Finding Cupid (Almost a Billionaire Book 2)

by Bridget E. Baker

  I don’t tell her this might feel worse. Because the more I think about what happened, the more I think this one may be entirely my fault. I think at the end of the day, nothing that’s been glued together is ever quite the same, and I’ve been glued back together too many times. I don’t even resemble the simple, mostly rational Geo who fell in love with Mark.

  When I pull away, Paisley’s face looks pained. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure if this is a good time to mention it, but, well. Delaying might be worse. I possibly did something bad.”

  I’ve already wrecked my life. How much worse could anything Pais did make things? “What did you do?”

  “I saw Rob yesterday at the gym, and I might have mentioned…”

  That I was engaged. I should have told Paisley that Rob confessed to being in love with me. She would probably have kept her mouth shut if she knew and saved us all some pointless angst.

  I close my eyes. “How did he take it?”

  “Surprisingly poorly. He acted like I told him you were dying.”

  “At least one person will be glad to hear my newest update,” I say, not looking forward to calling him any time soon.

  When I reach my own, tiny, pathetic, mortgaged condo, I beeline for the bed and collapse.

  I wake up the next morning to the persistent sound of a gong ringing. I rub my eyes once before I recognize the noise. When I checked my mom into Arbor Terrace, they gave me the number for the clinical department. If there was ever an issue with my mom, I wanted a really annoying ringer. In the two years she’s been there, I’ve never heard it.

  Until now.

  My heart breaks. No, not my mom. I can’t take anything else right now. She needs to be fine. I stifle my fear and swipe to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Polson?”

  I wince. “Miss.”

  “Right. Miss Polson?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “This is Fred from Arbor Terrace.”

  Get to the point. “My mom’s a resident there, I know this number. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, but we’ve left you several messages. You didn’t get them?”

  I pull away from my phone and notice I’ve got twenty-one unopened voicemails. Yuck. “I’m sorry, I may be a little behind.”

  “Your mother’s injection is in one hour. Usually the family wants to be there for it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Will you be attending?” Fred asks. “If not, that’s fine. I’ll let her know you couldn’t make it.”

  I look at my bedside clock. Eight a.m.

  “I’ll be there,” I say. “Count on it.”

  He hangs up before I can ask anything else.

  I wrack my brain for what injection it might be while I shower. I wish it was the Phineas Trial injection, but I missed the window on that, so clearly that’s not it. Maybe it’s for her knee pain? They talked about a cortisol injection, I think? I hope it’s not too painful, but I can almost always calm her down.

  I drive to the Terrace as fast as I’m willing to risk, arriving ten minutes early. I don’t pray much, but I say a silent prayer from the parking lot.

  “Dear God, first let me say that I am so grateful my mom’s not injured or dying or anything. But then I need to ask a favor. Please let my mom be okay today. I know I don’t pray to you much, and that it’s selfish for me to ask for this reason, but I can’t handle anything else right now. Please help my mom not to be in pain for this injection of whatever it is and not to cry, and help her to know me when she sees me. Please. That’s all. Amen.”

  I unclench my hands from the steering wheel and drag myself inside.

  “Where’s Megan?” I ask the man at the desk.

  “I’m Fred,” he says. “We spoke on the phone? Megan has weekends off. You never come in on Saturdays, or you’d have met me already. I cover the front desk whenever Nelly’s busy.”

  Who’s Nelly? I feel a small pang of guilt that I never come on the weekend. Should I be coming more often than twice a week? Am I a bad daughter? I tell myself that my coming agitates my mother, but maybe I’m just a coward.

  “Right this way,” Fred says, reaching for my arm as though I’m a shuffling geriatric.

  “I know where her room is,” I snap. “It’s not like I never visit, just not on Saturdays. I’m an event planner. Saturdays are my busiest days.”

  “The injections take place in the clinic bay. Do you frequent the clinic on your many visits?” He frowns at me, turns on his heel, and marches out.

  I follow him without apologizing, even though I know I probably should. I’m sick of feeling crappy about everything, and Fred should be nicer to family members. Isn’t that kind of elder care 101?

  I can hear her from down the hall. I don’t need Fred to lead me anymore, not with my mom calling out in pain. I race down the checkered tile floors ahead of him and swing around the corner. “Mom?”

  She’s sitting in a chair while a nurse tries to hold her arm still.

  “No needles,” she yells. “Get away from me, devil woman.”

  They’re just trying to give her the medicine. I rush to her side. “It’s okay Mom, I’m here. It’s Geode.”

  Her eyes widen. “I’m not your mother. I’ve only been married a year.”

  I sigh. “Fine, you got me. I was playing a joke. Your husband sent me. He wants you to calm down and let this lady give you a shot. The flu is bad this year, and he doesn’t needs you healthy. He already paid for for the vaccination.”

  She glares at me. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Daddy—I mean Clyde told me you might be worried. He knows how you hate needles. He said if you didn’t believe my message came from him, to tell you how he likes your hair best.”

  She lifts her head and pats her hair with her free arm. “And how is that?”

  “He likes it when you let it air dry, all curly and wild. He thinks you look like you belong in the woods with the sprites and the fairies.” My breath catches, remembering all the times Dad told Mom the things he loved about her.

  “What else did he say?” Mom grabs my hand. “My Clyde.”

  “He said you dazzled him from the first moment he saw you. He said he knew he wanted to marry you when he tasted your biscuits. The recipe your mom taught you. The secret ingredient is honey, just two tablespoons.”

  Mom beams. “He does love my biscuits.”

  “Not as much as he loves your smile.” That might be a lie, but it’s the thing I’ve missed the most.

  Mom holds still for the injection and the nurse straightens and crosses the room to dispose of the empty syringe. She bobs her head at me. “Thanks for calming her down. It should only take ten minutes before it kicks in.”

  “What’s it for?” I whisper. “I thought cortisol went directly into the knee.”

  The nurse tilts her head, clearly puzzled. “No, this is the first round of the Phineas Trial. You signed all the paperwork.”

  My lips move, but no words come out.

  The nurse’s eyes widen. “Wait, didn’t you? If I injected the wrong patient they are going to fire me, and I need this job.”

  I choke out the words, “No, I mean. I did sign the enrollment, but then I couldn’t get the fee together in time. They told me it was too late.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know anything about that.” She points at a chart. “This is your mom though, right?”

  I read the name. “Yep, that’s her.”

  “Geode?”

  My mom’s eyes light up when I turn toward her. “What are you doing here? I figured you’d be at work.”

  “I came to see you,” I say, my voice cracking. “I needed to see my mom today.”

  “You can take her to your room,” the nurse says. “But I’m supposed to hover outside the door to monitor her reaction and take notes.”

  I nod. “Fine, that’s fine.”

  Mom stands up and we walk down the hall. “It’s
nice outside today,” she says, “for winter time. Would you like to sit in the courtyard?”

  I bob my head. “I’d like that.”

  Mom takes my arm in hers as we walk down the hallway and my life doesn’t seem quite so bleak. We exit the door, the nurse trailing a dozen feet behind us. We angle two chairs so they’re out of the wind. Everything in the flower beds is dead, but the fresh air is invigorating.

  My mom takes my hand. “Tell me what’s going on, Geo.”

  “You have Alzheimer’s, Mom.”

  She nods. “I know that, and I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you.”

  I gulp in air to keep from crying. “But you’re in a clinical trial, the Phineas Trial. They have some injections that help stabilize patients so they have regular lucid intervals.”

  Her eyes take on a desperate gleam. “I don’t know whether I want that,” she says.

  “Why not?”

  She sighs. “I’m sorry. I do, of course. But when I’m lucid, I remember that he’s gone.” She crumples, tears rolling down her face. “I miss him. I miss your dad.”

  I miss you, I want to say, and you’re right here next to me. But I don’t want her wallowing in guilt, and I understand the feeling, all too well.

  “If you want me to un-enroll you. . .” I trail off, because I don’t know whether I can really follow through on my offer.

  She shakes her head. “No, don’t do that. You’re right. I miss you just as much as your father, and you’re here. And today, I’m here too.” She squeezes my hand. “Tell me everything. You’re planning events, right?”

  I nod my head. “I am. I have a bachelor and bachelorette party next weekend, and a Casino night on Valentine’s Day. I’ve also got a wedding for a, well, he’s almost a billionaire.”

  Mom’s eyes widen. “That sounds very exciting.”

  I tell her about the things we’re considering. A backyard wedding on a river, or a destination wedding in Hawaii. I tell her all about the botanical gardens that overlook the beach. “I should have checked out more places while I was there,” I say, “but I got in a fight with, well, he was my boyfriend.”

  Mom sits up. “Your what?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Was he tall? Really tall, with full, wavy brown hair and dimples?”

  I bob my head and pull out my phone. I open the photo app, knowing our photo was the last one taken, but I don’t look at it. It’ll make me bawl for sure. I swivel the phone to face her. “He came with me to see you Monday.”

  “He’s so handsome. The two of you together must have stopped a lot of people in their tracks. Tell me about him.”

  I shake my head. “That’s pointless. We broke up yesterday.”

  “Why?” Mom’s eyes are full of concern, just like they used to be.

  I don’t really want to get into it, but maybe I should. Mom always gave such great advice. “He proposed, and then the next morning, he brought me a ring.”

  Mom’s eyes dart toward my left hand.

  “I gave it back,” I say. “Actually, I might have kind of shoved it back at him.”

  “Why? Was he mean?”

  I shake my head. “You and Dad had nothing at the beginning, and you grew and learned together, just the two of you against the world. That’s why you were so strong.”

  Mom frowns. “Your dad’s a wonderful man and I don’t like saying anything bad about him, but he wasn’t wise with money.”

  “I’m sorry?” I must have misunderstood her.

  “Your father invested in every single Ponzi scheme ever created, I think,” Mom says. “No matter how many times I begged him not to, he insisted the new one would be different. He had no business sense. Not even a business penny.”

  I forgot how awful my mom’s puns could be.

  “I mean, I stayed with him, but only because I forgave him so fast. I thought about leaving him more times than you can count.” She tilts her head. “So is this handsome man of yours poor? Or rich?”

  I sigh and slouch in my seat. “He’s richer than Croesus, Mom, and it’s family money too.”

  “And?” Mom asks. “I mean, it’s not like people usually bemoan that their new son-in-law has loads of cash.’”

  I roll my eyes. “Mom, he wanted me to sign a prenup. I had to list all my assets and then it outlines the many many things he owns to make sure when he gets tired of me, I get none of that.”

  “Is he a womanizer?” Mom asks.

  I shrug. “No, I mean, not that I know of. I haven’t known him very long.”

  “Your dad and I married twelve days after we met.”

  “Wait, what?”

  She laughs. “We never really told people. But he was home from college and we couldn’t bear the thought of spending a semester apart.”

  “Did you regret it?”

  “All the time! Whenever he took every dime we had saved and invested in some cleaning supply company, or a pet food group, or once, he sank eleven thousand dollars into a company called Micro Plush. They sold tiny little stuffed animals the size of a penny. I can’t really fault him there. Ty Beanie Babies were all the rage ten years later.” She sighs. “The point I’m trying to make is that sometimes you meet someone and you just know. Your heart has more intelligence than your head gives it credit for. I’m not telling you that you should marry him. But I think you already know what you feel about that.”

  She doesn’t think it’s crazy I almost agreed to marry someone I had known for nine days.

  She pats my hand. “Are you relieved you dumped him?”

  The tears start then and I can’t gulp them back, not this time, not with all the air in the world. Mom slides her chair next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I bury my face against her shoulder. “I miss his face, I miss his jokes, and I miss the way he takes care of me. I miss his boyish grin, and his mop of hair. I miss his sister, and I miss playing him at chess. I could go on and on.”

  “He’s a chess player?” Mom asks. “That’s a lucky break.”

  I wipe my face and sit up. “I messed it all up already. Beyond repair.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom asks.

  I nod my head. “I freaked out on him when he showed me the prenup. He said it wasn’t because he wanted one, but his family required it. Actually, he didn’t even show it to me. It just fell out if his bag and I pounced on it.”

  “His parents signed one, I’m guessing?”

  I nod. “And they’re miserable. His mom hates his dad, but wants to keep running the business. It trapped them in an awful marriage, from what Trig says.”

  “And his dad sees other women?”

  I shrug. “I think so. I don’t know for sure.”

  “Do you think Trig would just divorce you for his next love interest, leaving you penniless?”

  I try to imagine Trig ditching me for another woman. I think about him when we’ve been together. He doesn’t even seem to notice the other women. Ivy, Megan, waitresses, hostesses.

  But he sees me.

  “No.” But how can you ever really know what is waiting around the corner?

  “If you don’t suspect his care for you is feigned, why did you really get so upset and break things off?”

  I close my eyes. “Maybe I’m scared. Maybe last time I almost got married, everything in my life imploded.”

  “More like exploded,” Mom says.

  I flinch.

  She wraps her arm around me again. “I’m sorry sweetheart. And you lost your dad right after that. And then me too, essentially. It’s been a rough few years.”

  Tears stream down my face again, and I wish I wasn’t such a big baby.

  “You can’t nuke every single person who tries to love you because you’re afraid of how much it might hurt. That would be my worst nightmare for my sparkly, beautiful Geode. That would be worse than if your dad and I had put you into child modeling.” She kisses my forehead and brushes my hair back. “When you were born, every single person we met gushed. ‘This is the most beautifu
l baby we’ve seen,’ they’d say. ‘Look at her eyes!’ or ‘Her hair is to die for!’ At first your dad and I loved it. You were two-years-old the first time an agent approached us, offering us the sun moon and stars if we’d let you model. Your dad wanted the money. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it was an attractive offer. Your dad had just invested in a soap company I knew was doomed, and things were tight.”

  Mom strokes my cheek. “You’ve always been the most beautiful person I know and people envy that, but they don’t understand. It’s different than being cute. It’s not the same as being pretty. It’s so much harder. There’s so much pressure, and all in the wrong places. Clyde and I decided that people needed to get close to see your true beauty. We turned down modeling scouts, and businesses looking for print ads. When you were fourteen, the first agent approached you instead of us. Do you remember?”

  I nod.

  “You were so upset we wouldn’t let you go to that audition. You’d have gotten the job, I know it. But it would have ruined you. It would have transformed you, and you were too fragile inside for that. It sounds like this Trig might have seen past your face.”

  He did. I think he really did. And I burned it down.

  “If your boy is right for you, and he might yet be,” Mom says, “he’ll forgive you. And if he won’t, then he’s not the man you need. Trust me. Anyone who lets one mistake ruin something wouldn’t have lasted anyway.”

  “I don’t think I can call him,” I say. “It’s too embarrassing. I was too horrible.”

  “Then you don’t love him enough.”

  Or I’m not brave enough. I know Trig said he wanted me to forgive him when he made mistakes, but he didn’t mention forgiving me.

  Mom plays me at a game of checkers, and then Monopoly. She hates chess, so I don’t even ask. My dad was the chess player.

  “I’m tired of thinking,” she finally confesses after I take her last property. “Maybe we could watch some TV.”

  We’re halfway through a rerun of Gilmore Girls when I notice my mom’s leaning away from me awkwardly on the sofa, her eyes darting my way now and then furtively.

  “Mom, you okay?”

  She glances around as though she’s not sure who I’m talking to. I should be grateful for the time I had, I know I should. It’s hours more than I’ve had in years. But somehow in that moment, it feels like someone sliced my heart in two. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.