I told her about my current predicament, and that I need to patch things up with my brother, with no idea of how to make that happen. Given that I’m on a short timeline, his wedding being on Sunday, I need to act quickly. Not knowing me just yet but doing the best she could, Margaret said it seemed like Thad was holding on to the past, so maybe I should show him what the future of our relationship could look like.
I smiled, nodded, and walked out of the office, texting Lucas that Margaret was “really helpful.”
*Enter sarcastic tone*
But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized Margaret might be right. I need to show Thad what our future could be if we manage to move on from this.
It’s why I’m here, staring at the person who’s broken my heart more times than I can count.
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s a great way to greet your son,” I say. My mom clearly wasn’t expecting company; in lieu of her usual slacks-and-sweater set, a robe is cinched tightly around her waist, and her hair is pulled back into her night turban, which keeps her hair silky—at least that’s the explanation she gave me years ago.
Not waiting for an invitation, I let myself in, maneuvering past her and keeping my hands in my pockets.
“Where do you keep all of our childhood pictures?”
She shuts the door and crosses her arms over her chest, looking me up and down—I’m sure taking in everything she hasn’t seen in a while. “You look just like your father.”
It’s a dig, one I was expecting.
“Where are the pictures?”
She leans against the wall and gives me a withering look. “Thad called and told me what happened. Sleeping with the competition? Something your father would have done.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Pictures, Mom. Where are they?”
“I heard about Walter Reed’s divorce from Florence. She told me you didn’t push for the yacht. Losing your touch?”
I take a deep breath and count to five in my head, trying to replicate the coping techniques Margaret taught me yesterday.
“Am I going to have to tear your place apart to find them? Because I will.”
“Why are you here? To patch things up? Now that your brother has decided to give up on you?”
“I’ve been trying to patch up that relationship for the last two months, but thanks to you, I have no idea how to have a healthy relationship—with anyone. But that ends now. I know I can’t repair whatever happened with us. I’m not even sure I want to, but there’s hope for Thad.”
Her eyes narrow and her shoulders stiffen. I’m contemplating the possibility of actually tearing the place apart when she says, “Under the TV, in the living room.”
Before she can say anything else, I stride into the living room and go straight to the cabinets. I pull them open and find exactly what I’m looking for: “The Thad and Alec Album” our nanny made for me when I graduated high school. I left it with Thad, knowing he would need it more. I tuck it under my arm and head back to the entryway. My mom is still standing there, blocking the door, her arms hugging her torso.
“You always reminded me of him,” she says, quietly. “The spitting image of your father. The only thing you got from me were my eyes. But everything else is from him . . . his charm, his intelligence, his wit. It was hard to be around you, to see you and not treat you like you’re the one who hurt me.”
I let out a sharp breath through my nose. “That doesn’t give you the right—”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s just a fact—one I’m not proud of, but one you should know.” She looks up at me. “I’m not claiming I was a great mom; probably never will be. But you gave me moments, moments to be better, like when you would come into my room and try to cheer me up. But I never took them. I didn’t think I could—I didn’t think I deserved them. And now, well . . . I’m too bitter, and I don’t think that will ever change. And you might be right: we might never have a relationship. There’s too much bad blood, but Thad . . .” She pats her heart. “Thad needs you, Alec. He always has, and despite what he might have said this past weekend, he always will. If I did anything right in this life, it was making sure you two were never split up. I wasn’t nurturing or supportive, but I always knew you two belonged together. Fix this, and keep it that way.”
My chest tightens as acceptance brims in my heart. Acceptance of what could have been but never will, acceptance of my mom’s admission, and acceptance that this is what my relationship will be with her. I give her a curt nod.
Her honesty moves me more than I ever thought possible, so when I find myself leaning forward and giving her a hug, I surprise myself more than I surprise her.
It’s brief.
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s not something I could see myself doing again.
But it was needed.
When I pull away, I say, “See you at the wedding.”
She nods. As I leave her apartment, I glance behind me and see the smallest glint of a tear in the corner of her eye.
It’s not the beginning of anything, not the start of a much-needed mending, and it’s not the love I want, the love I’ve needed my entire life. But it’s something I can build off in my pursuit to mend things with Thad, and to start living a healthier mental life.
“Motherfucking tape,” I growl out as I shake my hand, desperately trying to relieve my finger of the double-sided tape that won’t fucking give up. Unable to shake it, I pick up my water glass, press it down on the loose piece of tape, and free my finger. “Finally.”
I exhale and lean back in my chair, inspecting the book in front of me.
In my head, this was going to be so much better than it actually is. It looks like a second grader put it together, not a man in his thirties who’s been tying his shoes for over twenty-five years.
I might have been “crafting” for the past two months, but it’s obvious it hasn’t rubbed off on me—too bad I’ve run out of other options.
If Luna were here, I know this would have been better. She’d have helped me with my vision, guided me, encouraged me, just like everything else in my life.
Picking up my phone, I flip it over so I can see the screen. Nothing.
No messages.
No calls.
Silence.
Not hearing from her has to be the most wretched and gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever experienced, because all I can think about is whether she truly meant what she said in her apartment.
That she chose wrong.
That she regrets everything we shared.
And that realization steals my breath, leaving me with depleted lungs and a goddamn broken heart.
I swing my legs off the bed and push my hands through my hair, trying to shake off the empty feeling that’s taking up more space in my heart with each day that goes by that I don’t hear from Luna. I think she’s truly done with me.
But I need to set my heartbreak aside and focus on another relationship.
Thad and Naomi’s wedding is in four days, and it’s been four days since the big blowup. Thad should have had enough time to at least calm down, which is important. When it comes to my brother, reasoning is out of the question when he’s hysterical. But today is the day, whether I’m ready or not. It’s time to face the music.
I rock back on my heels, clutching Thad’s present to my side as I wait for him to answer the door. I sent a text to Naomi earlier, asking her if I could come over. I explained to her that I’m trying, and that I want to patch things up before the wedding. Her response was brief, but she said she’d make sure Thad was home. Now I’m wondering if she set me up, since no one is answering the door.
I’m shifting from side to side, ready to knock again, when the door finally cracks open. Half of Thad’s face appears—his eyes immediately narrow.
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“I’m good.” He goes to shut the door, but I palm the
wood and push forward. I’ve always been stronger than Thad—I’m glad that hasn’t changed as I push my way into the apartment and shut the door behind me. “You can’t just come in here—”
I thrust the ribbon-wrapped box toward him. “I made you something.”
He stares at the box but doesn’t take it. “What do you mean you made me something?”
“I mean exactly what I said. I made you something.”
“Why?”
Okay, this is going to be much harder than I thought.
I sigh. “Because, Thad, I love you. I care about you. And I hate that I hurt you. I want to show you that despite what you might think, I really want to be a part of your life.” I hold out the box again. He takes it this time but doesn’t say anything; he just unties the ribbon and lifts the lid.
I chew on the inside of my lip as he reveals the small scrapbook I put together. It’s full of pictures of our past: the two of us as kids and teenagers, running around and getting into trouble, giving each other bunny ears and grinning at the camera. As he flips through the pages, his face remains expressionless, stoic, as if someone slipped him a Xanax before I came over.
I clear my throat. “I, uh . . . I split the book up into three parts. The past, the present, and the future. I wanted to remind you of what we shared as kids.” He continues to flip through the pictures, faster than I expected. “Show you the present, the few pictures we’ve taken recently.” He flips again. “And then the future. Those pages are empty, because, uh, I want to fill them with what I hope will be memories of me, you, Naomi, and your child.”
He snaps the album closed and tucks it under his arm. I want to tell him I worked really fucking hard on it, even if it looks like I paid a child to make it. I want to force him to listen to me, really listen, and understand everything I’m trying so hard to communicate.
But from his blank expression, I have a feeling this is not going to go in my favor.
“Why her?” he asks. “Out of all the women in New York, why her?” Yup, I was right. This is not going to go the way I planned.
But I want to make good with him, so I follow his lead. “She understood me, saw me, really saw who I was.”
“Well, at least someone does,” Thad replies, nodding toward the door. “You can show yourself out.”
“Thad,” I beg. “Can we talk, at least? I’m trying here—you have to meet me halfway.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Alec.” He tosses the book on an end table. “Do you even realize how embarrassing that was, you helping someone else from the other team? You know how important this competition is to me. How important it is for me to find a bigger place, a better place to raise my child. But you’ve been treating it like a joke the entire time.”
“That’s not true,” I shoot back. “If I thought it was a joke, I never would have worked as hard as I did the past few weeks. I wouldn’t have put in practice time at home, gone to craft stores, baked cakes. Dude, I’ve been trying.”
“You’ve been helping the competition.”
“She’s been helping me!” I yell, and then pull on my hair. “Fuck, I don’t want to yell at you. I want to make things better.” I point at the scrapbook. “I wanted to show you where we started, how much fun we had when we were young, even though we were going through some heavy shit. I wanted to show you that, yeah, we’ve grown apart, but it’s my fault and I regret that so fucking much. And I wanted to show you where I want to be with you, where I want our relationship to stand. I want to be your best friend, the guy you lean on when you don’t think you can do this parenting thing. I want to be there for you, every step of the way. But I can’t do that if you don’t give me a chance.”
Thad nods and looks toward his bedroom, where Naomi probably is, letting us hash this out on our own. He slowly lets out a breath. “I gave you your chance, Alec. Many times. You ignored it.”
“That’s not fucking true. I took this chance. This Wedding Game chance. I might have been unenthusiastic to start, but I picked it up. I helped—I wanted to be there to help you. Don’t you see that?”
“How did she help you?”
“Jesus Christ, is that what’s really bothering you? That I started dating Luna?”
“She’s the competition.”
“She’s more than a goddamn competitor. She’s a person. A person who—” I catch myself and remind myself that this person wants nothing to do with me. “What do you want? For me to never see her again?”
“Yes,” Thad says, but I see his answer even surprises him.
“Done, fine. I won’t see her again. Not like she wants to fucking see me anyway. But even if she did, if that was the only way to get you to understand how serious I am about mending things with you, then fine. I won’t—” My breath catches in my throat. “I won’t see her again.”
“Thad,” Naomi says, appearing in the bedroom doorframe. “I know Saturday was a tough pill to swallow. It was confusing for me too.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “But Alec has been trying, and you need to recognize that.”
“He’s been sleeping with the enemy,” Thad says, motioning toward me. “He’s seen me on the weekends, but that’s it. If he wanted to practice, he should have practiced with me, not her. How many times did I invite him over? Begged him to spend a little bit more time with me, with us, with the idea of putting together an amazing wedding?”
And there it is, the part of this entire argument that I’ve been missing. Thad wanted more than just time on set. He wanted me to help him. He wanted to bond.
Fuck. How could I have been so blind?
“Shit, Thad.” I take a step forward. “I didn’t even think. Hell . . . I’m sorry. I was so focused on trying to be better for you that I didn’t think about being better with you.”
Thad takes a deep breath. “I would have liked to try baking with you. Doing invitations—hell, anything at this point. I miss hanging out with you, Alec. The show was a chance to see you, but it was stressful, and I never got a second to just . . . enjoy you. And I don’t know, hearing that you did all this stuff with someone else, someone who’s trying to win the penthouse for their family . . . it fucking stings. She might know her shit and have better skills, but what would it have been like if we’d worked together to create something?” He shrugs. “We could have won.”
“We could still win,” I say. Thad shakes his head.
“I’ve been trolling all the comments on social. Team Rossi is the clear winner. No one likes Helen. People think our wedding is a joke.” Thad lets out an exhausted breath and sits on his couch. “It doesn’t fucking matter at this point. It’s over this weekend, and then we can move on.”
“Move on in what way?” I ask.
“I really don’t know.” Thad stands again, leaving the scrapbook on the table. “But this weekend hurt, and if I’m hurt, I can’t imagine what Cohen must be feeling.”
He heads toward the bedroom, and I call out, “Thad, where do we stand?”
He pauses but doesn’t look at me. “I’ll see you on Friday, for the Rossi wedding.”
“What does that mean? Are we working on us?”
He pauses at the bedroom door. “It’s going to take a bit. You might not see it this way, but I felt betrayed. You chose her over me, and that fucking hurts, man.”
“I’m choosing you now,” I say, my voice growing hoarse. “It’s over with her. Over.”
“Choosing me now . . . after she ended things.” He nods and walks into the bedroom.
Fuck.
Naomi shuts the door behind him, and as I press my hand to my forehead, ready to fucking lose it, she murmurs, “I’ll talk to him. It will be okay, Alec.”
I bend over, hands on my knees as the simple act of filling my lungs with air becomes increasingly difficult.
“This shouldn’t be this hard,” I say as Naomi rubs my back.
“Just breathe, in and out, Alec.”
I press my fingers to my eyes, my emotions spilling over in a
matter of seconds.
“I want everything to be normal, and no one seems to want to forgive me. I know I fucked up, I know I hurt Thad, but I’m . . . fuck, I’m here now, begging for forgiveness.” Tears roll down my face. “I’m trying, Naomi.”
“I know, shhh,” she says, still rubbing my back. “I see your effort. But is Thad the only reason you’re upset?”
“What? Of course.”
“You didn’t get truly upset until you started talking about Luna,” Naomi says, helping me straighten up. “Do you . . . do you love her?”
“Does it matter?” I ask. “Thad clearly doesn’t want me to be with her.”
“If you didn’t like me, Thad wouldn’t give two shits. He’d still marry me. So Thad doesn’t get to dictate who you want to be with. What I want to know is if you love her.”
My teeth roll over my bottom lip. Quietly, I say, “Yes, I do.” My heart twists at the truth in my words.
Naomi gives me a curt nod. “Then why don’t you let me work on Thad? He’ll come around. You know him—he puts on a front, but you know the minute you leave, he’s going to be buried in that album, crying his eyes out and asking me to order him a calzone to heal his wounds.” I snort. I can picture the entire thing. “So that means you need to work on Luna, because if you’re not happy in here”—she taps my heart—“then how are you going to be able to give one hundred and ten percent to Thad when he needs you? You know he’ll demand it.”
“He will.” I chuckle, already starting to feel lighter. “I just don’t know how to get to her, how to make things better.”
“What matters the most to her?” Naomi raises a brow at me.
“Cohen,” I answer, not even having to think about it.
“Exactly. Which means you need to help repair that relationship. And the rest will fall into place.”
“You think?” I ask as hope blossoms in the pit of my stomach.
The Wedding Game Page 31
