Lindsey’s face crumples. Panic unfurls inside my stomach.
“Palmer is leaving me,” she says. She leans forward and drops what’s left of her slice back into the box. Then she covers her face with her hand and starts to sob, shoulders shaking.
“Linds.” I sink onto the sofa and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
“He”—sob—“fell in love with our CrossFit coach.”
I blink in shock and reach for a napkin on the coffee table, offering it to her. “Fucking CrossFit.”
“I know,” she scoffs, and takes the napkin and wipes her nose with it. “Came out of nowhere. I was totally blindsided.”
“What in the world happened?”
Lindsey folds the napkin in half, then in quarters. Her face crumples again. “Shit, that’s a lie. I’m lying, Em, I don’t know why, I just…I’m sorry. Let me start over.” She takes a deep breath. “Things with Palmer haven’t been great for a while now. If I’m being honest, our marriage was off to a rocky start from the beginning. We were so perfect on paper, but in reality, we didn’t have a lot to connect over, you know?”
I grab a napkin for myself. I’m crying now too. It’s the surprise. The pain of seeing my sister hurt so much.
“I don’t know, actually,” I say, carefully picking my words. “Y’all were a picture of perfection from the second y’all met. You were both successful. Beautiful. You took these incredible trips and had this, like, insane wedding that was the most fun party I’ve ever been to. When I saw the two of you together, you seemed to always be smiling and happy. You were definitely always smiling for the camera, even when you were doing your workout of the day together. Hashtag WOD, hashtag the couple that slays together stays together.”
“Hey. I work hard in the gym. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of that.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to poke fun. Guess a part of me is jealous you have the time and money to do that stuff.”
“No, you’re right.” She takes another breath. “The hashtags were obnoxious. Hell, my whole feed is obnoxious. But what was I supposed to post? ‘Hey, Palmer and I are at a five-star resort in Vietnam, but we haven’t talked in two days’? Or, ‘hey, Palmer and I just burned eight hundred calories at the gym, but no matter how hard I try, he never looks at me the way he looks at Coach Cindy’?”
“Aw.” I hand Lindsey another napkin. “Aw, Linds, that’s fucking awful.”
She puts her elbows on her knees and leans forward, nodding. “It’s such a cliché, showing the world a highlight reel when the reality is a total dumpster fire. But the pressure to be perfect, and to be happy—it’s real, Emma. I mean, don’t you feel like there’s no space for the messy parts of life? To show them and to actually live them? It’s like, hey, shit’s not great in my life right now, but I’m gonna sweep it under the rug and paste on a smile and snap a picture, and maybe if I keep doing that, the reality will finally start to look like the highlight.”
“But it doesn’t,” I say. “The disconnect only grows.”
Lindsey grabs her wine and gulps it. “Yup. You’re a much smarter cookie than I ever was—”
“Hey, you’re the one with the Ivy League degree.”
“And you’re the one with a sensitivity for bullshit. Your own and others’ too. So, yeah, you’ve always known that’s magical thinking—believing that if you just try hard enough, you can be as perfect as your Instagram feed says you are. But I guess I had to learn that lesson the hard way.” She refills her glass with a hand that shakes. “Palmer loved CrossFit. I hated it, but I did it because I wanted to have a shared hobby or whatever. And I hate my job, but I wanted us to be in the same profession so we’d always have that to talk about. Because we didn’t really have much else in common other than that.”
“What?” I widen my eyes. “You hate your job?”
“Em, I work eighty-hour weeks putting together prospectuses for structured product deals. Of course I hate my job.”
“What the hell is a structured product?”
“Trust me, you’d fall asleep long before I finished explaining that. But it’s boring, draining, never-ending work, and I fucking hate it. So, yeah. Now I’m alone, with a job I hate and a dream house I have to sell, and I just want to quit it all.” She laughs, the sound hard and unhappy. “I just might.”
“But you have it all. You’re the dream, Linds. The success story.”
Lindsey looks me in the eye for the first time since the conversation started. “If living a lie is the dream, then I want no part of it.”
“Wow.” I give myself a minute to let her words sink in. “Just…wow.”
“Look. If my life falling apart has taught me one thing, it’s that perfection is a Ponzi scheme. You rob yourself again and again of the truth so you can show the world something pretty but fake. The more you do it, the worse you feel. But the world tells us if we just keep trying, if we just get that trip or that ring or that dollar amount in our bank account, we’ll get to the top of the pyramid where pretty is finally real, and it will finally make us happy. So we keep stacking the bullshit blocks, ignoring the voice inside us that screams wrong over and over again. When I finally listened to that voice”—she draws a shaky breath—“it was too late.”
“My God.” I swallow, hard. “That metaphor is beautiful. And awful.”
“No shit. My life feels like one giant joke. Only the joke’s on me.”
I lace my fingers through hers. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“What?” She arches a brow. “You think you’re a joke?”
“Everything about me is a joke. My profession. My love life. My future.”
She sets down her wineglass on the table and turns on the couch to look at me, folding her legs underneath her. She takes both my hands and looks me in the eye. “Listen to me, Em. And listen carefully. Have you ever considered it’s our world that’s a joke and not you? You left a lucrative future in law to follow your dreams. Not our family’s dreams, your dreams. Look at me. I don’t even know what my dreams are. I’ve spent my whole life trying to become what the world told me I should be. According to that world’s rules, yeah, I was successful. My social media feed was perfect. But now I’m fucked. I’m going to lose most of my money in this divorce. All the partners at my firm are friendly with Palmer and have worked with him in the past, so God knows what they’ll think of me now. Mom and Dad are going to be devastated. But more than that, I’ve wasted whole decades of my life doing things I hate with people who aren’t my people. If that’s not a joke…”
“Well, I haven’t been happy all the time, either.”
“No one’s happy all the time. If they are, they aren’t telling themselves the truth. I mean, what if success looks less like a highlight reel and more like a life you don’t have to share with the world to feel good about it?” She searches my face. “I don’t want perfect anymore. I want real. I want what you have with Samuel.”
I’m so startled I start to cry all over again. “What? Why would you ever want the hot mess that we are?”
“Because,” she says softly, “you took a risk last night that, if I understand it correctly, was extremely brave. The connection you have with Samuel is inconvenient and scary, but it’s real. Samuel is in love with you, and if he wasn’t, this wouldn’t have accelerated the way it has. Take it from me—that sort of connection I picked up on in the space of, what, ten minutes between you and Samuel doesn’t happen very often. It’s worth another act of bravery. Another leap of faith. It’s worth risking everything for. Even your job. Because at the end of the day, it’s not a job that makes us happy. It’s relationships. It’s our people, the ones who love us for who we really are.”
I let that sink in for a minute. Lindsey’s right, of course. If I didn’t know that deep down, the burning sincerity in her eyes would convince me. But the reminder makes me feel mushy inside nonetheless.
It
softens the shell that’s formed around my heart.
“But what about Samuel’s people?” I manage around the lump in my throat. “He loves his family, Lindsey. Like, loves them, more than anything. And I messed that up. I’m the wedge that came between Samuel and Hank.”
She offers me a small smile. “No offense, but if the Beauregards are as tight as you say they are, I don’t think your accidental love triangle situation is going to bring them down. Mistakes were made, sure. People were hurt. But I think you’re only going to end up hurting them more if you leave. Ever consider you might be more of a bridge than a wedge? What if this was always meant to happen, and Samuel and Hank were supposed to have this falling out so their relationship could become better and stronger and more true, the way it was always meant to be? Because it doesn’t sound like they’re very honest with each other. Maybe you were the nudge they needed.”
I feel the tiniest twinge of relief, and I let out a soft laugh. “What are you, a lawyer or something?”
“Meh. Not anymore, I don’t think.”
“But I fucked up so bad tonight, Linds. Isn’t that, I don’t know, exhibit A of why working with the man I love a bad idea?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. One, y’all are extraordinarily upset right now, so of course you’re going to fuck up. And two, who knows what the future will bring? If the resort is expanding like you said it is, then maybe you guys will evolve into new roles. Ones that don’t require you to work side by side seven days a week. Maybe you don’t have a dream scenario right now, but you could down the line. And even if it’s a dream, it still won’t be perfect. Which isn’t a bad thing, because even perfect stories can have bad endings.”
She’s right. Again. I keep waiting for just the right position at just the right place with just the right pay, benefits, coworkers, hours…and while I don’t think I should ever stop working toward a better situation, I do need to accept that it won’t ever be perfect, and that’s okay.
I guess a part of me always believed if I landed a top job, I’ll finally be enough. I’ll make enough money and have enough stability to not be considered a joke anymore. That I’d make my parents proud the way Lindsey always does.
When really, I wasn’t a joke all along. I was just a woman working toward what her heart told her would make her happy.
I still am that woman. And I’m proud of myself for following my heart, even if most people don’t understand it.
But Samuel does understand. He appreciates it too. And that, more than anything else, is real and right.
“Just think on it, okay?” she asks. “I wouldn’t be a good sister if I let you just walk away from something that’s clearly so special. Have faith in yourself, and have faith in Samuel to make things right with Hank. Y’all know what you need to do. It’s just a matter of whether you have the courage to do it.” She gives me a tight smile, then whispers, “Spoiler alert, I think you do.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Samuel
I open the door to find Hank and Milly on my doorstep.
“I’m here to mediate,” she explains before I can politely but firmly ask her to leave. She holds up a silver flask, monogrammed with her initials. “I also brought celebratory whiskey for when y’all make up. Which is going to happen.”
I roll my eyes and step aside to let them in. “Are you here to mediate or meddle?”
“Both.” She offers me a shit-eating grin. “You’re welcome.”
I catch Hank’s gaze as he moves over the threshold. He looks as tired and anxious as I feel. I haven’t slept much, and I’ve eaten even less.
Can’t remember the last time I felt this bad. Actually, I can, and I do not want to go there.
My first impulse is to stoke the anger churning in my gut. Anger toughens my outer shell. It’s armor that keeps me safe from scarier feelings, like sadness and pain.
But isn’t armor ultimately bullshit? It can’t protect me from myself. It certainly can’t protect me from the fallout of breaking my family apart by not letting my brother in.
The idea that I can choose to set my armor aside makes me feel soft and strong and scared.
I think about what Emma said the day after Sunday supper. Your family is great. I’d kill to have that kind of relationship with mine. You know that’s rare, right?
I know Hank and I aren’t going to forgive each other right away. But I guess we gotta start somewhere. I hate Milly for taking the first step, but I’m also grateful she’s forcing our hand.
“Screened-in porch,” I say, pointing toward the back of the house. “I got the fire goin’.”
I let Milly have the chair closest to the fire. It’s definitely springtime here on Blue Mountain, but it’s still a little chilly in the shade. Hank and I take opposite ends of the sofa across from her. For a second, no one says anything, and my chest tightens.
If I can’t make this better, I really will have lost it all. My girl, my brother. My job.
Again, my instinct is to let anger win out. I’m no saint, I own that, but Hank definitely committed the greater sin. He should be the one to start the conversation.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he stares into the fire, his hand on the ankle resting on his knee.
Milly clears her throat. “Okay then. We’re gonna do this in reverse and start with the drinks. Maybe that’ll get y’all talking.”
She unscrews the cap and tips back the flask. In true Milly style, she doesn’t so much as blink at the bite of the whiskey. I smile. My sister may be the South’s preeminent wedding planner, but she’s a country girl at heart. She can drink even the biggest of us under the table, no problem.
“Thanks.” I swirl the whiskey around in my mouth before swallowing. Hickory chips, hint of cinnamon. “That Appalachian Red?”
“Of course it is,” Hank says, taking the flask from me. “Milly and Nate Kingsley are thick as thieves these days.”
Nate Kingsley owns Asheville’s famous distillery down the road. Our families had a beef in the past—as in a whole feud Kevin Costner may or may not have made a TV series about—but I guess Milly’s spearheading the effort to patch things up now.
“Thick enough that he’s giving you thousand-dollar bottles of whiskey to sip on?”
Milly just shrugs. “Once you taste the good stuff, you can’t go back.”
I watch Hank take a swig, then another. Screwing the cap back onto the flask, he looks at me and says, “I did want to hurt you, Samuel. I wanted you to feel what I’d been feeling since Emma arrived on the farm. It’s fucked up, but it’s how I felt. I never intended to catch feelings for her. I just wanted to help her out at first.”
“But you did intend to kiss her.”
He winces. “I did. Not my proudest moment.” The hand on his ankle balls into a fist. His voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “I regret it. Deeply. I know you’re struggling to forgive me, but trust me when I say I’m struggling harder to forgive myself. I got lost in the moment. I was desperate and sad. On top of that, I’ve been feeling kinda…lost lately. Like I’m bored or something.”
My heart contracts. How did I not see that? Was I too wrapped up in my own shit?
Thinking back, I can see the signs. But I didn’t say anything. I just assumed everything was okay.
No one said anything, and now we’re in a huge fucking mess because of it.
“I’m sorry you’ve felt lost,” I reply. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t looking out for you the way I should’ve been. That’s a huge failure on my part.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Milly nodding. “I’m sorry too. Hank, why didn’t you say anything?”
Hank shrugs. “I wanted to figure it out on my own. Everyone’s got such full plates around here. Beau got his diagnosis, then Annabel came up to the farm with Maisie, and we all know what happened there. And Milly, you always have your weddings, and Samuel…well. Needless to say, I didn’t want to bother anyone. So I muscled through the best I could. I had n
o way of knowing it would lead to this.” His eyes are pleading. “If I did, I would’ve done it all differently, Samuel. I swear it.”
“I believe you. I’ll do better going forward.”
“I appreciate that. I will too.”
“Me three,” Milly says with a frown. “Sounds like we all have work to do.”
Hank swallows, an audible sound. “Me most of all. I know I need to move on. From Emma, I mean. But it’s hard when I’m still in love with her.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “You are?”
“I am.” He finally meets my eyes. “I know it’s not what you wanna hear, but it’s the truth. We need to be done lyin’ to each other, Samuel.”
Swallowing, I hold out my hand for the flask. I take another sip, welcoming the fire that trails down my throat. “I agree with that. No more lies. You told your truth, now I’m gonna tell you mine. I love you, brother, more than anything in this world. I want to see you happy. I want to see this family and this resort thrive. We’ve dedicated our lives to each other, and that trust—it’s gotta be real, and it’s gotta mean something. But right now, I don’t trust you. I don’t trust myself around you. And I think the only thing that’s gonna make that better is time.”
“Samuel,” Milly warns.
Hank shoots her a look. “No, it’s okay. I appreciate you being honest. I know I can’t just make this all go away, as much as I want to. That’s not how forgiveness works. But I think we do need to get to a place that allows our family to function.”
“I agree,” Milly says. “We need to keep the business running. But more than that, we need to keep the family safe, and we need to stick together.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t see how we can do that with the three of us in the picture. Emma and Hank and me. How the fuck do we stick together when I feel like I’m gonna be stabbed in the back every time I turn a corner? And how do you think Emma’s gonna feel, being in the same room as the two of us?”
Southern Hotshot: A North Carolina Highlands Novel Page 28
