by Tawna Fenske
“I’m sorry, Cara,” he said at last. “I wish it could have been different.”
“It’s okay. I knew before I came here today how things would turn out.” She gave a small shrug and picked up her beer, taking a tiny sip before setting the glass down again. “I had to give it a shot.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “It takes guts. More guts than I ever had.”
Cara smiled. “Does she know?”
Kyle looked at her. He thought about continuing to pretend ignorance, but what was the point?
“She knows,” he said softly. “For all the good it does.”
“Really?” Cara frowned. “She’s not still hung up on Matt, is she?”
“Not like that, no.” He cleared his throat. “It’s—complicated.”
“The best things usually are.”
She studied him for a moment, and Kyle felt the same prickle of alarm he always used to feel when Cara looked at him for too long. Like she could see straight into his brain, into his heart, into his soul.
None of those things had ever belonged to her. Not really.
As the silence stretched out, Cara nodded toward the sculpture again. “You know I don’t say this lightly when I tell you that’s the most beautiful piece you’ve ever created.”
“Thank you.”
“My vajayjay and I can concede defeat.” She reached out and touched his arm. “If she stirs that kind of passion in you, Kyle, you owe it to both of you not to give up so easily.”
“I’m not the one giving up.”
She shook her head, then dropped her hand from his arm and gave him a swat on the butt. “Then get off your ass and prove it.”
Meg sat in her attorney’s office with a glass of tepid iced tea beside her and a pen clutched in her hand.
“Are you sure about this, Meg?” Franklin looked at her with a concerned expression. At least, that’s what she registered with her peripheral vision.
Meg’s focus was on the pen. She turned it over in her hand, looking at the sturdy, curved shaft and the elegant gold tip. “Do you know where I got this?”
There was no response from her attorney, so she glanced up to see him staring at her like she’d just stuffed bananas in her ears.
“The pen?” he asked. “No. I’m afraid I don’t. Is it significant?”
Meg turned the pen over in her hands, marveling at the weight of it, at the exquisite beauty of something so basic and functional. “It’s a Waterman. Sort of the Ferrari of pens.”
“I see,” Franklin said, clearly not seeing at all. “It’s important to have a good pen.”
“My former-future-mother-in-law gave it to me at my wedding shower.”
“Okay,” Franklin said slowly, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “If you need more time to think about this—”
“She gave me a card with it,” Meg said, looking up at him again. “It said the pen was so we’d always have something beautiful to use for signing important documents—our marriage license, maybe birth certificates for our babies someday.” She set the pen down and looked at Franklin. “But do you know what she said to me as she was leaving the shower?”
“I have no idea.”
Meg cleared her throat. “She said, ‘You can use it for other things, too. Maybe someday you’ll be famous and you can use it to sign autographs or something.’”
Franklin frowned and steepled his hands in front of him. “Meg, that seems like further evidence she considered the cookbook your project. If she gave it to you at your bridal shower—”
“No, that wasn’t my point.” She slid her palm over the pen, rolling it back and forth across the big cherry desk. “The point is that she believed in me. Matt might have seen the whole thing as a joke, but Sylvia didn’t. Not totally, anyway.” She stopped rolling the pen and clasped her hands on the desk while her attorney continued looking at her like she’d lost her marbles.
“It was never just about me and Matt,” she said. “That whole relationship, all ten years of it—it wasn’t just about the two of us. It was more about family. About how we supported each other through lousy stuff and picked up each other’s slack and made up for each other’s weaknesses with our own strengths. That’s what I loved more than anything. It’s also what I missed most these last two years.”
Franklin nodded again. Meg could tell he was trying to look wise and supportive, but instead he looked pained. He didn’t agree with anything in the documents she was ready to sign, but he’d prepared it just like she’d asked. He reached out and rested a hand on the corner of the paperwork, drawing her attention back to what she was here to do.
“What did your agent say about your plans to credit Matt’s estate with such a high percentage?” he asked.
“She wasn’t thrilled.”
“You don’t say.” His voice was dry, but not condescending. She might be giving up a huge chunk of her royalties here, but she was still the one paying the attorney fees.
“There’s no telling if Matt’s family will retain Straight Shot Literary Agency to represent their portion of the deal,” Meg admitted, “which means Nancy’s only getting a portion of my proceeds, which means—”
“Your proceeds get a helluva lot smaller if you go through with this.”
“Right.” Meg picked up the pen again and looked down at the documents. She’d studied them all morning, and the night before, and the night before that. She didn’t need more time to think about it. She knew what she had to do. What she wanted to do.
“You’re signing it.” Franklin’s voice was flat as Meg scrawled her signature on the first line, then the next.
She nodded and flipped to the next page, not looking up at him. “It’s the right thing to do. If I don’t, this could eat at me for the rest of my life. I don’t want to live with that regret.”
“You don’t think you could regret signing away such a huge chunk of money you’re entitled to?”
“Maybe.” Meg looked up at him, holding a finger on the page where she’d left off. “But I’d rather go through life regretting that I tried to do the right thing—even when it doesn’t go like I hoped—than to spend my life wondering if I made the greedy choice. The choice that only considers myself, instead of other people whose lives I affected.”
“I see.”
Meg went back to scrawling her signature on the pages, flipping faster now. She knew the words by heart, even though some of them made her throat tight and achy. She scrawled her name again and again and again until she reached the end. When she finished, she took a deep breath and pushed the whole pile at Franklin. “May I have two copies, please?”
“So you can send one to your agent? I already have that covered.”
“No.” Meg reached into her purse and found the decorative blue and gold box she’d kept tucked in her desk for two years. She opened it up and put the pen inside. “There’s someone else I’d like to give them to.”
“The Midland family?” Franklin frowned. “It’s best if you let the lawyers handle it from here, Meg.”
She shook her head. “I need to do this myself.”
Meg walked out of the office and took a deep breath. She had an hour to spare before her lunch date with Jess and her mother. There was just enough time.
She made the drive to the Midland home in a daze, her brain barely registering the blur of orange and red and gold on the trees that lined the boulevard. The sky was a milky gray, and she cracked her car windows to breathe the scent of impending rain.
The look on Sylvia’s face when she opened the door was one of stunned shock. In the instant before it could turn to fury, Meg thrust the blue and gold box at her.
“Here,” Meg said, holding out the pen. “You gave this to me. Do you remember?”
Sylvia looked at it, leery, then nodded. “Yes.” She didn’t take the box, but she didn’t push it away, either.
“I want you to have it back,” Meg said. “And I want you to use it to sign these.” She reached
into her purse for the manila envelope containing the paperwork, forcing Sylvia to take the pen. Her former-future-mother-in-law watched her with a guarded expression, her mouth tight. When Meg pulled out the envelope, Sylvia frowned.
“Albert said you were making this offer. He didn’t tell me all the details, but he said I’d be pleased.”
“You won’t be.”
Sylvia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your son is dead.” Meg shook her head, feeling the prick of tears at the back of her eyes. “Anything that happens from this point forward isn’t going to change that. No amount of money, no amount of apology, no amount of regret over what anyone should or shouldn’t have done.”
Sylvia’s eyes turned misty, and she gave a faint nod. “That’s true.”
“But this agreement. This is close to what you wanted. Maybe better. There’s a stipulation in there that Chloe gets a small stipend. It’s not much, but I wanted to make sure she got a piece of Matt’s legacy. Something that was his and will now be hers.”
“But why—”
“Because she was his family. Even if they didn’t walk down the aisle together. That counts for something.”
Sylvia nodded. “Like you.”
“Yes.”
“I understand that.”
Meg swallowed, wondering if she should say something else. There was so much she could say—so much regret and anger and confusion she’d never given voice to.
But maybe voicing those things wasn’t the way to find closure. Maybe shutting the hell up was the best form of peace she could offer.
“I loved having you in our family, Meg,” Sylvia said at last. “For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t hate you, either.”
“That sounds like a start.”
It was an odd choice of words, considering they’d likely never see each other again after this. But it was a common phrase, something easier to say than acknowledging the end.
Meg turned to go.
“There’s something you don’t know about those weeks after you left,” Sylvia said.
Meg turned around. She stood rooted in place, waiting to see if Sylvia would continue or wave her away with those taunting words hanging between them in the damp, chilly air.
When Sylvia spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “It all hit Matt very hard. The guilt, your leaving, the feeling that he’d disappointed everyone.” She gripped the envelope tight in her fingers, her knuckles white as she creased the edge of it. “I know you were hurt, Meg, and you had every right to be. But the sadness that took Matt—he went to a very dark place.”
Meg stared at her, trying to understand. “Depression, you mean?”
Sylvia gave a tight nod. “Yes.”
“I see.” Meg remembered Chloe’s words about Matt getting his mental health in order. Is that what she’d meant? “He always showed little signs of it,” Meg said softly. “Mood swings, anxiety, sleeping a lot. I used to suggest he see someone about it, but he refused.”
“This was worse.” Sylvia took a deep breath. “Much worse. It was terrifying. It took over completely after you left. He shut himself off from everyone except Kyle.”
“I had no idea.” A needle of guilt pierced her through the breastbone, and she ordered herself to keep breathing.
“No one knew,” Sylvia said. “That’s how Matt wanted it. He didn’t think I knew.”
“But how did you—”
“Mothers know these things.” Sylvia pressed her lips together. “Just like I know Kyle is the reason your cookbook became a bestseller.”
“What?”
“He never said a word to me about giving the book to that actress. Do you realize that?”
Meg blinked, trying to make sense of what Sylvia was saying. Kyle might have betrayed her in one way, but he’d held back that crucial piece of information. He’d known his mother would use it against her, and he hadn’t said a word. Maybe it hadn’t mattered, not in the grand scheme of the lawsuit.
But somehow, it mattered to Meg.
Sylvia cleared her throat, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air between them. “I’ll look these over with my attorney and get back to you,” she said, holding up the envelope.
“Okay,” she said softly, still reeling. She started to turn away again, pretty sure they’d said all there was to say.
“And Meg?”
She turned back to Sylvia, pulling her jacket tighter around her to guard against the crisp fall air. “Yes?”
“My son would have been lucky to have you.”
Meg nodded as her stomach flipped over. She closed her eyes and pictured Kyle, the way his gray-green eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the way he could never remember names or celebrity gossip but remembered exactly how to julienne a carrot when she’d only showed him once.
Then she pictured Matt, remembering him with a fondness that felt more like friendship than passion or true love or any of the things she thought she’d had with him so many years ago. She remembered the way he made her laugh, cajoling her from a premenstrual funk with goofy faces and raunchy jokes. She remembered his love of family, the way he took his mother to brunch the last Sunday of every month. She remembered the hurt in his eyes the instant before she turned and ran from that church.
They’d loved each other once. It wasn’t the kind of deep, all-consuming love meant to last forever, but it was love just the same.
When she opened her eyes again, Sylvia was watching her.
“Thank you,” Meg said. “Thank you for letting me love your son.”
Then she turned to go.
Meg arrived five minutes early for her lunch date with her mom and Jess. She took a few minutes to study the spotless decor, the creative menu, the cheerful patrons lined up at the door waiting to get a table at Portland’s hottest new restaurant.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jess said, sliding in beside Meg and dropping her giant purse on the floor beside her. She unfolded her napkin in her lap and looked around. “This place is nice. Very hip.”
“One of Matt’s ex-girlfriends owns it,” Meg said. “Brittney Fox.”
Jess frowned and picked up her water glass. “Was this a girlfriend he had before, after, or during your relationship?”
“Before. Or maybe after. I don’t remember.”
“Oh-kay,” Jess said. “You sure you’re doing all right?”
“Positive.” Meg waved to her mother across the restaurant. Her mom spotted her and hustled over.
“Good Lord, parking is atrocious out there. Sorry I’m late, baby.” Patti stooped and kissed her on the cheek before moving on and giving Jess a hug. “It’s good to see you, girls.”
“You, too, Patti,” Jess said. “How are things?”
“Good. Better.” Meg’s mom smiled. “I had my lawyer draft divorce documents and I’m looking them over tomorrow. Things are moving fast.”
“Wow.” Jess looked at her. “I’m not sure whether to offer congratulations, or condolences.”
“I’ll take both,” Patti said. “But thank you.”
Both women picked up their menus and began to skim. Meg had already made up her mind to order the halibut cheeks with beurre blanc and a side of creamed fennel, but she studied her menu anyway, thinking about how much thought and care and planning had gone into it. She set the menu aside and folded her hands on the table.
She looked up to see her mom and Jess studying her. Her mother spoke first. “You’re really doing okay, Meg?”
Meg nodded, and the other two women exchanged a glance. Jess set her menu down and reached for Meg’s hand. “Have you heard from Kyle?”
“No.” She shook her head and trailed a finger through the condensation on her water glass. “He called once the day after he told me everything, but since then—” She shrugged, looking down at her glass. “It’s probably for the best. I spent two years having zero contact with him. I can just go back to the way things were.”
“Bullshit.”
Meg looked up, surprised to realize the word had come from her mother, not Jess. “I beg your pardon?”
“Honey, no offense, but you can never go back to the way things were before.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’d never seen you the way you were during those weeks you and Kyle were spending time together,” her mother said. “You were all lit up inside.”
“It’s like the bra,” Jess added. “Now that you know what a properly fitted bra is supposed to feel like, you can’t go back to wearing something two cup sizes too small with pokey underwire and straps that dig into your shoulders.”
“I can find another bra,” Meg argued as a waiter walked past and gave her a startled glance. “There are plenty of them out there. Lacy bras and silk bras and bras with gel inserts and comfort straps and crazy colors.”
Jess shook her head and glanced at Patti before turning back to Meg again. “Not one that cups your boobs exactly the right way.”
Meg rolled her eyes, annoyed to be having this conversation with her best friend and her mother. She was spared from having more of it when the server came over. “Would you ladies like to hear about our chef’s specials?”
“Please,” Meg said, turning her attention to the eternal comfort of food.
“We have a caprese salad with fresh heritage tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, and basil from our own garden. For entrees, there’s an apple-brined pork chop with apricot compote and tahini roasted cauliflower on the side. You’ll also want to make sure you save room for dessert. There’s a key lime tart I think you’ll really enjoy.”
Meg nodded, wondering if it was a coincidence two of the three specials were variations of Matt’s favorite dishes. Probably not. Somewhere back there in the kitchen, even Brittney Fox couldn’t escape the relics of past love.
“I’d like the halibut,” Meg said.
“The chef’s salad for me,” Patti said, handing over her menu.
“I’ll try a small Caesar salad and the pork special,” Jess said, looking at Meg. “We’ll see how it compares to that one you always used to make.”
