Give Love a Chai (Common Threads Book 2)

by Smartypants Romance

  “I wish I could make it easier for you,” Andrew said fiercely.

  I shrugged. “Me too. But I still pick you. Besides, look on the bright side, if everything falls apart, we can always get a plot of land in Montana and live off the grid. Remember when we used to try to carve bows and arrows or went camping with school? Those skills will come in handy.”

  “The nonexistent skills that we had? I remember the fish that we never caught because someone didn’t have the patience to wait for fish to bite the hook, and all of the complaints about no hot water or electricity.”

  “Well, then, you’ll have to use your prison time wisely and figure out how to magically get us amenities, before we decamp to the wilderness.”

  Laughing, Andrew wrapped me up in his arms. I took in the happy sound and stored it in a keep-doubts-away mental container.

  Suddenly solemn, Andrew captured my eyes with his. “I love you, Tia.”

  The moment froze as we looked at each other. There were no sounds. There was nothing else except him. Those four little words, eleven letters, floated around us, forcing this moment into clarity. I tried to discern whether he had actually spoken the words, or if I had imagined them.

  He repeated, “I love you, Tia.”

  My lips released a breath of air as the words tumbled out, racing each other to be spoken. “I love you.”

  We had thrown those words around when we were younger. This time, there was gravity in those promises. These were no longer the impulsive, innocent words spoken in secret. These were words declared in sunlight, with the full understanding of how hard love was and, equally, how rewarding it could be.

  Yes, this was a weird time to say those words. So what if we weren’t in some romantic setting? Some words couldn’t wait.

  We smiled shyly at each other, relishing this time. Hopeful and giddy giggles burst out of me, breaking us out of our frozen moment. The world started to move again—this time, with us tied by those little letters carved in our hearts.

  Our plan was shot by breakfast.

  Face ashen with horror, Charlie said unequivocally no to letting the secrets come out. Without her cooperation, we were back to waiting on the mysterious Alex and preparing to pay.

  Inside, I was relieved that we were sticking with paying Brandon off. He might ask for more money in the future. However, I was also okay with removing him from our lives for the short-term and dealing with him later, when I had more time to prepare.

  The rest of the day became a waiting game. We forced ourselves to play Monopoly, Catan, Trouble, cards, backgammon, random games that we had never heard of, until there were no more games in Pippa’s games closet. No amount of haggling over sheep for wood or Go Fish could distract us from checking the time.

  Every now and then, Andrew would get a text or call. Every time, he shook his head. His hacker friend had come up with nothing useful. To my disappointment, hacking and computer magic were not as easy as one-hour TV dramas indicated.

  When you’re dreading something, time seems to move both painfully slow and whiplash fast. When the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed three times, I was shocked that it was only three o’clock when I had already lived a lifetime that day, and shocked that we only had two hours until the deadline.

  “Fuck.” Andrew scrubbed his hands over his face, before fisting them in his hair, causing his hair to stick up in random places. “Fuck, fuck. I should be able to take care of both of you. What kind of man am I that I can’t protect you two?”

  “What kind of man are you?” I yelled, startling Andrew as I stood up. Yelling was always more effective when standing up. “You’re an incredible man trying to make the best out of a sucky situation.”

  Still angry, I dropped into his lap. Because I needed to touch him. And even in my frustration, I wanted to offer comfort.

  “I love you, Tia.” His gray eyes were untamed and fiery. The love in them reached into my heart and fought back any doubts that I had about picking him, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable heart that beat for him.

  “I love you, Andrew,” I mouthed, for my voice was stuck in the sting behind my eyes. Blinking rapidly—why were my onion-cutting-punishing-neighbors following us—I repeated the statement again, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “Andrew!” Charlie cried out. “Alex is calling!”

  Andrew grabbed his vibrating phone. Without preamble, he asked, “You got any news?”

  Even though I was sitting on his lap, I couldn’t make out any words on the other end of the call, except that the voice sounded butter smooth and dark. Andrew didn’t say much except a few murmurs of agreements and the very odd statement of, “I don’t want to go read yard sale posts on a South Dakotan Facebook group, or dig for a comment on a Banana Cake Queen Instagram post. Text it to me.” A few seconds later, he hung up and stared at his phone intently.

  “Did Alex find anything?” asked Charlie.

  “I’m not sure if it’ll turn out useful,” he said vaguely, as his phone buzzed with incoming messages. His fingers scrolled through the images, before he stood up so abruptly that I nearly toppled to the floor. “Last night, Brandon mentioned that he was getting married. I asked Alex to look into Brandon’s fiancée and see if there was something that we could use. Alex thinks he’s found the woman.”

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Sarah Anne Esposito. She lives in Boston. Alex is confirming and pulling some more info—”

  “I think I know her,” said Charlie, her face animated. “She had an affair with the last Chicago mayor. Rumor had it that she wanted the mayor to leave his wife, which he never did. There was a huge amount of gossip a few years ago. I didn’t realize she had moved to Boston.”

  At that moment, Andrew’s phone buzzed. He scrolled through the incoming messages, his expression unreadable. Not able to contain my questions or impatience, I huddled near him, standing on my tippy-toes to read the texts.

  His lips curved up in a quick smile before he turned over his phone to me, his eyes gleaming triumphantly. “Here.”

  My heart beating, I read the texts from Alex, calling out the highlights for Charlie to hear. “‘Esposito just filed for divorce from Jack O’Toole, who’s an enforcer for the Flanagan family. O’Toole is suspected in at least four murder investigations.’ Yikes.”

  “Listen. I think our best bet is for me to go talk with her. I’d like for you two to stay here.”

  “Andrew, I want to come.”

  He turned to me, pinning me with the intensity of his gaze. “This is not about me not trusting you. I need you to stay here with Charlie and help her, in case Brandon calls. If he does, tell him that we’re planning to wire the money to him today. Don’t admit anything else.”

  “I’m scared for you,” I croaked out past the lump in my throat. That statement lingered in the air. Worries and fears in my head were just that. Spoken out loud, they felt real. Possible. Probable.

  “I’ll give Dan a call to come with me, okay? He’s good to have in a fight. I’ll come back to you. Promise.” Andrew enveloped me in his arms. We were so close that the only sounds that I heard were the thundering beats of his heart against my cheek. I could feel the tension in his shoulders and the almost-painful way he held on to me.

  I didn’t know if Andrew’s nervousness made me even more anxious or calmer. Either way, I had to be strong for him. I would not be another worry for him. “Good luck. Whatever happens, I love you,” I whispered against his shirt.

  “I love you, Tia.” Barely had the words tumbled out of him, when he pulled back and rushed for the door.

  I turned to look at Charlie and smiled sheepishly. “Should we finish the puzzle?”

  “Can we drink wine instead?”

  Surprised laughter burst from me as I linked my arm with hers. “Oh yes. Let me show you Pippa’s wine cellar. You know, if you’re ever in Boston in the future, hopefully not on something as exciting as this trip, you should join Pippa and me for a boozy tea
party.”

  “I would love to. What’s involved in a boozy tea party?” Her face retained that pinched, worried look, even as Charlie tried to continue my line of distraction.

  “Anything goes. Years ago in college, when Pippa and I took an art class together, we would do our assignments by the Charles River. We’ve kept up the tradition since and spruced it up with drinks.”

  “I’m no great talent.”

  “That’s not a problem. Painting is not the point. It’s dedicated time to hang out and be silly, because sometimes when life gets busy, as it seems to always, you need to schedule in fun.”

  Wistfully, Charlie sighed. “I’ll take you up on the offer. Lately, my life has seemed too serious and regimented.”

  From some of her offhanded comments in the past twenty-four hours, I had a suspicion why. I bit my tongue to avoid snooping further.

  For the next couple of hours, we kept our conversation light and drank rosé in the kitchen. I told funny stories of our boozy tea parties, of teaching, of growing up as the only Chinese-American family in a small town in Colorado. I didn’t mention people asking where I was “really” from, of ignorant kids doing squinty eyes, or being asked at lunch in middle and high school why I was eating “weird” food instead of pizza. I didn’t share how kids would tell me that they like General Tso’s chicken, in an attempt to relate to me. Instead, I told of how my parents prohibited television the whole of my junior and senior year of high school so I could study, until I found out that my parents were secretly watching Chinese dramas after I went to bed. Then the rule became no TV except for Chinese dramas. I told of the time when my five-year-old cousin came to visit during July Fourth and informed me that the holiday was to celebrate the liberation of the US from dinosaurs.

  No matter how hard I tried to distract us, both of us stared at our phones. Finally, giving up pretenses, Charlie asked, “What do you think is happening now? It’s past five, and I haven’t gotten any messages saying that my world has fallen apart. Do you think Andrew and Dan have convinced Brandon to back off?”

  That question loomed in the room. I looked at Charlie’s hopeful and anxious face, likely reflecting the same mixture of emotions as mine. “I don’t know. They might still be talking.”

  “Yeah.”

  We fell into deeper silence.

  Eventually, Charlie pulled out a rolled-up magazine from her purse and pretended to read. I opened my work laptop, staring at some code for a project, not making heads or tails of the language in front of me, even though I had been the one to write it.

  The only sound in the too-large, too-silent house was the rhythm of us checking our phones every few minutes. My phone stayed silent, and I didn’t know if I should be thankful or frightened. Charlie’s phone buzzed a few times. Whoever the person was, Charlie ignored him or her.

  After a series of insistent buzzes, I chanced a question. “Do you need to get that? I don’t mind. If you want to take the call, I have my phone here and can let you know if Andrew calls or texts.”

  With a deep, unhappy frown, she shook her head. “It’s my husband, Will. I told him that I was visiting my dad for the weekend in DC, and apparently, he saw both my mom and dad on TV at a rally in California.”

  “Ai ya ya. Would he be so upset if you told him the truth? It’s not your fault who your biological dad is, and the drunk driving incident happened so long ago. Everyone makes mistakes.”

  Shaking her head adamantly, Charlie said, “He married me for my bloodlines and my pristine reputation. He had run me through a full background check before he even asked me out on our first date. What good am I, if I’m ruined socially?”

  “I’m sure he married you for reasons beyond who your parents are and that you are a goody-two shoes. You’re still his wife. You see how damaging secrets have been in Andrew’s and my relationship—don’t make the same mistakes as us,” I protested, feeling a surge of protectiveness.

  “You’re different. You love each other. In my case, Will and I are clear that our marriage is of convenience and mutual benefits. I’m his political partner first. His future hostess for fundraising dinners and his surrogate to attend luncheons at a retirement home or with the firefighters’ wives association. I’m a trophy for his future career in politics, because some voters still like seeing their government officials with a partner, kids, and a dog or two. Somewhere far down the line, I’m his wife. And I’m okay with that. I knew what I had gotten myself into when I married him. As Will’s wife, I lead a very privileged life. Don’t feel bad for me. Not everyone can have a love story like yours.”

  Despite Charlie telling me not to feel bad, I felt bad. Her marriage was too reminiscent of my relationship with Clayton. Never to her extent, though there had been expectations, some put on by myself and some hinted at by Clayton’s family, that I needed to conduct myself a certain way. Looking back, I realized just how “on” I was around Clayton, his family, and his friends.

  In our relationship, Clayton had never seen me without makeup or in sweat pants. Even though we had gotten engaged, like a storyline on some TV show, I had never tooted in his presence or pooped in his apartment or anywhere he might be soon after. As far as I knew that he knew, I peed roses.

  Maybe because Andrew had known me since I was eight or maybe because I knew his faults, for whatever reason, I was myself around him. I would say it’s a miracle that he loved me for myself, except that I knew that I was pretty awesome. The wonder was not that we loved each other. The wonder was that we found each other twice.

  “Tia, do you hear that?”

  Startled out of my reverie, I looked over my shoulder, trying to tune my ears to the sounds outside. Low male voices, on the other side of the front door.

  Alarmed, we looked around for potential weapons. I made a quick dash into the kitchen to get a couple of knives. Charlie grabbed my laptop as…a shield? As a way to bonk someone in the head? For a quick second, I almost asked her to get a different weapon because I couldn’t remember if I saved my work. Then I remembered that I had done nothing but stare at the screen. Plus, ai ya ya, lives were at stake!

  I turned off the light in the foyer. We waited in the darkness, one of us on either side of the door. From Andrew’s stories and what, thankfully, little I had observed in person, Brandon didn’t seem like a physically dangerous guy. But desperation was a powerful feeling.

  The voices outside the door stopped.

  The door opened slowly.

  Chapter Thirty

  Tia

  August 21, 2010 (never sent)

  Andrew,

  When I ran off with you to Vegas, I was a sheltered, very possibly spoiled girl who had never made any big decisions for myself. I had been content to drift in life, letting others tell me what to do, to shape myself to others’ expectations of me.

  I want to change and own my future. I’m not quite there yet … however, I feel stronger today. Just by making the decision to get a therapist, I feel more in control. Watch out, world.

  I’m heading to college tomorrow. A whole new world in front of me. This will be the last letter that I write (and not send) to you. I don’t want to forget you, but for my own sanity, I need to move on and focus on what’s possible.

  Saying goodbye to fictional you is almost as hard as saying goodbye to the real you. I don’t know why I’m crying…

  Yours always,

  Tia

  As much as I loved British detective shows, I realized that mysterious private investigator was not my future calling. Not with the drums beating within my heart or shivers coursing through my body.

  Across from me, I could see the light bouncing off Charlie’s huge eyes. I’d venture a guess to say she was not going to turn from political wife to covert spy anytime soon either.

  The door opened as one of the men stepped through. I could hear his quiet, controlled breathing before I could see his face. He blocked the weak light from the street. The foyer was pitch black. I squeezed my eyes sh
ut for a moment in terror, before remembering that, how was I supposed to use a knife on an intruder if I couldn’t see?

  I opened my eyes just as I heard, “Tia? Charlie?”

  “Oh, thank God!” I hurtled myself at Andrew as Charlie turned on the lights.

  “Whoa!” He backed up, his eyes wide in alarm. “Did you have a change of heart while I was gone?”

  I braked a couple feet in front of Andrew to look at the forgotten knives in my hands. “Oh, these?” I waved my hands innocently. Except when you’re holding knives, even common kitchen knives, people around you still flinched in alarm.

  Gingerly, Andrew took them from me and handed them to the man behind him. Nodding a brief greeting to his sister, Andrew turned to look at me, drinking the sight of me in, as if he needed to replenish his visual memories of me. Then, he grabbed me and enveloped me in … him. I ran my hands all over him, relieved not to find any bloodstains or noticeable broken bones.

  I peeped over Andrew’s shoulder and smiled sheepishly at the second man. “Hi, Dan. How’s Kat feeling?”

  “Hey, Tia. Fucking tired all the time. This baby better give fucking awesome Mother’s Day presents for the rest of his or her life—no half-assed doodles. I expect some fucking Picasso-level handprint paintings.”

  Dan paused and noticed Charlie for the first time. Ignoring the laptop she still held as a shield against her body, he said, “You must be Charlie. I’d shake your hand but …” He nodded toward the knives Andrew had transferred to him.

  “You must be Dan. Andrew’s mentioned you before.”

  “Has he? Good things?”

  “The best fucking things,” said Charlie, with a shy smile. I stared at her in surprise, as Dan burst out laughing.

  I had a million and one questions. With my nerves shot and my thoughts running every which way, I didn’t know if I should be shouting for joy or helping Andrew pack his suitcase for a getaway car. So I did what I usually do when I’m stressed: eat and drink tea.