The offer is in the envelope with details, and the contract was emailed to you this evening. Also, I’ve included the sign-on bonus that was promised. It’s all there. All you have to do is sign your name and cash the check.”

  Why do I feel he still doesn’t understand what I do? “You make it sound so easy to trade doing something I love for what I promised you when I was fifteen.”