The Parent Trap

by Jasinda Wilder

  Delia looks at me, a long, steady, thoughtful glance. Questioning. Is she asking what I think before making her own decision?

  I shift in my chair. “Okay, full disclosure here—I own a stake in Tree-Free. But I bought in because I believe in what these guys are doing. And I think it’s on the cutting edge of what will eventually be the standard.” I tap the table. “Responsible tree harvesting is a joke, and you all know it. Sustainable, green, all that? Lip service, and I bet you all know it even more than I do. Trees take years to grow and require acres and acres…yet we can’t seem to stop clear-cutting forests left and right even to save our own air.” I point at Marcus. “This? It’s the answer. What he hasn’t emphasized is that the materials they use to create their products is all recycled. That’s part of the infrastructure he’s talking about—they collect plastics from all over the place, stuff that doesn’t normally get recycled, and they break it down and do some sort of science-y shit to it, to make this polymer. So not only are they not using trees, but they’re taking plastic out of the system and actually recycling it. Now, I’m not, like, some tree-hugging save the whales freakazoid, right? But I do like being alive, and I think at this point, it’s kind of obvious to anyone with half a brain that the shit we’re doing to this planet is killing it, and thus…ourselves. And I feel like this is one small thing our company can do that will make an actual difference.”

  Delia eyes me speculatively. Looks around the table, sees the nods. “Okay, I’ll bite. One thousand units.” She spins her pen around her middle finger. “But Marcus, I have to be clear, here—I have no patience for supply breakdowns. Fail to fill our orders, or cause us delays, and I’ll cut the contract so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

  “Understood.” He nods, the eager beaver that he is. “Absolutely understandable. That’s why I want to start small, just a thousand units. I can do more, a lot more, but I want to start small and earn your trust.”

  Delia slaps the table. “Smart man. Okay, well, if you’re all in agreement, I’ll leave you with Boyd to work out the details. I have another meeting to get to, so I’ll bid everyone goodbye for now.” She pauses at the door. Glances back at me. “Thai…you coming?”

  I wasn’t aware of any meeting, but I’ll play along. “Sure thing. See ya, Marcus.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Nice pitch. Now just follow through, buddy.”

  He grins at me. “I’m on it—I’m all over it.”

  I grab my things and refill my coffee on the way out, put a lid on it, and find Delia waiting at the elevator. “Did I miss a meeting memo?”

  She has a folder open, hands it to me. “No, but you are, as you told Marcus, co-executive and my partner. So I have to start including you in big decisions. Like this one.”

  It’s a proposal for a development deal. Sixty prime acres just off a major highway, not far from a booming little town. Sixty acres divided into two-acre lots, with an HOA banquet center, a park, gated…and the front elevation proposals are not your average mid-threes spec home. These are upscale, all brick, four thousand square foot minimums.

  “This is a major proposal,” I say, flipping through it. “This is big time.”

  “And there’s room to play,” she says. “They already love that proposal. If we can save costs with Tree-Free products? Even better. More off the top for us, and it looks better for the developer, and keeps prices down for the owners. Win all around.”

  I close the folder as the elevator opens. Step on, but I’m thinking. “And you know, I just talked to my guys at Albion. They’ve got their VP himself coming out to pitch us next week.” I eye her. “We could work that in. High-value lux places like this? I think it could be the perfect place to try and incorporate a whole-home connectivity system, as an experiment.”

  She muses as the elevator descends. “I’m not sure. I agree in theory, but this has the potential to be the most lucrative deal McKenna has ever done. One gamble is scary enough—and 3D printed framing is a big gamble. Two new, experimental elements? I think that’s tempting fate.”

  “I see what you’re saying.” We reach the parking garage, and we’re faced with the question of my car, hers, or separate? “How about we wait and see how the Albion pitch goes next week and think about it more from there.”

  She nods. “Fine. But don’t expect me to change my mind. I’m willing to take some gambles on innovation. But I still have to keep us solvent and making smart decisions. I have to stay at least somewhat conservative.”

  I head for my truck, and she follows, rounding to the passenger side without a qualm. Guess we’re taking my truck. She buckles in, and I will myself to not get lost in the strapboob beauty. Stay focused. This is business. And she clearly regrets—

  No, no, no. Shut it down. Business.

  “How about I be the innovator, the one looking into new stuff, and you be the smart and conservative one who shoots down my ideas when they go too far?”

  “So…all of them?” she says with a smirk.

  Is she…teasing me? I’ll take it.

  I pull out of the parking garage, connecting my phone to the infotainment screen. “So. Where are we going?”

  She takes my phone from me, pulls up a navigation app, and inputs a destination. “About an hour drive, one way.”

  Shit.

  An hour alone with her in the car? I’m scared and excited at the same time. Do I dare bring up what happened? I have a thousand questions, but breaching any of them feels like grabbing the tiger by the tail.

  Ten minutes of excruciatingly awkward, tense silence later gives me the distinct impression that she’s wrestling with the same things I am.

  I glance at her—her expression is pensive, tight. She’s staring out her window, chewing on her lower lip. Hands folded in her lap, one thumbnail picking at the cuticle of the other.

  I look away just in time to catch her glancing sidelong at me. Assessing me the way I was assessing her.

  She doesn’t know how to address this any more than I do. Kind of a relief, honestly.

  Finally, tired of dancing around it in my own head, I grab the bull by the horns—and wonder what other animal-based metaphors I’m going to use in my own thoughts.

  “Delia…” except I have no clue what to say.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Thai.”

  “Yeah, see, I think that’s a load of bullshit. You do, but you’re scared to.” I twist the steering wheel with my fist, as if I could strangle answers out of it. “How about we just…acknowledge that it happened, first.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t talk about this, Thai,” she whispers.

  “Can’t, won’t, or don’t want to?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Why?”

  She fits her thumbnail into her mouth and nibbles on it, then yanks her hand away and shakes it, sits on the hand. “I want to pretend nothing happened. It was just a dream.”

  “That won’t work, and you know it.” I look at her. “Look at me.”

  She turns her head away. “No.”

  “Look at me, dammit. You owe me that much.”

  Begrudgingly, as if it’s an effort of will to do so, she turns her head to meet my eyes. “There. What.”

  I glance at the road, then back at her. “It…happened. It was real. It wasn’t a dream. Good, bad, or wet.”

  She bites her lip to hold back an unwilling smirk. “You have a high opinion of yourself, it seems.”

  “Is it misplaced?” I ask. “In the department we’re referring to, at least.”

  She blushes. “I’m not talking about what happened, Thai.”

  I huff, roll my eyes. “Why? Are you ashamed?”

  She doesn’t answer. Just blushes harder.

  “Delia, come on. You’re not some blushing teenage virgin bride, here. You’re a grown woman. You’ve had sex. You can’t pretend nothing happened and refuse to talk about it.”

  “Yes I can.”

  “We have to work together. We hav
e to figure this out. Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to sell off and vanish, Dee. I’m in this for the long haul. I enjoy the work. I enjoy the challenge. I like being back here in River Gulch. I like being around you, even though you’re prickly and uptight and still have a tendency to lash out with savage burns.”

  “I’m prickly and uptight?” This gets her to look at me, and not in a good way. “Are you for real?”

  “Yes, I’m for real. You, Delia McKenna, are the very textbook, dictionary definition of prickly and uptight.”

  “Am not.”

  “Then quit being defensive and quit avoiding me and this whole subject, and talk to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what adults do when they have sex.”

  “We didn’t have sex.”

  I breathe a laugh. “I guess it would depend on your definition of sex, but sure. We didn’t fuck. But something happened between us.”

  “You seduced me.”

  I laugh. “Did not. But honestly, I’ll take seduced. I was worried you were going to say I, like, assaulted you or some shit.”

  “I wouldn’t. That’s a serious accusation and it’s not what happened. I don’t hate you that much.”

  “Thank you for that.” I drive a good thirty seconds in silence. “If I didn’t seduce you, and I didn’t assault you, what did happen between us?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers, refusing to even look in my direction.

  “Delia, for real. What was it?” I wait, but nothing is forthcoming. “How about we take a step back. Let’s just admit the facts, then. The basics of what actually occurred in your house last week.”

  “No.”

  I cackle out loud. “No? Just no?”

  “Just no.”

  “You won’t even admit to what went on?”

  “I’m not talking about it.”

  “Why, Delia? Then answer me why?”

  “Because I don’t talk about sex!” she snaps, whirling to face me. “It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed. Not…of you. Of me.” She drops to a whisper again. “Of myself. I’m embarrassed that I let it happen at all. With you especially.”

  “Why? Am I such a monster, Delia?” My voice is quiet, gentle. “I used to be, and I fully admit it. I’ll even apologize, and take responsibility.” I pause. “Look at me for this, Dee—this is a big deal for me.”

  She turns her head, and her eyes are damp. “Don’t.”

  “Too bad, I am.” I meet her eyes, and then sigh. “Hold on.”

  I pull over, off the highway and onto the shoulder. Put it in park, turn to face her more fully. “Delia…For the first eighteen years of our lives, I was an absolute monster to you. I made your life hell. I have no excuse for how I treated you. I acknowledge that nothing I can ever say or do will make up for it, will ever mitigate the effects my treatment of you had on your life. All I can do is say I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. I wish I could take it back. I can’t. I can’t make it better. All I can do going forward is try to be better. Try to do better by you.”

  She blinks hard, turns away, runs her fingertips underneath her eyes. Tilts her head back. “Dammit, Thai. You can’t make me cry before the biggest meeting of my career. I spent an hour on my makeup this morning, and you’re going to make me ruin it in less than thirty seconds.” A sigh. “Do you have any Kleenex?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I keep a box of Puffs in my purse.” I open the center console, pull out napkins. “I always get extra napkins when I get drive-through.”

  She takes them and dabs carefully at her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Just napkins.”

  She snorts. “Not for the napkins, dumbshit. For apologizing.” Her eyes flick to mine. “It really does mean a lot.”

  “It was years overdue, honestly.”

  She lets out a sigh. “Drive. We can’t be late for the meeting.” I pull back onto the road. After a moment, I open my mouth, but she holds up her hand. “Thai, can we just…can we table this, for now? We’ll talk, I promise we will. Just…just not now. I have to be on my A-game, and I won’t be if I show up flustered from this whole stupid conversation.”

  “It’s not stupid. It’s real life. It matters.”

  “Why is this so important to you? Maybe I’m mistaken, but I sort of had you pegged for the hump-and-dump type. You just don’t strike me as someone to insist on…this type of conversation.”

  I growl, a wordless rumble of annoyance. “Mostly, you’d be right. But this? Somehow, this just seems different. Because it’s you? Because we have history? Because you’re my best friend’s sister? I don’t know. But it does—it matters to me.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

  I laugh. “Hell no. And I won’t. It’s none of his business. And it’s not like he’s the protective brother type anyway.”

  She sighs, relieved. “No, he’s not. But I also know he wouldn’t be happy.”

  “Do you care?”

  “Wow, you’re really poking all my tender spots, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry, I just—”

  “Complicated, is I how I feel.” She frowns, thoughtful and pensive. “He’s still my brother. My twin.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. “We can talk on the way back.”

  She shakes her head. “I need some time, Thai.”

  “For what?”

  “To figure myself out. To figure out…” She shrugs, throwing her hands up. “Everything. This version of you that I just can’t seem to hate anymore. The problem is, I also can’t just flip a switch and let go of thirty years’ worth of ingrained habit. I just don’t know where that leaves me.”

  I nod, and now when we lapse into silence, it’s not as painfully tense. There’s still a boiling inferno of unspoken things, still a tension.

  Sexual tension? I think so.

  But emotional tension, as well. By her own admission, she’s still trying to hate me—but she can’t. And she let me kiss her, let me go down on her. Let me make her come harder than she’s ever come, unless I’m totally off base. And I don’t think I am.

  Point being, I can see how that would be confusing for her, at best, if not a complete mental and emotional upheaval of everything she’s ever held to be true.

  We’re mere minutes from our destination when she speaks into the silence. It’s such a quiet whisper that I almost miss it:

  “You’re not a monster.”

  What do you say to that? It’s not a resounding affirmation, by any means. But coming from Delia in reference to me, considering our history? It’s a definite start.

  To what? No idea. But it’s a start.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Delia

  The meeting goes better than I could have anticipated. As much as I hate to admit it, Thai and I play off each other perfectly. Where I’m staid and conservative and laser-focused on the numbers and timelines and overhead and profit margins, Thai is easygoing, naturally gregarious and friendly, able to create immediate connections with everyone he talks to. He gets the lead developer, Jacob Haimovitz, to talk about baseball and they share funny stories and Jacob is put at ease and in a good mood. Then, without any kind of obvious signal, Thai turns it over to me and the conversation transitions smoothly and easily to business. With nerves smoothed and moods lifted, we’re able to come to an agreement that’s beneficial for everyone. Jacob finds our idea of experimenting with Tree-Free’s line of products exciting and fascinating and promises to come see when we start breaking ground in a few months.

  I contain my excitement until we’re in Thai’s truck, and then I let myself have a rare moment of girly excitement, where I screech and flap my hands. I almost never behave that way, but this deal is too big to not be excited about.

  Thai just watches with amusement. “Didn’t take you for the squeal and flap your hands type, to be honest.”

  I glare at him, but there’s no real heat in it. “Hey, it’s my first major dea
l since taking over, and it also happens to be the biggest deal McKenna has ever landed.”

  “The current sub development isn’t bigger than this?” he asks.

  I bob my head side to side. “Not really. The houses are smaller and cheaper. So even though there are more total units being built, we’re actually netting less overall. Also, we developed the sub in stages. It started as twenty acres and fifteen units, and as those sold, the developer added new phases. This deal we just inked today, it’s huge. We nail this development, it’ll take McKenna to the next level.”

  “Well, you killed it,” he says.

  I eye him. “Hey, you killed it too.”

  He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Nah. I just played the funny man to your straight man.”

  I frown. “Straight man?”

  “Comedy duos? Laurel and Hardy, Abbot and Costello, Martin and Lewis? It’s the classic pair. One is the straight guy, not funny, not silly. Just serious, all business. That’d be Dean Martin. The other is the funny man. Goofy, wacky—that’s Jerry Lewis. It only works if you have both, though.”

  “Jerry Lewis was funny by himself.”

  “Sure, and so was Costello. But when you’ve got the straight man to play against, it gets funnier.”

  “So I lack a sense of humor, is what you’re saying?”

  He snorts, rolls his eyes again. “Yes, Delia, that’s what I’m saying. Obvious conclusion.”

  I hold my straight face a moment longer, and then burst into laughter. “See? Humor.” I push the on button for his stereo and scroll through XM stations until I find something fun and poppy. “My point is, you loosened them up, made it feel personal and friendly. Which is something I’m not all that great at.”