by Kris Jayne
“You should. And I don’t care about her being older or not having children. I was happy with my life before, and I’m happier with her in it now. That’s enough for me. All the more reason to get back to Dallas.”
“Or you could move back here.”
“She has a life in Dallas.”
“Her daughter isn’t there. Her mother is here. She’ll follow you here if you wanted her to.”
“That’s a pretty arrogant statement. I won’t tell her that you said that because, for some reason, she’s come away with a positive opinion of you so far—even after telling her the truth about Marisa.”
“I want you closer.”
I wanted to yell at him for being presumptuous and demanding, but after all these years, hearing those words from him put a lump in my throat, so I chose not to.
“I appreciate that, Dad, but you know I’m going to live my life.”
“Make sure to thank Marisa before you leave. She’s why you’re here. If it weren’t for her, I don’t know that we’d be talking like this without killing each other.”
“Do you love Marisa?” As the question came out of my mouth, I realized I’d never asked my dad that question. I’d assumed he wanted her—wanted to sleep with her, wanted to possess her and show her off. I knew he loved Grace and Gregory Jr. I knew he felt responsible for all of them. But I still didn’t know if he cared for, valued her—if he loved her the way I was realizing I loved Delilah. Was that how he’d felt about her? Was it undeniable? Unavoidable? Maybe I hadn’t been able to forgive him because I didn’t know what it felt to need someone in your life and now I did.
“I love our family.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is to me.”
Anything else I’d want to tell him seemed irrelevant all of a sudden. If he loved her, I wouldn’t tell him what happened between me and Marisa all those years ago. If he didn’t love her, then it didn’t matter.
“I’m leaving after the quarterly board meetings.”
He sighed. “Okay.”
“I need to get to the store,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I’m cooking dinner tonight.”
“You?”
“Yes. It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He ran a hand through his hair and picked up his phone.
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
Marisa would be pissed.
“No, no. I arrange all of those things in advance. It’s also our anniversary in a few days, but we usually just do one or the other. I’m having flowers delivered here this afternoon, and we have dinner reservations tonight. It’s all arranged. I just, well, I guess I did forget.” He flashed a sheepish grin.
“It’s a good thing you’re organized.”
Dad blushed. “Peggy’s organized. She brought me a card to sign earlier this week, so that the florist would have it, and put the reservation on my calendar.”
How romantic. His housekeeper made his Valentine’s plans. Of course, she’d also helped me with my menu. Still, I felt even better about making dinner for my Valentine. I might be a complete disaster in the kitchen, but at least my effort came from the heart. And I could always make it up to Delilah in the bedroom.
Chapter 18
Delilah
I passed her in my rental car before she saw me. Then, I parked and walked back up the picturesque street past galleries, antique shops, and adorable boutiques.
On another trip, I might have spent the day wandering into shops and picking up kitschy trinkets for the house. A large charm quilt hung in a window, tempting me to duck inside and avoid meeting the short, curvy woman in front of the address starred on my phone’s map.
Other than a few more creases around her eyes and her mouth, Zola Warren looked the same as she did when I last saw her six years ago. Seeing her hunched form outside the cafe reminded me how glad I was that, whoever my father was, he had some height. I’d also mated with a man well over six feet, so the Warren women were getting taller.
My mother spotted me and dug her hands into her coat pockets. “You’re looking good.”
She bypassed a greeting, so I followed suit. “Thanks. Is this the place?”
“Yeah.”
We stood staring at each other until I stepped around her and opened the door. “Shall we?”
A friendly woman with a long, auburn ponytail hurried to the front of the restaurant with our first greetings.
“Miss Z, how are you doing? I wouldn’t figure you’d want to be here on your day off,” she said.
“It’s the easiest, quickest place in town, and my daughter said she didn’t have much time.”
“Oh, my God, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Lauren.”
“Delilah,” I said, shaking her hand. I hadn’t realized my mother was waitressing but didn’t let on.
Lauren showed us to a wooden booth by a window overlooking a courtyard strewn with metal lawn art.
“If you want to step out there, everything’s for sale. We even have a few of Cal’s pieces. Bless your heart, Miss Z,” the hostess said before sliding menus in front of us.
I smiled. “Thanks. Maybe after lunch.”
“Great. Holly will be your server, and she’ll be over in a minute.”
The hostess hurried away to greet more newcomers.
Zola shifted uncomfortably in the hard booth, looked as if she might start talking then stopped, and so, I started.
“How long have you been in Asheville? Last I heard, you were living in Memphis, right? Or was it Little Rock?”
“Little Rock, then Memphis. Eventually, I’ll make it all the way to the ocean,” she chuckled. “I moved here with my boyfriend. He was an artist. A sculptor. I’d help him. You know I used to dabble in painting.”
She dabbled in everything.
“Is that Cal? The waitress mentioned his art pieces outside,” I said.
“Yes. He died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She sniffed and picked up her menu. “I’m getting by. I was struggling and feeling alone, you know? So I looked you guys up online. You and Terrence and Katerina. I didn’t find much on you, but I saw Katerina’s pictures in California. She was so grown up. The last time I saw her she was…how old?”
“Fifteen.”
That was the only time they’d seen each other.
Zola met Kat at Papa’s funeral. She didn’t come back for Mama’s funeral, but then, Zola and Thomasina Warren had gotten along like rabid, feral cats in a bag.
“I always wished I’d gotten to know my granddaughter when she was growing up,” Zola said.
I looked up from the menu and stared at her weathered pout. “Nothing was stopping you.”
She plunked her menu down with a slap. “You and I both know that’s not true.”
“Do we?” I asked, examining the tiny placard of paper noting the day’s specials.
Zola sniffled again loudly. “You’re just like Mama.”
“Well, she raised me,” I replied, eyes down. Friday was fried catfish.
“You always bring up the past and remind me of every wrong step I’ve ever taken.”
I snorted. “Heaven forbid we have a real conversation about how we’ve ended up practically strangers. That might get uncomfortable.”
She flicked the metal tab on the corner of the plastic menu cover, avoiding my eyes. “I know I was a shit mother. That’s why I left you with Mama and Daddy. But they’re gone now, and I’m trying to reach out to my family.” Finally, she looked up. “That should count for something.”
Maybe she was right. I did know that there was more stopping our relationship than her misdeeds. I was tired of both screaming about all the ways she’d fallen short and having to pretend like none of that mattered just to get through a cordial cup of coffee with the woman.
Before driving the four hours to Asheville, I reminded myself that the only reason for the trip was Katerina. She didn’t know enough to be done with Zola beca
use I’d never shared with Kat all the pain and shame of having her for a mother. I was sitting in this hard, wooden booth to save Kat from feeling any of that herself.
“It might have counted twenty years ago or ten or two if you’d bothered to show up at your own mother’s funeral. Now, it just feels like everyone else is gone, and you want something. What do you want?” I ground out the question, bracing for the answer.
Her shoulders slumped, and she dropped back against her seat. “All I want is to spend time with my granddaughter.”
I shrugged. “She’s an adult now. You don’t need my permission for that.”
“I know, but she wanted us to talk. That’s why I’m here. I’m guessing that’s why you’re here,” Zola ventured.
I pressed my hands hard on the table until I could feel my pulse under the pads of my fingers. “If you hurt her, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Her hooded eyes slipped nearly shut. “I have days like that already.”
I couldn’t afford to pity her—not with Katerina at stake. “I’m not kidding. She has a good life. She believes in people. She’s a good, caring person. If you ruin that for her, there’s no coming back. She’ll never be the same.”
“I want a chance to start fresh. I know I can’t do that with you. It’s too late, but Katerina and I get along,” Zola answered.
Yes. Kat was a fresh mark. I hated that I couldn’t think better of my own mother. I knew being unable to think well of her meant, on some level, I couldn’t think well of myself. The weight of the association dogged me.
I was a responsible person. I’d always strived to do what’s right and to make my own way in the world, but sometimes, none of my independence and responsibility mattered. I was the girl with no father and a grifter, drug addict mother. Nothing I did would ever change that. I didn’t want Kat to know that feeling.
I couldn’t control Zola, but I had always been able to keep her away from my kid. Now, I couldn’t do that anymore either.
I opened the menu and scanned it again. Kat wanted us to spend time together and try to figure out how to get along, but that wasn’t possible. “I’m going to order lunch so I can get back on the road. I have plans tonight.”
“Heading back already? That’s very Texan of you.”
I glanced up. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes crinkled like a worn paper bag as she smiled. “Driving four hours to get here just to turn right around and go back like it’s nothing.”
“I guess so. What’s good here?” I asked.
“The chicken salad sandwich. The chili. The hamburger is good.”
I didn’t want to eat so much food since Griffin had promised to cook. I set the menu down, which signaled the waitress who arrived with two glasses of water.
“What’ll you have?” she asked in sing-song fashion.
“I’ll do the half a sandwich, cup of soup combination with chicken salad on whole wheat and chili,” I answered.
“How about you Miss Z?”
“Same,” she replied.
“Great minds think alike,” the server sang again with a broad smile.
“Oh, and add a side plate of french fries. They’re those skinny fries, extra crispy,” Zola said with a shining smile that no doubt told Holly we were having a fun mother-daughter day. Yippee.
“Anything to drink?” the waitress asked.
“Just the water is fine for me. Zola?” I raised a brow in my lunch companion’s direction.
She flinched at her name. “Sweet tea.”
“Great. I’ll get this in right away.”
The waitress retreated, and I refocused on having a civil conversation.
“So you’re staying here in Asheville. What have you been up to?”
“I got my certification as a home health aide, and I was looking for work. I was Cal’s companion before he died. Since he’s gone, I was floating around, but I started working here and got a new place. I was able to rustle up some money to get my things out of storage. Things are getting better.”
I exhaled without realizing that I’d been holding my breath.
“Yeah, relax, hon,” she smirked. “I’m not going to ask you for money.”
I ignored her snide remark. “Do you live nearby?”
“I have an apartment above the yoga studio down the street. It’s small, but it’s mine. Are you still in Dallas?”
“Yes.”
“In that big house you had with Terrence?” she asked.
I shook my head. “We sold it during the divorce. Neither one of us saw much point in keeping it. I bought a smaller place. Terrence bought a condo downtown walking distance from his office. He always hated the commute.”
“So what are you doing in North Carolina? Katerina wouldn’t tell me. She just said it was something to do with a new business.”
I laughed. What was I doing in North Carolina? It was supposed to be about the new business. But that was the last thing on my mind these days.
“I’m visiting with a friend and working on a project with him. His dad was in the hospital over Christmas, and he came out. He has some family stuff to sort out.”
“This is a he?” Zola’s eyes lit up with curiosity.
“Yes. A male friend.”
She tipped her head to the side, brows raised. “Is he who you have plans with tonight?”
I dipped my chin in affirmation. “We’re having dinner.”
“For Valentine’s Day.”
“Yes. I’m having dinner with a male friend on Valentine’s Day.” I widened my eyes in challenge like a wayward tween.
“Is he another big dick swinging, corporate-type like Terrence?” Zola snort laughed.
I leaned in and lowered my voice, hoping she’d follow suit before someone heard her. She loved making me uncomfortable. “I have no idea what that means.”
Zola laughed and pressed her fingers into the creases of her forehead. “You were always so bougie. Just like Mama and Daddy wanted.”
So much for trying to have a normal conversation. When it suited her, she’d bring up the past and smack me with it.
I shrugged one shoulder. “He was an executive at a company, but he quit after his dad’s health scare. He’d been looking to quit anyway. He’s starting his own company.”
“So he’s not working?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Hmm.” Her high-pitched exclamation came out soaked in indictment. “We all know you’re not going to be with some guy and pay his bills, so if he quit his job without having another and you haven’t dumped him…” My mother dangled a finger back and forth and laughed. “Dick swinger.”
The corner of my mouth lifted despite my embarrassment. “He does okay.”
Zola grinned. “I give you credit. You always find yourself a good man.”
“I’ve always taken care of myself,” I countered.
“Katerina, too. She’s got herself a good one.”
“How much have you talked with Adrian?” I asked, tensing.
“Hardly at all,” she replied quickly. “Katerina and I talk all the time, and I can tell. His parents have that nice place in California. I’ve seen the pictures. I even saw pictures of his family’s chateau in France.”
“They have a vineyard.”
She waved a hand. “Whatever. She’s landing on her feet.”
Kat’s never been off her feet. “Money isn’t what makes him a good person.”
She snorted. “You know what my granny used to say? Mama’s mother? ‘Richer is better than poorer because it’s nicer.’”
“Nicer isn’t always about money,” I said.
“Only people who have money say that shit.”
I groaned, and she snickered, continuing.
“Anyway, I’m trying to say that you did a good job with her. You never let a man drag you down, and neither will she.”
I owed that to Papa and Mama. I think they engineered me to be undraggable.
“T
he last guy—the one who brought you here—it sounds like he was good to you,” I said, trying to move the conversation along.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry you lost him then.” I was always at a loss when it came to her boyfriends. In the few times I stayed with her growing up, I avoided them. Most of them were nice, but none of them stayed around long enough for me to get attached.
She only grumbled. “So this big—”
“Please,” I interrupted and gestured to the waitress arriving with our food. We stopped talking and situated our plates. Then, Zola pressed me again with a string of questions about Griffin and, now, his family.
“His father, Gregory, is in Raleigh. What about his mother?”
“His mother, Pamela, lives in South Carolina. I haven’t met her.”
Griffin hardly talked about his mother except for the occasional complaint. It sounded like she spent most of her time traveling.
“And his father has a new wife and his kids are how old?”
“Six and three.”
“How old is your boyfriend? Ten?”
She laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “Thirty-four.”
“What does a young guy want with some forty-something-year-old? You said he has his own money, right?”
“Of course, he does.”
As she blew on her chili, I could practically see the gears in her head churning over the conundrum of my younger boyfriend. “How’d you meet?”
I hesitated. “At work. My company merged with his, and I ended up working for him for a few months.”
“You were sleeping with your boss?” she asked with disbelief.
“No. I worked for him and then quit. That was in October. I’ve started an organizing business.”
She nodded. “I can see you doing that. You were the only child I ever knew who didn’t have to be reminded to clean her room. I thought you must be OCD.”
“Well, I’ve turned my OCD into a business.”
“And making time to visit your man for Valentine’s Day.” She raised her eyebrows. “So, you’re turning it out tonight for your young man?”
I ignored her phrasing and put a more polished spin on our plans. “He’s cooking us a romantic dinner.”
