Right Back Where We Started

by Fiona West

  Martina threw her phone onto the couch in a huff, and her gaze fell on her dried-out Christmas tree. This felt like the perfect day to take off the lights and ornaments and haul it out back for the birds. She’d work on him again later. A little voice in her head asked what she would do if she couldn’t change his mind, but she drowned it out with the sound of the vacuum, sucking up pine needles like it was her mission in life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  GOING TO HER PARENTS’ house was the last thing Martina wanted to be doing on Sunday. She spent most of the morning sulking and playing with the cats. She texted him again as soon as she got up.

  Martina: You’re seriously going to do this?

  Carter: I can’t cancel. I promised.

  Carter: You can trust me. Nothing will happen. It’s just dinner.

  It wasn’t about them. It wasn’t about him. It was about her. He didn’t want to elope and go to Vegas? Fine. But she wasn’t sharing him anymore. Not with Jennie Wallace, not with some random girl whose dad won a charity bid. She did trust him, but . . . but she couldn’t bear the thought of him with anyone else. And it was worse than last time, because now he knew better. They weren’t kids anymore; he should be able to see how hurtful this was. It was like she’d found a shipwreck deep in her heart, damaged and decayed, where her insecurities had made a home like a school of fish. She felt tense, worked up. He couldn’t change his mind about them, not now. Not when they’d worked so hard to get back together. She started another text, but it was immature, manipulative, and she deleted it with a sigh.

  That wasn’t who she wanted to be, wasn’t the kind of partner she wanted to be. Because they were a team. She hadn’t signed onto this goal, but if he needed this, if he needed to fulfill his commitment, she would give him the space to do so. If he said nothing would happen, she would believe him. She would believe him if it killed her.

  She was quiet at her parents’ house, and her siblings and their children seemed to notice; everyone was giving her a wide berth where she’d parked herself in the recliner. Everyone, that is, except George.

  “Tia Tini, play a game with me.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He held up a football. “Mama says you like football. Here, catch.” He threw it directly at her face; her hands flew up, but she wasn’t quick enough. The stiff leather hit her directly on her left cheekbone, and the pain had her cursing before she could stop herself.

  “Martina! Language,” her mother chided, and Martina slowly got to her feet, livid. She went to the freezer to get an ice pack, then turned to her mother.

  “How long until the meal?”

  “About twenty minutes. The breakfast casserole is almost done.”

  She nodded. “I’m calling a family meeting in the living room.” Her mother froze for a moment, then wiped her hands on her a dish towel, shaking her head.

  “Dear, I really don’t think . . .”

  “Mom. It’s time.”

  Within ten minutes, they were all assembled on the couches. Augustina and Stephen, Lola and Patrik, her mom and dad and Francesca.

  She stood in front of the fireplace, still icing her face. “This won’t take long. I need to apologize to you. All of you. I haven’t been honest with you, because sometimes, you make me so mad, I just don’t know what to say. But I’m realizing that I need to work on trusting people, and this is a start.” She turned to her older sister. “Augustina, your son hurts me on purpose. I don’t like that. I’d like you to work on it with him and give me authority to discipline him.” Wide-eyed, Gus nodded. Martina turned to her mother. “Mom, I hate being at the kid’s table just because I’m not married. I’m more than ten years older than Francesca, and it’s kind of insulting when you lump us in the same category. And I want you to put some faith in me that expressing my anger to my sisters isn’t going to break us apart. Please stop trying to sweep everything under the rug.” She made eye contact with each of the others. “I’m sorry for how my anger has kept me from really participating in family stuff. I’m sorry I’ve been so . . .”

  “Grumpy,” Francesca finished, and Martina nodded.

  “Yes. Grumpy. I apologize.”

  “Martina.” Her father sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “Is this new job too stressful for you?”

  She laughed. “No, Dad. My new job is great. And since I have you all assembled, let me announce that Carter and I are back together. He’s convinced me not to elope in Vegas, but we will likely be getting married at some point.” Every person in her family was wearing the same matching expression of disbelief, and Martina snickered.

  “Aren’t you working for him?” Lola asked.

  “No, I got fired.”

  The living room erupted in chatter in Spanish and English, and she held up her hands.

  “I got fired for kissing Carter. His dad caught us. But I have a new contract with his brother, Chase.”

  “The drug addict?” Linda gasped.

  “Yes, Mom, the drug addict,” Martina said patiently. “He also plays a mean game of Scrabble.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She turned to her dad. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I do. He’s apologized for what he did. He’s a different man now. We’re getting to know each other again, but he’s proven himself reliable. And caring. And faithful.”

  “Isn’t he in the bachelor auction?” her mom asked. “We got tickets in the mail; he was spotlighted as one of the main attractions . . .”

  Oh boy. “Yes, he is.”

  “Then why aren’t you there bidding on him?” Francesca asked.

  “Because I’m trying to trust him.”

  “Girl,” Augustina said, laying on the attitude thickly, “there’s trust, and then there’s foolishness. If you can donate to a good cause and keep your man out of someone else’s hands, why wouldn’t you?”

  Her other female relatives chorused their agreement.

  “I-I’m not dressed right,” she said, looking down at her jean skirt and polyester lace blouse.

  “Oh, Cinderella,” Lola said, “don’t worry about that. Your fairy godsisters are here. We’ve got you.” She paused. “Not that you’re dirty or poor or anything. Dang, girl, with the bank you’re making at the Carpenters’, I bet you’re the richest person here.”

  “Not if you factor in the value of my Christmas tree enterprise,” her father muttered.

  “And not if you account for my school debt,” Martina added. Then her sisters were pulling her upstairs to try on their prom dresses (they didn’t fit) and into Mom’s closet (her basic black would have to do).

  “I have stuff at home,” she protested, but her sisters wouldn’t hear of it. Within an hour, they had her eyes smoky, her hair up in a chignon, and her ears, wrists, and neck sparkling with nicer jewelry than she knew her mother even owned.

  Augustina pulled out a pair of silver stilettos and handed them to her. “I’m sorry, Tini. I knew he was misbehaving sometimes, and I should’ve done more about it. Forgive me?”

  She kissed her cheek, leaving a rosy lipstick print behind. “Of course. And I’ll forgive George, too, if he asks.”

  “He will,” she promised. “And I’m taking a parenting class at church that I hope will really help . . .”

  Martina smiled and gave her a hug. “Me too, sis. For your sake more than mine.”

  CARTER CHECKED HIS phone; it was almost time. Since he was the headliner, he’d had to go last. He just wanted to get this over with. If she hadn’t been mad at him, he could’ve spent the morning with Martina. Now he was stuck undergoing this demeaning ritual; how was it okay to auction men off, but not women? He didn’t like being looked at like a piece of meat. It was for a good cause, but . . . it was going to be difficult going on a date with someone else, even if it was purely platonic. He peeked out at the edge of the curtain to check on his mom; he’d seated her with Mrs. Durand, figuring they knew each other from the hair salon. She seemed to be happy, chatting with other people at
the table . . . including Martina. His heart stopped for a moment, and when it started beating again, it was pounding out an anthem of victory. Carter had no idea what she was doing here, but she clearly wasn’t pissed at him, and that felt like a win. He could only sort of see her, through the crowd of people, and he craned his neck to see her better, see what she was wearing. Whatever it was, it was hot. He texted her quickly.

  Carter: What are you doing here?

  He enjoyed her perplexed look as she glanced around, trying to see him. When she gave up, she texted him back.

  Martina: Just here to support a worthy cause.

  Martina: If I see anyone I like, that is.

  Carter chuckled to himself . . . that old confidence surged through his veins like a drug. She hadn’t seen him in a tux since their senior prom, and this one was custom made. It fit him like a glove.

  Carter: Oh, I think you’ll like what you see.

  Martina: You think so?

  Martina: Hmm. I’ll be the judge of that.

  “And now,” Evan Durand, the MC of the event, announced, “the final bachelor in our auction this evening, Carter Carpenter!” He walked out on the stage, hands in his pockets, grinning . . . at Martina. Even with the hot lights in his eyes, he could pick her out easily.

  “Be prepared, ladies, Mr. Carpenter always fetches a high price. What’s more, he’s informed me tonight that this will be his final auction, so this is your last chance to make him yours for the night!” A ripple of speculative whispers passed through the attendees, and Carter winced.

  “Sorry,” he mouthed to Martina, and she laughed. He hadn’t meant to drive up the price; how could he have known that she was going to show up and bid on him? But Martina didn’t seem to mind . . . her dark eyes were warm, forgiving, and he suddenly felt that they were the only two people in the room. Dr. Durand was still talking about his merits, but she had him transfixed. She was here, supporting him. Loving him.

  “We’ll start the bidding at $100,” said Evan, and Martina lifted her paddle. So did thirty other women. Carter felt his mouth go dry; he felt helpless up there, standing alone. He didn’t want her having to pay thousands of dollars to get him. Everyone knew their history; it was going to make headlines in Timber Falls when the news got out that they were together again. If people knew she was the one bidding, maybe they would let her win. He saw his mom lean over and whisper something to Martina, who turned to her and smiled. Then she stood up. He watched the other women’s eyes go wide, and he listened to the whispers race across the tables like the sound of a rushing river. Every time Dr. Durand upped the bidding, someone else dropped out. $200, $500, $600 . . . by the time they got to $750, everyone had realized what was happening and put their paddles down. The room still rolled with whispers, but it was paired with smiles.

  Martina didn’t appear to see any of it: he knew, because he never really took his eyes off her. And she never took her eyes off him. Mine. She’s mine now, and I’m hers.

  “Well, folks, I guess it’s good that he’s bowing out, because our headliner has officially made less money than any of the other bachelors tonight,” Evan joked. He looked down at Martina. “And it seems there’s a good reason for that. Ms. Lopez, please come claim your bachelor.” Martina, ever comfortable in sky-high heels, hurried up the stairs and whispered something in Evan’s ear on her way to him.

  “Sorry, I’m being corrected: Mr. Carpenter is no longer a bachelor.” The crowd got to their feet, cheering and whistling, as Carter took her in his arms. He dipped her and gave her a kiss that would leave no room in anyone’s mind whether he was happy to be leaving with this woman tonight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EIGHT MONTHS LATER

  IF SOMEONE HAD ASKED High School Martina to describe her future wedding, not much about the ceremony that was about to begin would’ve been similar. Oregon’s mercurial summer weather had dictated that her beautiful backyard wedding was rained out, and there was currently a small army of friends and volunteers re-arranging the cream and gold chairs in rows in the ballroom of the Carpenter estate. Her in-recovery almost brother-in-law Chase was directing the flower arrangements that were being delivered. Her nephew George, who less than a year ago had spit right in her face, was practicing his walk down the aisle with her niece Daisy as ring bearer and flower girl. Her future father-in-law and her dad were trying to get the white, rose-covered portico through the garden doors without destroying it.

  Even her groom was not exactly the same man she’d fallen in love with back then. Oh, he had the same name, the same stunning blue eyes, the same sandy blond hair . . . but this man was calm, considerate, and competent in a way High School Crash never was. It had been his idea to bring down the piano bench to keep his mom calm amidst the activity of the day, and now he sat chatting with her as Willow held her stuffed cat. He winked at Martina across the room, and she beamed at him. Her hair was already done in a side-swept mermaid braid, and she played with the end a little, enjoying the sight of him in his black Tom Ford tuxedo. So. Freaking. Handsome.

  “I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding,” Gus teased, elbowing her.

  “We don’t believe in luck.” We don’t need it. Some things are meant to be. Her gaze drifted back to Carter, and he was still watching her, too, his smile as heartwarming as ever.

  “Go get dressed,” Lola said, pushing her toward the stairs. “We’ve got this.”

  Martina looked around, taking in the rush of caterers, decorators, musicians, and photographers, and she threw up her hands a little desperately. “Okay. I’m going.” She’d mostly done what she could do down here without ruining her nails, anyway. If she didn’t get started on her makeup, it wasn’t going to be the rain that ruined things; it was going to be the tardiness of the bride.

  She hurried upstairs to the media room, which looked like a bridal boutique where a bomb had gone off: there were shoes, clothing, jewelry, makeup, nail polish, safety pins, and snacks everywhere. Winnie was already waiting to help her get into her dress. She wolfed down a yogurt, knowing she wasn’t going to want to eat once she was dressed. Martina stared up at the Vera Wang champagne strapless ball gown hanging on the door . . . if she didn’t feel like a princess in this thing, then it was not possible. It fit perfectly, as did the tiara Carter had gotten her. She even had gloves; she had shamelessly gone full fairy tale.

  Her phone had gone missing, so she sent Francesca to go find it; guests were already arriving. She hoped everything had come together, but if it hadn’t, at least she had the essentials: Carter, their families, and the pastor.

  Francesca popped her head into the media room. “Found your phone. Oh, and Pastor Kellen’s truck got a flat, so he’s gonna be a little late . . .”

  Winnie look at her sideways, and they both started to laugh. There was nothing else to do. They found a stool so her dress wouldn’t wrinkle and she turned on the pre-season game.

  Martina: What are you doing?

  Carter: Just waiting around. Wedding coordinator won’t let me eat. And Christopher

  finally showed up.

  Martina: Ask me.

  Carter: ?

  Martina: You know. Ask me.

  There was a long pause, and she wasn’t sure if he’d been put to work or if he really didn’t know what she was asking. Then three blinking dots appeared.

  Carter: Is there anything I can do for you today?

  Martina: Marry me.

  Carter: Gladly. That’s much better than putting snow tires on your car.

  Martina: I know, right?

  Martina: Just wait until tomorrow when we get to Hawaii . . .

  Carter: Not tonight?

  She could feel his puppy-dog eyes like he was standing right in front of her. They were driving to Portland right after the reception to stay in a hotel near the airport before they caught their early-morning flight to Kauai, but she expected the party to go late. The wedding didn’t even start until 3:00.
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  Martina: Won’t you be too tired?

  Carter: I cannot state this emphatically enough: NO.

  Martina: Thank you, by the way.

  Carter: For what?

  Martina: For changing my mind.

  Carter: Love you, Tini.

  Martina: Love you, too.

  Carter: Pastor’s here! Showtime, baby. :wedding ring emoji:

  Martina: But there’s still twenty minutes until halftime!

  Carter: Man, I hope that’s a joke.

  Martina: Should’ve gone to Vegas with me when you had the chance.

  “Here’s your bouquet,” Lola said, handing her the bundle of pink, white, and red roses. “And the florist really looked at me funny when I told them your special request.”

  Martina gently pawed through the flowers until she found what she was looking for, then grinned. “Then everything’s ready. Let’s do this.”

  EPILOGUE

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  “SEE, WILLOW? THAT ONE’S the daddy duck, because it has a green head,” Carter explained to his three-year-old, holding her on one hip.

  “I’m Willow,” his mother corrected him from the picnic table where she sat, holding her tortoiseshell stuffed cat.

  “I know,” he smiled. “We named her after you.”

  “You did?” Willow smiled back. “Isn’t that nice?” She paused, looking out where Martina was pretending to chase their six-month-old son, Nicolas, who was crawling around in the grass. “Do I know you?”

  “Yes,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m your son, Carter. And that’s your daughter-in-law, Martina.”

  “Oh, I know her. That one takes good care of me.”

  He grinned. “She sure did. We miss having you around the house, Mom.” He’d convinced Martina to let him move her into a care facility eight months ago, since he didn’t think she should have to change three people’s diapers.