by Kris Jayne
For once, I might not mind that Eniola was such a battle ax.
“I was going to tell you and talk it over, and then, I figured that, you know, you’d be on my side when I mentioned it to him.” The defiant confidence in her voice slipped.
“You thought I’d be on board with this?” I squeaked.
“I thought of the two of you that you might understand that you can’t control what the heart wants. That you’d understand my wanting to make my own way.” Kat sipped her tea with a smug, checkmate look in her eye. “Isn’t that why you said you filed for divorce from Daddy?”
Daddy? She hadn’t called Terrence that since she was eleven. I knew she was piling on the guilt but still felt defensive. “Your dad and I grew apart. I did love him.”
She set her cup on a saucer. “But it wasn’t a passion. I know that. God, you had more excitement reading that text from what’s-his-name than I saw between you and Dad my entire childhood.”
“That’s not the same. You didn’t see me with your father when we first met,” I replied, grasping to put the truth she thought she knew in a wider context. I couldn’t compare the lusty whatever I had with Griffin to a multi-decade marriage. “It’s different when love is new.”
Kat balked. “Is it? Because Adrian’s parents can barely keep their hands off each other.”
“Well, they’re French,” I shot back.
“They’re in love. You and Dad love me. I know that, and you care about each other. But—it’s never been like Mr. and Mrs. De Selva. You never have that look in your eyes.”
“What look?”
“That hidden look between two people like everything else falls away when you see each other. Like you can be in a room full of people, but when you look into each other’s eyes, it might as well be just the two of you,” Katerina, the twenty-one-year-old expert, explained. “You had that look on your face when I came back into the room and you were staring at your phone.”
“I did not. Griffin just said something funny. That’s all.”
“Sure.” Katerina took another sip of tea and threw me a doubting look.
“This isn’t about me and Griffin. This is about you and your future—a future you had project-planned in tremendous detail until just recently. What changed?”
Kat darted her eyes away. “I realized that I needed to listen to my gut and my heart and not live in my head so much.”
The way she phrased her argument made the hairs stand up on my neck. Not live in her head so much?
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“No one. I just—”
“Katerina Diane Johnston.”
“Okay, so I may have talked to, um, Grandma.”
“There’s no way in hell Eniola Johnston ever told you to not to live in your head and to follow your heart. Zero—” I caught myself from dropping an f-bomb in front of my daughter. “Zero chance.”
“Don’t get mad.” Kat caught her top lip in her teeth and squeezed one eye shut. “But not that grandma.”
A fine sweat broke out on my forehead. “You don’t know my mother. You’ve only met her once. How is that…Where did you see her?”
“Don’t get mad,” she repeated. “But she reached out on social media, and we’ve been talking.”
My vision faded for a second. Fiery dread burned behind my sternum. That woman was never up to any good. For her to go behind my back and strike up a relationship with Katerina…I couldn’t breathe. Zola Warren only “reached out” when she wanted something. Her parents were dead. She’d burned her bridges with me. Katerina was next in line to hear her tales of woe.
I had to leave aside what Zola could be angling to get out of Katerina and focus on the issue at hand.
“What did she say about getting married?” I asked.
“Nothing specifically about that. We talk. She’s had a rough time lately. She lost someone special to her, and she said that when you have someone whom you love, don’t waste time.” Kat narrowed her eyes. “You think that’s bad advice?”
My nostrils flared with a long drag of breath. Getting angry wasn’t going to help. “I think it’s generic advice from someone who has always tended to think short term. What she wants today, maybe what she wants or needs next week—that’s as far in advance as she thinks. I’m sorry she’s lost…whomever she’s lost, but your grandmother has always been just like that song. Only it’s Mama was a rolling stone. She’s a wanderer, chasing whatever feels good in the moment.”
“She’s lonely,” Katerina replied.
“She’s alone,” I snapped, struggling to tamp down the acidity rising in my throat. “There’s a difference. That’s how she built her life. She didn’t even come home for your great grandmother’s funeral. Her own mother, and she couldn’t be bothered.”
“I asked her about that, and she said she didn’t want to cause trouble. She knows how the family feels about her,” Kat countered.
“And I’m sure she made it sound like we’re all these uptight, unfair people who don’t understand her. Nothing about our relationship could possibly be the natural result of her actions.” My legs shook, so I jumped up, needing to move. I refilled the electric kettle and heated more water—as if an excess of tea would calm me down.
“She knows that she’s caused you grief, Mom.”
I spun toward the table. “Grief? She showed up at my high school graduation high, my college graduation party high. She overdosed on cocaine in the bathroom at Mama and Papa Warren’s house.” I leaned on the counter and gripped the edge behind me to still my shaking hands.
Kat got up and stood next to me, hooking an arm around mine. “I know. She said that’s why you didn’t invite her to your wedding.”
I couldn’t hold back. “She takes advantage of people, Katerina. She talks about being a free spirit and embracing love and light, and it all sounds great until she gets blitzed and causes a scene or asks you for money. And she always needs money. That’s why she shows up out of the blue every few years. All that free living ain’t exactly free.”
I looked at Kat, and her eye twitched.
The trickle of dread through my body turned into a river. “You haven’t given her any money, have you?”
She bumped her hip against mine and looked away. “I don’t have any money to give her, Mom.”
“That’s not an answer,” I pressed.
Kat squared her eyes with mine. “I haven’t given her any money. We text and sometimes talk on the phone. That’s it.”
I hated the disbelief that flooded me, but Kat was right. She had money for school and for her living expenses, but she didn’t have the kind of money Zola usually asked for. Little daily hustles she managed without coming home. Coming home was for big payouts and the common refrain of “I need a few thousand to help me get back on my feet.” That was the request after Papa Warren’s funeral.
Terrence gave her five thousand dollars and told her she’d better never ask for another dime. He mentioned that to me a few weeks later, and I’d been furious. I was convinced back then that giving Zola Warren money was funding her suicide. The dollars always went to drugs and/or booze.
“Where does she even live now?” I asked.
Last I’d seen her, she was living in an artist’s camp in New Mexico and taking psychedelic sojourns in the desert. She used to draw and paint. Papa and Mama tried more than once to get her to go to art school, but “art comes from the soul, not an institution,” she said. Then, she asked for the $20,000 in her college fund anyway. They said no and, since I paid for college with scholarships and grants, they gave me that money for my wedding.
Katerina updated me on my mother’s whereabouts. “North Carolina.”
“Not Raleigh?” I could only hope. The idea of Zola being anywhere near Griffin’s family cramped my stomach.
“No. Asheville. She moved there with her boyfriend. He was an artist. He died a few months ago. She’s really lonely, Mom. I can tell. And she seems sober to me.”
> I snorted. The kettle chimed, and I brought it back to the table. Kat turned and sat back down with me.
I dropped a green tea bag in my mug and poured. “You don’t know her to know how she is, Katerina.”
“I’m in college, Mom. I know what high looks like and what it sounds like. Besides, not everyone can be a straight arrow all the time. There’s more than one way to live a life, and we want to be there for her.”
“She knows Adrian?”
“He’s been around when we video chat. We all talked on Christmas.”
“Adrian’s parents, too?” The sinking feeling my stomach deepened.
“Briefly.”
I hadn’t met his parents, but I knew enough. House in Malibu, apartment in Paris, family winery—the De Selvas had money. If Zola sniffed that out and saw them as fresh blood, she could spoil Kat’s relationship with her in-laws before it even began.
“Are you inviting her to the wedding?” I prayed silently that the answer was no.
“I don’t know yet. I don’t want it to be a problem for you or for Dad.”
“It’s your wedding,” I replied. Resignation sat leaden in my gut. If Kat wanted my mother there, what was I going to do? And in France with Adrian’s posh family? A sharp pang of tension made me close my eyes.
“We’re only talking now. I haven’t even brought up the wedding. She knows we were talking about getting married, but I haven’t told her it’s official yet. I wanted to tell you and Dad first.”
“Be careful, Kat. Okay? Every time I’ve invited my mother into my life, it’s been a disaster.”
“It might not be this time. You don’t know until you try. Why don’t you go see her? You could visit your new man in Raleigh and then go to Asheville.” Katerina’s question was part entreaty, part command.
Where on Earth did she get such a bossy personality?
“We don’t have anything else to say to each other,” I insisted.
“I think you do. And I told her the same thing.”
The answers I wanted from Zola weren’t ones she’d ever give me. I already knew that. More talking wouldn’t solve that problem.
But Kat wasn’t letting her dreams of a mother-daughter reunion die easy. “Just talk to each other. For me.”
My body tightened from my scalp to the curl of my little toes. “Fine. I’ll think about it—if I’m in North Carolina. You know Asheville is on the other side of the state.”
Kat blew a raspberry at me. “It’s not that bad.”
“And so we’re clear, I’ll do everything I can to keep her from ruining your wedding or your relationship with your new family.” I pulled the steeping tea bag from my cup and wrapped it around the back of my spoon to squeeze it dry.
Kat smiled. “Okay, well, maybe don’t lead with that. You’re such a mama bear.”
“That’s what mamas are supposed to be.”
Kat didn’t respond. We both knew I didn’t have that protection from my own mother growing up. My grandmother, on the other hand, had been everything to me. She, too, deserved better than for Zola to be MIA in the end.
And she was back. For now. God help me, but I was counting on the fact that she’d fuck up again by summer, and I wouldn’t have to pay to fly her to France to embarrass us all on another continent.
Chapter 6
Griffin
I heard the laughter before I walked into the room—the mix of Father’s barreling howl and the low rumble of Carter Cross’ chuckle.
Dad had told me Carter was stopping by. His second in command had been out of town over the holiday. Ironically, he’d been in the same town I was. Carter was originally from Dallas.
We’d met at Duke but hadn’t been friends. He was already a graduate student when I took undergraduate classes in the finance department there. After playing on the school’s premier basketball team, which was impressive enough, he managed to graduate at the top of his class and then get his MBA. Everything about him was built to impress.
So when I decided against joining the family business and moved to New York after graduation, Dad hired Carter as his protégé. He paid off his grad school loans and welcomed him into the fold. Carter took to real estate development like a fish to water and was now the head of operations.
To hear my father tell it, Carter knew every corner of the business—some parts of it even better than Dad. If something had happened to Gregory Sr., a scary prospect now made more real, Carter was positioned to slide into the top spot. Three generations of Kelsos had run the business and the next, likely, would be a Cross.
The sight of Dad filling the leather armchair and crunched slightly forward in laughter greeted me as I rounded the corner into his study. Tension squeezed in my low back and slowed my approach, but I forced my legs into motion and walked to the seating area across from his massive desk.
“Carter, good to have you to visit,” I said. He lifted out of his seat and gripped my extended hand hard, like I might try to escape, then smiled. His dark skin stretched in perfect symmetry, revealing dimples that Marisa had once said were proof he’d been kissed by the devil’s luck. Handsome, athletic, and brilliant—it was hard not to hate him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I flew back last night. Marisa’s call scared me nearly to death, but she insisted everything was going to be fine.” Carter paused and glanced at me. “Maybe I should have been here sooner. Things seem serious.”
It would have to be to get the prodigal son to return. The tilt of his left brow sent that message loud and clear. At least Marisa told someone the truth about Dad’s condition.
“We were just talking about you, Son.”
Dad straightened in his wingback chair, and his breathing hitched.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” he waved a hand. “I was telling Carter here about your new business venture.”
I mumbled a curse. My father and my current boss were old friends, and I had told only a select few that I was leaving the company. “New business venture?”
Dad shook his finger at me. “Don’t play coy. I heard about your offering smart technology for factories. Ronald Butler mentioned you and your buddy who went to Stanford had done some engineering work for him.”
Shit. The whole point of doing business with family friends was to keep things on the down low until I could launch my company and leave Lumina.
“Ronald and I had an NDA,” I snapped. “We’re still finishing our proof of concept.”
The non-disclosure agreement protected us, but it also protected Mr. Butler. They had a cyber breach, which is why they were looking to update their industrial systems to begin with. He probably hadn’t shared that tidbit.
Dad waved off my concerns. “Don’t be too angry with him. I doubt he thought telling your old man was a breach of confidentiality. I know better than to mention any of this to your bosses at Lumina.”
As if he would ever cut a loose-lipped business partner any slack. “An NDA is an NDA. I’ll have to have a chat with Ronald. I can’t imagine he’d be too happy if I shared the details of his business.”
Dad frowned. “He and I go back years. He was a groomsman at both of my weddings.”
“I don’t know that lawyers would consider standing next to you in a tux twice grounds for an exception to our very clear legal agreement,” I said stiffly.
“Surely, you won’t sue. He—”
I cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it. You asked me here to talk business. I’d hate to waste Carter’s time with our personal drama.” I cleared my throat and refocused.
Carter spoke up first. “At any rate, congratulations on your new business. Good for you.” The last bit rang with part surprise and part patronizing amusement.
I smoothed my hair reflexively as if I’d been patted on the head. “It’s early days, and we’re still operating in stealth mode. I haven’t negotiated an exit from Lumina yet, and I’d appreciate it if neither of you mentioned this
to anyone else. The only other person who knows is Delilah.”
“You told your assistant? She’s an employee. How is that keeping things a secret?” Dad huffed.
“She doesn’t work at Lumina anymore. She left a few months ago. I hired her to help us organize our operations.”
And then I slept with her, but that wasn’t relevant right now even though the memories crept to the forefront of my mind at regular intervals. I prayed I wasn’t turning fuchsia.
“I’m certainly not going to tell anyone, and you know you can trust Carter,” Dad said.
Did I?
I glanced at the tall, well-dressed man stretching his long legs under the marble-topped coffee table and steepling his spindly fingers at his chest. He wore jeans but still had on a crisp white shirt, dark blazer, and a wool scarf flung with carefully arranged casualness around his neck.
Everything Dad had promised he wanted for me, he’d given to Carter. I couldn’t be jealous. It was a life I had chosen not to lead, and the former all-American shooting guard turned business genius was living it better than I ever could. He played politics brilliantly and held Dad in worshipful regard. I supposed that’s what made him perfect for the job.
Luckily, I didn’t have to address my father’s statement. Marisa swept into the room with a tray of coffee.
“I thought Peggy was back today,” Dad said. The head housekeeper had been off for Christmas.
“She is, but I wanted to come in and visit. It’s great to see you, Carter.” Marisa beamed and set the tray on the table.
Carter ducked his head, focusing on the steaming cups. “I hope you were able to enjoy Christmas at least a little. How are the kids?”
“Wonderful. We’re having cake this afternoon for Gregory Jr.’s birthday. You should stay and join us,” she purred and slid one of the mugs toward her guest. “I added stevia and a little half and half.” Then, she put a mug in front of her husband. “It’s decaf. Doctor’s orders.”
Dad grumbled but appeared unconcerned that his wife was so familiar with Carter’s coffee preferences. Or that Carter still hadn’t made eye contact with the woman.
