by Tami Lund
“How in the world would you know? When’s the last time you saw her?”
Yesterday. “Um…”
The cops are watching me like they’re genuinely interested in what I have to say. My mother simply looks annoyed. She glances at the watch on her wrist.
“What are you doing here?” she asks again.
“I…” I lift my arm and cup the back of my neck, which I’m sure is bright red right now. Probably matches my face. This really shouldn’t be this hard, except I know damn well what I’m about to say is not going to go over well with my mother.
But I have to do it. I can’t let her press charges against Vicks.
“Vicks called me. I mean, Victoria.”
“Vicks called you?” my mother repeats, staring at me.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here.”
“Vicks?”
“Remember, that was her nickname when we were growing up?”
She furrows her brow. “No, I don’t remember. And why are you referring to her by a nickname from twelve years ago? In fact, why are you referring to her at all?”
“Because we’re, uh…”
The cops are staring at me. Mom is staring at me. She opens her mouth, probably to once again demand I explain myself.
I finally snap, “We’re sleeping together, Mom.”
“Yeah, guess we’re done here. Sorry for any confusion, ma’am,” the taller officer says. Both cops nod at each of us in turn and make their way toward the cruiser while my mother opens and closes her mouth without forming actual words. Meanwhile, I have precious few seconds before Vicks is released and within earshot. I grab my mom’s arm.
“She moved back to the city,” I say in a rush. “We bumped into each other a few days ago. We spent the entire weekend together. That’s who I went out with Saturday night. To the game on Sunday. She’s not who you think she is, Mom. She’s not her mother.”
She doesn’t answer. We both lift our gazes at the sound of a car door closing. Vicks shakes each officer’s hand in turn, and they climb into the car and pull away from the curb. Finally, with obvious reluctance, she heads our way.
“Mom.” I don’t know what else to say. When Vicks reaches us, she holds out her arms for her dog, who is wiggling and shaking like he’s in some sort of high-energy dance competition. I hand him over and watch the obvious relief carve into her features as she closes her eyes and snuggles her furry friend.
“Vicks,” I say, and then clear my throat.
She doesn’t look at me, instead lifts her gaze to my mother, who has narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips. I’ve seen that look plenty of times in my life. She isn’t happy.
“I wasn’t trying to break into your house,” Vicks says. “I was trying to figure out if you still lived here. That’s all.”
“Why?” my mother asks, the word sharp, almost a bark.
Vicks’s gaze darts to the dilapidated house next door. The one she used to live in. My mother hates that house.
Did Vicks simply take a walk down memory lane and it somehow spiraled out of control? I could see that happening. Hell, I’ve spent countless hours over the last twelve years, sitting on the patio or staring out my old bedroom window, remembering days gone by.
“Because I was considering buying the house next door,” Vicks finally says.
What?
My mother gasps and clutches at imaginary pearls. “No,” she says, her voice a harsh whisper.
“No?” I repeat, my eyes widening.
Mom shakes her head. “I don’t want you living next door. Not again.”
Vicks smirks, although it’s devoid of humor. “What are you afraid of? You don’t have a husband I can steal.”
“Jesus, Vicks,” I snap.
“No, but you can steal my son.” Mom grabs my arm, holding it like she’s afraid Vicks is about to initiate a tug-of-war competition and I’m the rope.
“Relax,” Vicks says without looking at me. “I don’t want him.”
“You don’t?” I say dumbly.
She catches my eye and quickly drops her gaze. “You knew from the get-go it wasn’t going to work, Alex.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, you should have. I’m glad you didn’t ever buy me those rose-colored glasses. And I suggest you get rid of the pair you have.” She glances over her shoulder. “I have to go.” For some reason, those words sound awfully, awfully permanent.
She places the dog on the ground and then turns away and starts walking down the sidewalk.
“No.” I lurch forward to chase after her, but Mom still has hold of my arm, keeping me in place.
“Let her go, Alex.”
“No. I can’t. I need…her.” I stare at her retreating back. Toby glances over his shoulder for a scant moment before trotting at her heel.
“But she doesn’t need you,” Mom says. “And frankly, you’re better off for it.”
“How can you say that? You know nothing about her. Nothing.”
“I know her mother destroyed my family. And girls like her follow in their mother’s footsteps.”
“Really?” I jerk my arm out of her clutches. “What about guys like me? Do we follow in our father’s footsteps?” I don’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, I dash after Vicks, who has rounded the corner at the end of the block.
But when I get there, she’s gone.
What the hell do I do now?
Chapter Twelve
TORI
I thought he was one of the good ones.
Instead, he’s a momma’s boy. She will always come first. Even if he does manage to find a girl who wants to settle down, who wants to spend the rest of her life with him, she will also have to settle for being second place in his life.
I’m not that girl.
Okay, yes, I admit it. With each date, I started to wonder. What if we try? What if I tell him about Artie—everything—and for some crazy reason he still wants to be with me? What if I really can have that elusive happily ever after?
In a way, my timing was perfect. I went to see the house, hoping that visiting a piece of my past would help make the decision. Like maybe there would be a sign on the sidewalk, a clear signal.
Vicks, go to Tennessee.
Vicks, stay in Chicago.
Ugh, look at me, referring to myself by the nickname Alex gave me. No one calls me that. Only him. To the rest of the world, I am Tori. Well, except the IRS. To them, I will always be Victoria Ruben.
I suppose no one will ever call me Vicks again. Because I’m moving. Closing the shop, packing up my apartment, and heading south with my aunt and uncle and brother. Starting over. A new life, a new me.
I think I’ll dye my hair before I go. Something ordinary, like brown. I will leave my past behind, once and for all.
I should be thrilled.
My phone vibrates, warning me of an incoming text. Not surprisingly, it’s Alex.
Please talk to me, Vicks.
I furiously type back. It’s over, Alex. Well, not really, since nothing really started in the first place.
What we have isn’t NOTHING, is his reply.
Had. Past tense. Stop texting me. I have customers to take care of.
It’s a lie, but it works. My phone stops vibrating, and there are no little bubbles on the screen, indicating he’s typing out a text.
Instead of taking care of customers, I’m emailing my landlord the signed paperwork, cancelling the lease, effective November thirtieth.
I let Aunt Laura know that Artie and I would both like to move with her. She’s thrilled, of course. And since school has already started, waiting until the end of November is fine. I can work through the Halloween rush, and I’ll have that revenue to start something new in Nashville. I’m even toying with taking some college courses. No idea what I want to do, but business classes seem logical, given I’ll likely start my own business. Or maybe I’ll go to work for Uncle Jack and his father. How nice would it be not to worry about paying all the
bills and ordering inventory and insurance and all the millions of other tiny details business owners have to deal with on a daily basis?
It’s Friday, and Artie is staying with me for the weekend. He usually likes to hang out in the shop when he’s here, but the surge of high school-aged clients this afternoon made him agitated. He likes to be the center of attention, and they were all focused on finding costumes for their Renaissance-themed homecoming dance and weren’t interested in interacting with him. To save his sanity and a few sales, I took him and Toby upstairs and set them up in the bed with a stack of Disney movie DVDs.
I was hoping not to order any additional inventory, but I’m already down to less than ten period dresses in stock and the dance, according to the customer who just left, is still three weeks away.
Maybe my easiest bet is packing up all my leftover inventory, shipping it to Tennessee, and starting a costume shop down there. I should do a little research, figure out what’s already in the area, see if there’s a need.
The shop bell chimes. I glance up, and my heart kicks into overdrive. Alex is standing just inside the door, his dress shirt open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up over his gorgeous forearms.
I’m honestly surprised it took this long for him to show up in person. I’ve been rehearsing what I plan to say, practiced my indifferent look in the mirror each night.
And I’ve forgotten everything I’ve told myself for the past week.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I haven’t received any new Halloween inventory yet.”
But I have started decorating the shop. Yesterday a storm blew through, leaving a sampling of fall weather in its wake. Which means people will start thinking about Halloween soon. So I dragged the boxes of decorations and last year’s leftover costumes out of storage and have been sorting through them, determining what should go out on the shelves.
“I don’t care about that,” Alex says, striding toward me, his gaze steady, his eyes practically piercing straight to my soul. “I just want to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t, ah, I don’t…” I clear my throat again. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I think you do, actually.” He moves closer. I’m standing behind the cash register, the glass case between us, but it doesn’t feel like enough of a barrier, so I back up until my ass is pressed against the wall behind me.
Flattening his hands on the top of the display case, he says, “How about starting with explaining why you took off on Monday? No, let’s start with, why were you looking to buy the house next door to my mother?”
I expected him to talk about our relationship, or whatever he thought we had. That house has nothing to do with our little dating game.
“I didn’t know she still lived next door,” I blurt.
“Okay, fine. So why are you thinking about buying a house?”
I shrug, try to pretend we’re having a casual conversation. “Why not? I don’t want to live in a tiny apartment above a store forever.”
“If you’re planning to become a homeowner soon, why are you closing the costume shop?”
My hand jerks, and I press it to my chest. “H-how do you know that?”
“I work in real estate, remember? The owner of this building reached out to my boss, asked if he was interested in buying it. Said his tenant was moving out by the end of November.”
I suck air in through my nose, blow it out of my mouth.
“What’s going on, Vicks?”
“Like you said, I’m closing the shop.”
“Why?”
“Why do you ask so damn many questions?”
“Because you won’t answer them,” he snaps. “At least not with a reasonable amount of detail. I want to know what’s going on, because I care. I care about—”
I lift my hand. “Stop. Stop talking, Alex. You don’t know me enough to care about me.”
“I know enough.”
“Trust me, you don’t. You know practically nothing about me.”
“Then tell me.”
I shake my head. “No, although I should. Then you would definitely leave me alone.”
“Try me.”
“Alex, you need to stop. Stop calling, stop texting, stop showing up here. I’m staying open through Halloween and then I’m packing up my shit and moving to Tennessee.”
“Tennessee? What’s in Tennessee?”
“My uncle’s family. A better life. A chance to start over.”
“I don’t want you to go. I lost you once. I don’t want to go through that again.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
He slaps his hand down on the glass case and the cash register shudders. “Why, Vicks? Why are you doing this?”
I surge forward, slam my hands down onto the case as well, and lean in, glaring at him. “You want to know why? Because your mother still hates me. And you aren’t about to date anyone that woman does not approve of. So I’m getting out now. Before…” I turn my head to the side. “Before I get hurt.”
I’m already hurt. Aching. My heart feels like someone has ripped it out of my chest and is using it as a basketball. This is a thousand times worse than when we moved away when I was fourteen. But if I don’t cut it off now, it will only get harder.
“She’s been through a lot, Vicks. Seeing you took her by surprise. She’ll come around. I know she will.”
I drop my arms to my sides. “It doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t, because I’m still not staying. If I ever decide to get into an actual relationship, I want to be the center of that man’s world. And in your world, your mother will always come first.”
There, I said it. I admitted out loud what I’ve been thinking since Tuesday.
Alex staggers backward. Like he didn’t realize this truth. “I…”
“It’s okay,” I say gently. “Just not for me. Someday you will find Mrs. Right, and she will be thrilled to join your perfect little family unit. But I’m not her. I’m sorry, Alex.”
He continues walking backward, toward the door. His face is stark white, his eyes wide and dilated. I want to ask if he’s okay, but I don’t want to stop him. I want him to get out of my life and stay out.
I need to close this chapter, start working toward healing the gaping wound in my heart. And I can’t do that until he leaves.
He stands at the door, his hand on the knob. “Vicks, I…”
“Goodbye, Alex.”
I hold my breath. This is it. If he leaves, he won’t come back again. And it’s what I want.
I’m going to keep telling myself this until I actually start to believe it.
The door flies open—another group of high school kids undoubtedly searching out fourteenth century costumes. It hits Alex’s foot, and he jumps out of the way. Five kids pour into the shop, two girls head toward the period costumes while the rest move my way. I smile and greet them and then lift my gaze, but Alex is gone.
So that’s it then.
Chapter Thirteen
ALEX
For two weeks, I’ve gone to my mother’s house and mowed the lawn without speaking to her.
It doesn’t make me feel any better. But neither does it make me feel worse, so there’s that.
I’m furious over the way she treated Vicks, furious over her implication that Vicks is no better than her own mother when my father was as much at fault as Ms. Ruben was. If Vicks is like her, it stands to reason I will eventually become just like him.
And I can’t stop thinking about what Vicks said when I stopped by her shop after learning she’d cancelled her lease. Sure, I’ve taken care of my mother as much as possible since Dad left. Yeah, I’ve done whatever was necessary to ease her burden, to make her happy.
That doesn’t mean I can’t do the same for someone else. For her.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have been so worried about how my mother would feel about us dating. It shouldn’t have mattered. If I wanted to date Vicks, my mother could just deal with it. Or not. Either way, it should have
been my choice and mine alone.
I ruined it. Vicks is gone. Well, not quite, but I can’t figure out how to convince her to give me a second chance. Or is it a third at this point?
But I need to work something out. She said she’ll be gone by the end of November. It’s mid-September. I have two and a half months to work a miracle, and I don’t have the slightest idea where to start.
Mom steps out of the glass patio doors. I ignore her, focusing instead on the last two rows of uncut grass. Ten more minutes and I’m out of here. Ten more minutes and I’m heading home to my lonely apartment, where I’ll spend the rest of the day pondering ways to approach Vicks and convince her we’re meant to be together.
Mom steps onto the grass, right in my path. She’s holding a manila envelope in one hand, the other shielding her eyes from the sun. With a sigh, I stop the mower and kill the engine.
“I have something for you,” she says.
“What?”
“Well, actually, it’s for Victoria. Vicks.”
I eye the envelope she’s offering to me. “What did you do, file a restraining order?”
Her face falls. “I suppose I deserve that, but no. Open it.”
I lift my T-shirt and wipe the sweat from my forehead and then take the envelope and pull out a wad of papers. It looks like a bill of sale. And a deed of ownership for the house next door. The owner is listed as Victoria Ruben. I pull my gaze away from the papers to stare at my mother.
She waves at the documents. “It’s all hers, free and clear.”
“You did this?”
She nods.
“Why?”
She shrugs and fiddles with an imaginary bit of lint on her pants. “I realized I overreacted when I accused her of being her mother. Well, you made me realize. Because you are nothing like your father, for which I am eternally grateful. And it isn’t right of me to assume the worst about her just because I happen to resent the woman who gave birth to her. And besides all that, you love her, and you have always been an excellent judge of character.”
I love her. I look at the paperwork again. “You’re right. I do love her.” Even more reason to convince her to give us another shot. “How did you afford this?”
