by Scott, S. L.
“More?” I tease. “You already brought pie.”
Her laughter can be boisterous at times or quiet like now, but it’s hers alone. I hope mine makes others smile the way she makes me grin. “Don’t judge my pie-loving ways. As for love, Natalie, our hearts, our intuition, our souls know the truth. But the pain, the pain you’re in now will make the love that much sweeter when you find the right one for you.”
I study her eyes, her words music to my ears, but I’m afraid to let them sink in. “What are you saying?”
“Dad told me he talked to you.” Even though Dad and I have talked a lot over the last week and shared nightly family meals together, he hasn’t brought up Nick or the sale of Manhattan Financial to the Christiansens since last week. He believes in me and has given me time and space to work through my next course of action. She reaches over and covers my hand with hers and gives it a squeeze. “I was in so much pain myself. I thought I was going to lose your dad. I don’t even know who I am without him, and I never want to find out.”
I reach over and hug her. “I know, Mom. I’m glad he’s recovering. I don’t want to ever lose either of you.”
“What I knew was that he’d been on the phone arguing, fighting with the CWM lawyers.” I sit back, and our gazes connect again. “I wrongly assumed Nick was one of them.” Wrongly.
I’ve done a lot of assuming, and it makes me wonder if it’s wrongly as well. But hearing her offer the hope that maybe I can find my way through this darkness gives me a new perspective. She’s able to acknowledge her errors. I think it’s time for me to do the same. “The healing begins when the truth is heard. Do you think it’s time to talk to him?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Patting my leg, she then gets up and goes to the door. “Well, if nothing else comes of it but answers, then you’ll get closure, and that’s something we all wish for in these types of situations.”
She’s not wrong. “Thanks, Mom.” For the pie. The support. The love.
Stopping as if something just occurred to her, she asks, “Before I get caught up in cooking, what do you think you’ll do?”
“The pie? Eat it. Have you ever known me to pass up dessert, even at nine in the morning?”
Laughing, she says, “No, what are you going to do about Nick?”
“Ah.” Lying back down, I stare up at the ceiling. The sun has started to peek through the gray day, shedding more light on everything—the room, my life, and the decisions I need to make. Tilting toward her, I finally reply, “I promised Dad I’d stay for Thanksgiving.”
“He shouldn’t have guilted you that way, but I’m not upset you’re here.” She winks.
“How crazy do I sound if I admit that I’ve been waiting for a sign?”
That draws her back into the room. She remains distanced at the door, but her interest appears piqued by the raised brows. “If you get a sign, how do you know it’s a sign or just a coincidence?”
I recognize the skepticism in her voice. “I used to feel the same, but now I believe everything happens for a reason. We just have to learn to read the signs.”
“You always were my silver lining girl. It’s a great trait to have. But don’t let life pass you by while you’re waiting. There’s nothing wrong with forcing the hand of fate sometimes. I sat at that coffee shop for two weeks, waiting for your dad to return.”
My mouth falls open as I see a devious glint enter her eyes. “What? There goes my whole childhood. If you lied about that, what other lies have I been told?” I’m teasing . . . partially.
“I once modeled nude for an artist being compared to Jackson Pollack. He even shared the same first name.”
“A painter?”
She nods. But suddenly pieces are falling into place . . . “Wait. Is my brother—”
“Natalie!” She scoffs. “No. I just liked the name.”
Thank God. Images of the famous painter’s work populate my mind. “Did he splatter paint on canvas because I didn’t know Pollack painted figures, much less, nudes? I thought he only painted those splatters.”
“I didn’t say I was posing for a painting.”
My gag reflex kicks in, but I keep the volume internally. “Oh God, Mom. No. I do not need to hear this.” I push the pie away, definitely not eating that. “Also, don’t share any more of your lies. I’m good. Some things need to go to the grave with you. That Pollack story being one of them.”
“Well, it inspired me to wait for your father. He was worth every minute I sat in that uncomfortable chair, hoping to see him again.”
“Did he ever find out you did that?”
“Yes, we once confessed. That’s when I found out he had been stopping by the bakery every morning at eight because that’s where he had once seen me.”
Throwing my arms open wide, I groan. “Why was everything so romantic back then?”
“Romance was in the air, but we definitely made it happen.”
I pop upright. “You always said that you stopped modeling eight months after you met Dad to work with him, but how long did you date before getting married, and why do I not know this?”
“Thought you didn’t want to know any more of my secrets?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, use my words against me.”
By how she’s giggling, she’s enjoying this a little too much. Or she has a sugar rush from the pie. Either way, I’m glad we’re connecting like this again. She says, “It’s not something I advertise because everyone has an opinion on it, but we went down to the courthouse ten months before our actual ceremony and got married.” She nudges my leg. “That was the most romantic day of my life. Just us committing our lives to each other. I’ve not regretted it once since the day John and I met.”
My heart pings to life, the gushy stuff reminding me of lying in bed at the bungalow with Nick when he asked me if I wanted to get married. “And no one knew prior?”
“No,” she replies, appearing pleased by her admission with a smile that reveals her secret. “My parents would have lost their ever-loving minds. Everyone celebrates the date of the big to-do we had at the Plaza. We celebrate our special day, just the two of us.”
Trying to math through this, I finally just ask, “How long did you date before you eloped?”
She opens the door wider but stays. “Nine weeks to the day.” Her finger crosses her lips. “But don’t tell anyone. That’s our little secret.” Giving me a wink, she adds, “Let me know if you’d like me to book a flight for you.” Am I that transparent? Probably.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
I’m given a reassuring smile before she closes the door behind her.
Sprawled across the middle of the bed, I’m still grinning. It’s weird to think of my parents as younger and to find out they’re stalkers for each other. I might die from the sweetness.
With all that was said on my mind, especially about her and Dad eloping so soon after they met, I pull the covers around me and snuggle with my thoughts. Nick would use that story to his favor. Any evidence to support his case is free game.
Taking up so much of the bed reminds me how Nick always lets me hog the middle, and he’s content to settle around me. He was good like that.
Was?
Do I want to get caught up in wallowing? Or take action?
I roll over and see the pie. I promised I would stay for Thanksgiving, so I guess everything needs to wait a day.
I shove a big bite of pie in my mouth and then push up to get dressed. I rummage through the last few clean items in my suitcase but only find one sad pair of stretched-out, unflattering lavender running pants stuffed in the pocket of the insert. I yank them out, and a piece of paper flutters to the floor.
Bending down, I pick up the circular piece of paper and turn it over. It’s an illustrated chocolate chip cookie with a bite taken out of it. “What the heck is this?”
Printed at the top reads: From the desk of Cookie Christiansen. My smile is instant. This is kind
of kooky. I laugh at my pun, but with no idea what her note could possibly say, my gaze dips to her handwritten cursive. “Destiny will always find a way through a misunderstanding. Love, Cookie.”
I flip it over several times, looking for more hints to what that means, but then I wonder how this even got in here. Was it meant for me, or did it somehow get caught in my belongings? She did ship this suitcase and my laptop bag to me, but would she—I inhale a hard breath when I realize what this really is.
I take off. Running downstairs, I call out, “Mom!”
“In here.” I spin several times in the main entry, trying to figure out where that came from before she adds, “In the kitchen,” and start running again. Flailing my arms in the air, I hold the note, and exclaim, “This is a sign.”
“What is?” Her eyes narrow on the note in my hand. “That is?”
Throwing my arms around her, I say, “I’m booking a ticket to LA.”
She hugs me. “You are?”
Out of breath from all the excitement, I lean against the island where she was cutting carrots. “You inspired me, but don’t tell Dad. He gave me great advice as well.”
Soft laughter echoes through the kitchen area. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
“I talk a lot of nonsense,” my dad says, coming in from the back patio. He stomps his boots on the mat. “What did I say?”
“You told me that no one can end my dreams but me. Not even heartbreak. You’re right.”
He nods in approval. “Sometimes I dole out a good one.”
The love for her husband shines in my mom’s eyes. I want that. Again. She says, “Excellent advice indeed.” She turns to me, and there’s no less love found. “You’re going to LA?”
But that sinking feeling fills my belly again. “I’ll go tomorrow. I promised—”
“Bull-cocky. You’ll go when you damn well want to. You’re a grown woman with whom I’ve had the pleasure of spending the last month. You go. Be bold and live your life to the fullest, my brilliant Natalie.”
Leaning against the island, I say, “There’s so much to unpack there, starting with the term bull-cocky, but there’s no time.” I run to hug him, closing my eyes and whispering, “Thank you.”
He gives me a warm, fatherly hug, and when we part, he says, “Off you go. You need to see a man about a deal that I have a feeling he didn’t make.”
“I do.” There’s that phrase. It’s all coming back to me now. “I love you both, and Happy Thanksgiving.”
I run upstairs to pack, picking up the dirty clothes on the closet floor and tossing them in the suitcase before grabbing my toiletries. Grasping my phone from the bed beside the pie, I indulge and take a big bite before calling my bestie.
“Just in case you were wondering,” Tatum answers as if we’ve been talking for hours. “I’m never giving this panda outfit back, Nat. It’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn. I want to be buried in it at this point.”
“It’s yours, but I need a favor before the funeral.”
“Anything.”
33
Nick
Take the scenic route.
They said.
It will clear your head. Andrew and my mom carried on, convincing me to make this ridiculously long journey. I should have bought a first-class ticket to Sea-Tac and had my car shipped to Seattle.
After two days of driving, I’m over it and would be fine never seeing another pine tree again.
Seventeen hours of driving should have done what they said—cleared my head— but if being one with the ocean and surfing every chance I got this last month didn’t do it, then I’m not sure how an endless drive to the Pacific Northwest will cure me.
Fucking hell, I finally pull into the underground parking garage of my new building and take one of my bags from the back of my SUV. With shiny new keys in hand, I head up to the eighteenth floor and enter the . . . apartment? Place to live? I don’t know what to call this place, but I know what it’s not—home.
Dropping the bag on the bed in the main bedroom, I log on to the app on my phone and start opening the place up. The blinds slide up, and as I pad through the penthouse, the other blinds are already rising, letting the sunshine in throughout the rooms.
A push of a button has the coffeemaker perking to life. I usually hit a wall of exhaustion around three o’clock, but because of the drive, it hits early, and I need a jolt of energy. Sitting down on the couch, I text my mom because I know she’s worrying: Just got here.
Mom: Glad you made it safely. Does everything look in order? Should be stocked for you.
Me: Yes, you didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.
Mom: It’s what moms do. Let me know if you need anything else. Congrats again on the promotion, Nicholas. Proud of you. Love you.
My chest hurts, my heart suddenly pounding for no reason. The feeling has become a constant, but sometimes it likes to remind me it’s still here instead of the numbness I typically experience.
Me: Thanks. Love you, too.
I make a cup of coffee and move to the windows to look out, that pride my mom feels weighing on me. It’s a fear of disappointing them that has me sticking to their plan. I once thought I might change my life’s direction and leave that damn plan behind.
Then I met Natalie, and she made me feel I could take that plan and make it my own—create my own path—using the opportunities I’d been given. When I started thinking about moving to New York, I can admit it was for her, but it also gave me time to realize that I could still have my dream of a house on the beach. It didn’t have to be in LA. If the beach has waves, I can surf anywhere, even on the East Coast.
Hell, I ordered a wetsuit for the nearby freezing waters. If I can surf along the Washington coastline, I can surf in the Atlantic. With her, it never felt like a tradeoff. I was getting to be with Natalie full-time. That was winning the grand prize and the Super Bowl all in one.
My mom found the apartment online, but it looked fine to me. Does it matter? It’s a place to sleep and work when I’m not in the office. It’s temporary. Six months, maybe a year. The possibility of it being permanent has been floated, but we’ll take things one step at a time.
Any other time, this view would be a masterpiece. I can see far beyond the surrounding high-rises and skyscrapers of downtown Seattle. I put my hand flat to the window. The cold from outside is trying to get in through the glass. As a guy from Southern California, this cold weather is going to take some getting used to. Unlike Manhattan, which had an incentive to be there.
A promotion to Seattle to lead my own legal team, the apartment, and the money are what everyone dreams about when planning their careers. I’m getting it before the age of twenty-seven. There was no logical reason to turn down the offer, except one, and she’s blocked me from reaching her.
Give Natalie time to herself, to focus on her father, and then explain how this whole mess came about. But the last text exchange didn’t go as planned, so I’ve been confused about how we move through to find ourselves together again. Her blocking me gave me the answer I needed to make decisions regarding my future, but Tatum’s offer to help is still on the table. A few weeks to months. That was her requirement, and I’ve met the minimum.
But I’ve been debating while going through the loss of Natalie. The pain is still a constant ache, but it’s time for me to live again. Even though it’s only a few weeks, I can’t bear to continue living like everything’s going to be fine.
It’s not.
She blocked me. That tells me more than she will. Now I need to take a cue from her book and move on without her.
Despite the coffee's temperature, it doesn’t do much to warm me like Natalie used to. She was my personal addiction, a zap to my system reviving a heart that had lost interest in relationships.
Everything with her was in turbo drive, but I don’t regret a minute, except all the ones we were apart. I turn my back to the world and return to the kitchen to drop off the mug. I c
an wallow here all I want, but that won’t bring Natalie back to me.
I unload my SUV and drop the boxes and luggage in the bedroom closet. Finding what I need, I get dressed and then head to the office. I’ve been here a couple of times over the past few weeks to make sure the transition goes smoothly, but it’s time for me to settle in as well.
* * *
A week drags by, and even a quick trip to LA for Thanksgiving doesn’t fix my mood. I finally have an office ready to move into, so I figure Friday is a great day to officially begin.
Like in New York, the team remains intact from the previous leaders. I walk into the office in a tailored charcoal-colored suit. I fit the part of a successful lawyer down to my shoes even though I haven’t done my time. Being born into the right family deserves the credit, not me. I’m not naïve to the fact that my co-workers believe I have no business being here. I’m also up for the challenge of proving them wrong.
I’m not just a handsome face with great taste in suits. I’m ready to tackle my job.
I’ll leave the office politics and gossip for Andrew to handle. I’m here to ensure we’re protected, legally, as we move into the next level of expansion.
I’m led to my office by a pretty assistant. I shouldn’t note her appearance like that. I won’t out loud, but by looking at Emily, it’s obvious. Did the universe place her in my path to distract me from the heartache I can’t seem to shake?
For some reason, I don’t think my mom would agree. This is different. She is. Emily’s not in my house—seventh, zodiac, or otherwise. Only Natalie is, remaining there sprawled out, staking claims to all corners of my heart like she does the bed.
The rush I had with Natalie still courses through me when I least expect it as if she won’t let me forget her or even let her go. “Fuck.”
“I can order a different chair.” I turn to find Emily still standing in the office, ready to wheel the chair out from behind the desk.
