by J. Kenner
“Ms. Lee said that they could stay for our lesson, too,” Lara says.
“Mommy, look! I drew Dory!” Anne pipes in from where she’s once again seated at the kid-size table.
Lara crosses her arms. “Anne, I was talking.”
Anne looks abashed. I go over and put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re not in trouble, but your sister’s right. We don’t interrupt.”
“But—” I press a finger to my lip, and she silences with a huff.
“That’s fine if they stay,” I tell Lara. “But that doesn’t mean you get to just play during your lesson.”
“I know, Mommy.” Ms. Lee is their Mandarin teacher who’s been teaching the girls for about a year now. Damien and I don’t know if Lara will ever want to visit China or explore her heritage in any meaningful way, but we also want her to have the option, and understand the language of the country in which she was born. And, of course, Anne’s joining her in the endeavor.
I turn my attention back to Anne, and look down at her paper. “Wow. That’s a beautiful Dory,” I say, referring to her wildly colorful and somewhat scribbly rendition of the Pixar fish.
She beams up at me then hands me the sheet of paper. “It’s for you, Mommy.”
I feel my heart squeeze a little. “Really? I love it. Can I take it to the office with me and put it on the wall?” She nods happily, then slides out of her chair to give me a hug. I squeeze her back, then draw Lara in too.
“I wish I could go on the walk with my girls today, but I have to go to work. I have things to get finished before your baby brother comes.”
They both put their hands on my tummy, then Lara shifts to put her ear there. “He’s still not talking.”
“He’s probably overwhelmed by you two, and doesn’t know what to say.”
They both laugh, and I bend down to kiss them goodbye. Then I look at Gregory, mouth thank you, and head off to start my workday.
“So we’ll go with Amelia, Franco, and Jennifer,” Eric says, pulling up each resume in turn off my desk and putting it into the leather portfolio he’s holding on his lap.
“You’re in charge,” I say from where I’m sitting behind my desk. “If those are your choices, then those are the choices.”
He narrows his eyes and shifts in the guest chair. “Are you saying you don’t like my choices?”
I laugh. “Eric, you’re sharp, and you know what you’re doing. Don’t second-guess yourself.”
He frowns, then taps the portfolio. “No, you’re right. Those are the best candidates. I have a few on my second tier, too,” he adds, “but hopefully we’ll find our perfect person after I interview the first round.”
“Let me know if you want me to be available when you do the interviews. Like I said, you’re perfectly capable of doing it on your own, but if you do it soon enough, I can be here in case you need moral support.”
“Thanks. I’ll see what their availability is, but I may start the interviews tomorrow if I can get at least one of them in here.”
I nod. “Then we’re all good. Anything else?”
“Maybe. Hang on.” He opens his portfolio and starts to page through some loose sheets, but before he finds what he’s looking for there’s a tap on the doorjamb. The door itself is wide open, and I look up to see Bree Bernstein standing right there, her long dark hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail and a smile in her stunning, deep-set eyes.
“Bree!” I push back and rush to her with considerably less grace than the last time she saw me. We hug, and I push back with a grin. “What on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in New York.”
“I’ve been here for a couple of days, actually,” she says, then looks me up and down. “You look so great. I can’t wait to meet the new little Stark.”
“You and me both,” I say, and we laugh.
“Great to see you again, Bree,” Eric says, before excusing himself to go call the candidates.
I gesture to a chair. “Please,” I say. “I’m dying to catch up. Can you come to the house? The kids would love to see you. Are you here for a vacation? I wish you’d told me, we would have planned something.”
She laughs, obviously not able to catch up with my rambling, then shakes her head. “I would love to come by, and we’ll make sure to arrange a time. I’m only here for a few days, though. I’m in town with my mom looking for an apartment.”
“An apartment?” I frown. “What happened to New York?”
Bree had moved to Manhattan to pursue a journalism degree. She’d been a huge part of our family before that, although there had been some decidedly rough patches in the midst of the kidnapping crisis. So rough, in fact, that Damien had given her a studio condo along with a trust to cover costs.
Now, she looks a little abashed. “To be honest, the program wasn’t a good fit. I’m doing a low residency program in fiction now—I’m working on a novel—and, well, I just wanted to be in LA. I’m, um, sorry about the studio.”
“Are you kidding? It’s yours, remember? Rent it, sell it, do what you want with it.”
She visibly relaxes. “Thanks,” she says. “And I do want to see the girls. Maybe tomorrow? Right now I really just popped in to tell you about me moving back. And to introduce you to my mom. She’s only staying for the day. She’s catching a red eye back. I asked Marge to give me a sec and then bring her back.”
“I’d love to meet her.” I move back behind my desk and sit, gesturing for her to take one of the two guest chairs. I reach over and buzz Marge, but since there’s no answer I presume she’s on her way, a belief that’s supported when I hear footsteps approaching my office.
I stand, expecting to see Mrs. Bernstein, who I’ve only seen pictures of.
But it’s not Bree’s mother who crosses my threshold.
I take a step back, holding onto my credenza and forcing myself not to fall into my office chair. “Mother, I … what on earth are you doing here?”
Chapter Eight
“Mother.” I have to clear my throat. I can barely speak. “What—what are you doing here?”
She takes a single step into my office, and I tense. “I wanted to see my daughter, of course.” She looks around the room, a trademark Elizabeth Fairchild smile plastered across her face. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“But how did you get in here?” I want to scream that of course there’s something wrong with that. That of course I don’t want her here, and just by being in this building, she’s tainted the whole damn day.
Instead I manage to pull myself together and say, “You just strolled into my office because you wanted to? Who does that?”
“I heard your voice,” she says, “so how could I resist? And I assumed you wouldn’t mind. I’m your mother, after all, and I—”
“Excuse me!” Marge’s sharp voice rings out down the hall. I hear footsteps, then see the woman herself in the doorway, looking more harried than usual. She shoots me an apologetic look, then scowls at my mother. “Ma’am, I asked you to wait in the reception area.”
She turns her attention back to me, shaking her head. “Ms. Fairchild, I’m so sorry. This woman said that she was your mother, and I asked her to wait. I was bringing Bree’s mother back, and we stopped at the ladies room. I intended to tell you she was here and ask if you wanted me to check her driver’s license, but now—”
I hold up a hand, seeing how frazzled she is. Beside her, Bree’s mother slips into the room, shooting me an apologetic glance as she goes to Bree’s side, then holds her daughter’s hand.
“It’s okay, Marge,” I say. “Believe me. I know how hard it is to control my mother.” I shoot a glare towards my mother, then look back at Marge again. “Really. It’s fine. You can go back to the front. I’ll buzz you if I need anything.”
Marge looks like she’s about to argue, but then she turns and disappears down the hall, but not before narrowing her eyes at my mother. Marge rules the reception area with a firm hand, a
nd anyone who breaks those rules is immediately on her bad side.
My mother straightens her back and sniffs, paying no attention to Marge, her eyes only on me. “I’m your mother, Nichole. I should have certain privileges.”
“It’s Nikki,” I say, plastering on my most polite smile. “And you have no privileges at all.” I’m certain she expects me not to draw attention to our estrangement. That is how a polite young lady would behave, after all.
Of course, she’s wrong. I glance over at Bree and her mother, holding hands in familial solidarity. I don’t have that. And I will never have that, not with Elizabeth Fairchild, anyway. But just seeing them together, makes me more empowered. More certain of the relationship I want with my own children.
I roll my shoulders back, look my mother in the eyes, and say very clearly, “I need you to leave.”
Instead of snapping out a criticism, she surprises me by dipping her eyes down, as if in remorse or apology. When she lifts her head, I can’t read my mother’s face. It’s as smooth as glass. “I’m sorry to get off on the wrong foot,” she says simply. “The truth is I came because I wanted to thank you.”
I shift my weight, feeling unbalanced and ungainly, and not just because of the pregnancy.
“I know that when we last met, I wasn’t the woman I should have been. I wasn’t the mother you needed or the grandmother I could be.” She’s been holding a shopping bag, and now she sets it on the ground between us, as if presenting some sort of gift to a monarch.
“These are for your little girls. And I would love to sit down and have the chance to talk with you. To see them. You’ve done so much for me, you and your husband. The house, the bank account. I know I never said how much I appreciate it, but of course I do. And I would very much like to meet the girls.”
I draw a breath, trying to stay calm. Her voice sounds so even, so reasonable. And yet I don’t trust it. I can’t trust it.
But oh, God, I want to trust it….
“No.”
I practically bark the word, the sound surprising me as much as her. I reach out for my desk, suddenly unsteady on my feet, and I’m not sure if it’s because of my mother’s presence or lightheadedness because of my pregnancy.
I take a step backwards and sit in the chair. Bree and her mother are still standing on the other side of my desk, and I see Bree’s brow furrow, concern painted on her face. On her mother’s as well.
My mother’s face remains unreadable.
“Please,” my mother says. “I’m in town with a friend from Dallas, but I will make whatever time you want for me. I so very much want to ease back into your life. I know I made mistakes, Nichole. I was so scared of being poor when I was younger, and the truth is I’m so grateful to you and to Damien for everything you’ve done for me.”
She looks toward Bree and smiles. “I’m so glad you’ve built friendships here in Los Angeles. That you have a good life now. And perhaps I should just leave you to it, but well, the truth is that I’m a grandmother now. I never thought I would be, but I am. And I would really like to learn how to be a good one.”
I’m not sure if I want to laugh or to cry. If I want to pull her into a hug or push her hard away. All my life, she’s been a manipulative bitch, and I can’t believe that she’s changed so quickly. And yet….
And yet, she’s saying all the right things.
I need time, I know that. I need time to think. To not react rashly. To not push her away because of all the horrible years between us, and to not pull her close because she puts on a good show.
I close my eyes, and I count to three. And when I open them again, I feel stronger. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but no.”
I expect her temper. I expect her to tell me I’m the ungrateful little bitch I’ve always been. Instead, she inclines her head, and says, very softly, “I understand.”
And then to my surprise, she turns and leaves.
Chapter Nine
“No way,” Jamie says, her voice coming through Coop’s sound system loud and clear. “No way in hell is your mother sincere. Not unless she had a personality transplant, and the last time I flipped through the pages of a medical journal, that still wasn’t something they could do.”
Despite the topic, I can’t help but laugh. I called her from the office before leaving, but she hadn’t gotten back to me until I was already almost home, and now I’m maneuvering my beloved Mini Cooper past the gatehouse. I wave at Gus, the guard on duty today, and continue toward the circular driveway in front of our door.
I kill the engine, then stay in the car for a while, talking to her now through the speaker on my phone. “I know,” I say. “I know all of that. And yet….”
“I get it,” she says again. “I mean I don’t completely get it, because my mother is a human, but I still get it.”
I smirk. She’s really not wrong.
“What does Damien say?”
“I haven’t told him yet,” I confess. “I knew that he had back-to-back meetings today, and you know Damien.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, which is enough. I know she understands that I didn’t want him to rearrange his entire schedule in order to make sure that the reappearance of my mother wasn’t messing with my head.
“I’m home now, though,” I say. “I’ll talk to him in a bit.”
“Is he home?”
“Not sure. He wasn’t planning on coming home early today, but he might be.” Damien often rides in with Edward so that he can get work done in the back while Edward’s driving. And if he drives himself, it’s usually because he’s taking one of his toys, in which case he parks in the bat cave, and walks into the house through the underground tunnel.
“Well, hugs,” she says. “And stay strong. I know you want your mother to magically turn into a human, but the odds are against it.”
I laugh. “I know. But, hey, I won the lottery with Damien. Miracles do happen.”
“Not twice in one lifetime.”
I say nothing. She’s probably right about that. My rational side is warring with my emotional side, and my emotional side is all hyped up because of my hormones. I know this. I just can’t seem to convince myself that I know it and push my mother out of my mind.
“Hey,” Jamie says gently. “I wish I was there to give you a real hug. I know it’s got to be hell. I don’t mean to make light of it.”
I wish she were here for a hug as well. “I know,” I say. “Love you, James.”
“Love you back, Nicholas.”
I get out of the car, and head into the house, bolstered by Jamie’s pep talk. I step inside, then come to a dead stop when I find Damien and my father sitting on the couch in the first floor living area.
Since we’re hardly ever down here unless we’re hosting a pool party, I narrow my eyes at both of them. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s up?”
Damien’s brows rise, and guilt crashes over me. Honestly, by now I should know better than to try and keep anything from this man, even if for only a few minutes.
“I knew you had meetings all day,” I tell him truthfully. “I figured I’d tell you when I got home.”
“She came to your office?” Frank asks. “She actually walked into your office?”
I frown, then settle into a chair opposite them. “Marge, right? She’s the snitch.”
Damien’s mouth twitches just enough that I know he’s not mad—but he was genuinely worried. Considering the ways in which I’ve melted down around my mother in the past, I suppose that’s fair.
“Bree, actually,” Damien says.
“She called you? I was going to tell you when I got home that she’s probably coming over tomorrow. The girls are going to be so excited.”
“Already on the calendar,” he says with a little smile toward Frank. I look between the two of them. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Damien scowls, but I see the humor in his eyes. “Not anything more than you’re not telling me.”
I cross my arms. “Damien….”
/>
“Apparently, Bree is moving back to Los Angeles.”
“She told me. Something about a low residency writing program.”
“Right,” he says. “She called to apologize about living in the condo. I explained to her that it’s hers to do with as she wishes. Apparently you’d already told her the same, and she said she was glad we felt that way as she was planning to rent the condo and use the income for rent here.“
“Okay.” I’m not sure where this is going, but he seems to be coming to a point.
“I told her it was silly not to save that money if she could. She could use it for her tuition or even invest it.”
“Sure, if she lives on the street.” I tilt my head. “Wait a second…” The pieces are starting to fall together. “Damien? What are you getting at?”
“Bree needs time to write and a place to stay. We need a nanny. I’m very good at math,” he adds with a grin, “and I worked that equation out all by myself.”
“You’re serious?” I’m absolutely delighted.
“I am. Bree’s coming back to be our nanny again while she works on her novel and finishes her MFA program. Technically, she’ll be full-time, but when she needs a break, we all know that Gregory is there to fill the gap.”
I would throw my arms around him, but there’s no way I can get out of this chair fast enough. So instead I just clap, absolutely thrilled. “I wish I’d thought of that myself.”
“I didn’t think you would object, so I went ahead and offered her the position. I hope that’s okay.”
“Are you kidding? I just told you. It’s amazing.” I look over at Frank. “Isn’t he the best?”
My father laughs. “Yes. I couldn’t have asked for better for my little girl.” His face darkens, and I know that we’re shifting the conversation now. “Of course, I suppose you could have done better on the parent side of things.”
That’s worth pushing out of my chair, and I do, then go and sit beside him. “I did just fine on the paternal side of things,” I tell him as I take his hand. “A bit of a rocky start, maybe, but it’s smooth now. You know that’s how I feel, right?”
