by Kelli Warner
It’s so hard for me to comprehend what she’s telling me. Finding joy without my mom? It just doesn’t seem possible. “Cade told me about your dad,” I confess.
Her smile weakens as she stares off toward the kitchen. “I hoped that he would. My brother doesn’t like to talk about him.”
I put the lid on the Monopoly box and sit back on the sofa. Macy takes a seat beside me. “He seems pretty adamant about not wanting to see him. Is your dad nearby?” I ask.
“He’s in a minimum-security facility about two hours from here,” Macy says. “I’m guessing Cade told you what he did.”
“He said it was embezzlement.”
She nods. “But that’s such an ugly word if you don’t understand the reasons behind it. My dad is a good man, I still believe that,” she says, and her soft tone makes me want to believe it, too. “He just found himself in a terrible spot, and I think he was scared.” Macy’s face transforms, as if bearing the weight of the world, and her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “When my mom died, he lost his world. Those two were married for twenty-five years, and they were so in love. He was devastated when she died.”
Macy fidgets thoughtfully with the delicate gold chain around her neck. “But on top of that, he suddenly had sole responsibility for caring for two kids, one getting an expensive college education, and my mother didn’t have life insurance. Cade was too young to know any of that, and my dad didn’t talk to me about it. He was in over his head financially, and I think he panicked. Dad was never one to ask for help. He started skimming a little off the top from his more lucrative clients. It took about a year, but they finally caught on.”
“I’m sorry.” There isn’t anything else to say right now that wouldn’t sound completely insensitive.
“I keep thinking how desperate he must have been, and he didn’t have anyone he could talk to, to help him. I’m not angry with him,” Macy says. “I hurt for him. I try to visit him a couple of times a month, but Cade won’t go.” She glances over her shoulder toward the kitchen again. “He won’t even consider it.”
“Yeah, he made that pretty clear.”
“He’s still angry. Cade doesn’t understand how our dad could do what he did—risk everything he did and choose money over his family. Not only that, but stealing from people. Cade struggled after we lost our mom, and then he lost Dad, too. That’s a lot for a kid to handle.”
“But you did okay,” I say.
“I was in college. It wasn’t the same. I could see the situation differently,” Macy explains. “I saw a man who lost his wife and was trying to provide the best he could for his children. I don’t support what he did, but I can see how desperate he must have been. Cade only sees an extremely selfish man.”
“He told me he got into some trouble after that.”
Macy blows out a breath and nods, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. “A lot of trouble. I couldn’t seem to find a way to help him. It killed me to see him in so much pain, pretending he didn’t care. Paige, I’d give anything if he’d just go see our dad. Just once. It breaks my heart that he won’t. I think it could really help him.”
“Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
Macy’s smile fills with sadness, but as fast as it appears on her lips, it fades. “The fact that he’s willing to talk about it with you has to mean something. Right?” A spark of hope returns to her eyes. “You’re good for him, Paige.”
“I am?”
“Cade’s been different since he met you. He’s more centered somehow.” I smile, her words warming my insides. “All right, tell me about this watch,” Macy says, and I glance up to see that she’s eyeing me as I fidget with my watchband. It’s become a habit, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it. “I remember seeing it on the plane. It’s beautiful.”
“My mom gave it to me,” I say. “I never take it off.”
“Well, it’s stunning.”
“Wearing it makes me feel close to her, you know? Maybe that sounds silly—”
“No, it doesn’t. I completely understand,” Macy says. “Don’t ever apologize for anything that makes you feel closer to your mom. Ever.” She reaches out, and I lean willingly into her hug. She rubs my back, and I close my eyes, thankful once again that our paths crossed that day on the plane.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cade
I’m pressed against the wall inside the kitchen door like an eavesdropping creeper. I told myself that I wouldn’t do that, that whatever Macy and Paige talked about in the next room is their business, but when Shawn took out the trash, I couldn’t help myself. So, now I’m keeping one ear to the living room and one eye on the back door.
The sadness in Paige’s voice when she talks about her mom puts a stranglehold on my heart. I didn’t know her watch was a gift from her mother. I’ve never seen her without it, and she’s always touching it, fumbling with the band or rubbing her fingers over the glass. It all makes sense now.
It also nearly kills me to hear the hurt in my sister’s voice when she talks about our dad and my refusal to see him. Macy gets nostalgic this time of the year, but the fact remains that the man broke the law. A jury of his peers decided that. And let’s not forget, he’d abandoned his family long before the judge’s gavel sealed his fate. I don’t owe him anything, not my sympathy and certainly not my forgiveness. Macy needs to accept that.
At the sound of Shawn’s footsteps, I dart back to the sink, just as the screen door opens. Shawn returns a few items on the counter to the fridge, but he keeps glancing over at me.
“You really like her, don’t you?”
“I don’t dislike her,” I say.
“Well, that’s romantic,” Shawn quips. “You know, I might use that line on Macy later. ‘I don’t dislike you, babe.’ I’m sure that will sweep her right off her feet.”
Placing a glass in the top rack of the dishwasher, I say, “Paige is just a friend.”
“If you say so,” Shawn replies, a knowing gleam in his eye. I flick my hand, splattering him with soapy water. He jumps out of the way, but not before a few drops speckle his shirt. “Okay, okay, take it easy.” He laughs. “I’m just saying that she seems like a great girl.”
Whether Paige Bryant is a great girl is not a topic for debate. She is, by all measurable standards, a great girl. Which entitles her to be with someone who matches her level of greatness and has something to offer her in return. Do I even qualify for that title? That is the bigger question that I can’t get out of my head. Am I kidding myself to think that I’m the guy for Paige? I didn’t have any doubts until Friday night, when Quinn cornered me at the bowling alley during one of the band’s breaks. After Paige excused herself to refill her soda, that bold redhead leaned her elbows on the table and stared me down.
“Are you legit?” she’d demanded.
I’d like to take this moment to declare that never in my nearly eighteen years on this planet has anyone ever asked me that question. And I wasn’t entirely sure how Quinn wanted me to answer it. I hadn’t spent much time with her before I met Paige—zero time, to be exact. Being that she ran in circles I’d done my best to avoid, it was logical that our paths never crossed. So, having her suddenly up in my face, demanding to know if I was legit, had caught me off guard.
Quinn waited expectantly for an answer, but all she got was my confused stare. “You’re not allowed to hurt her,” she’d said.
“I don’t intend to hurt her.”
“Yeah, right. That’s what people say right before they do what they swore they wouldn’t.”
“What do you want me to say here?” I’d asked. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to believe anything I have to say, even though it is the truth.”
Quinn cocked her head to the side and stared at me. “You’re a smooth talker.” I was pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment of any kind, so I didn’t respond. I’d just stared back at her and waited for her to make the next move. She was the one with the agenda, after all. “Look, Paige
has been through a lot. She doesn’t need you taking advantage of that.”
“What makes you think that’s what I’m doing?” I’d asked. Look at that: Paige was right. I do have a habit of answering a question with another question. But if Quinn was trying to insult or threaten me, she was going to have to work a little harder at it.
“Just be a decent guy,” she’d said softly. “And if you can’t do that, then at least have the decency to walk away before she gets more attached to you.”
At that moment, in the middle of Quinn’s warning that was meant to protect Paige, all I’d felt was a tingly warmth inside me. Paige is attached to me. That made all the rest of Quinn’s commands melt away. Those were the only words that mattered.
“How’s it going in here?”
I turn as Macy and Paige step through the doorway of the kitchen.
“Almost done,” Shawn says, snapping the dish towel playfully at Macy as Paige puts on her coat.
“It’s time for me to head home. Will you walk me out?” she asks. I dry my hands and close the dishwasher as Paige thanks Macy and Shawn profusely for a great evening.
We barely make it to her car before I have my arms wrapped around her waist and I’m kissing her like I haven’t seen her in hours.
When I pull back, Paige’s eyes are closed. “Wowza,” she breathes, and I laugh.
“Not sure I’ve ever reached wowza status before, so thanks for that,” I say.
“Your efforts do not go unnoticed—so thank you.” She reaches up on her tiptoes and seals her compliment with another quick kiss, so brief that she leaves me no time to linger. Instead, she takes one of my hands in both of hers. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”
“Anything,” I say, still staring at her lips.
“My brother Tanner is thirteen, and he plays guitar. He thinks he’s awful at it, so I was wondering—” She nibbles on her lip. “Would you be willing to help him? You know, come listen to him play and maybe give him some pointers? It’s just that you’re so talented. And I kind of told him you might be willing to help him. I know I didn’t have the right to promise that, so if you’re not into it, I totally get it.”
I squeeze her hands to interrupt her rambling. Until that moment, I wasn’t sure you could make a request and apologize at the same time, but somehow, she just did it. “Of course I’ll do it. You don’t have to convince me.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to me. And I know Tanner will appreciate the help.”
“Besides,” I say, “I’m looking forward to meeting your family.”
Paige’s smile falters for a brief second, but then it’s back in place when she says, “I’m looking forward to it, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Paige
I wake on Thanksgiving morning to the sound of rain pelting my window, and I groan when I check the clock and see that it’s only 8:13. My cell phone lights up on the nightstand with a text from Aunt Faye. She’s at the airport, waiting for her flight. I smile at the screen. In just a handful of hours, Aunt Faye will be here, and I will be able to put my arms around her. Four weeks has been entirely too long for us to be apart.
Unable to fall back to sleep, I roll out from beneath the covers and head downstairs. I find Connie standing at the center island in a colorful Thanksgiving apron, stuffing a huge turkey. A small TV on the counter is tuned to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Yawning, I slide onto one of the stools. “Morning,” I croak.
“Good morning and Happy Thanksgiving,” Connie says in her eternally cheerful voice. I eye two pies cooling on a rack on the counter that were not there last night. This woman has been busy. She puts the large bird in the oven and then washes her hands as I pour a glass of orange juice for myself and return to my perch. Connie busies herself piping filling into the halves of hollowed out hard-boiled eggs.
“Can I help?” I ask.
Pleased by my offer, she passes me the bag of filling and the serving tray, then wastes no time opening the refrigerator and burrowing through the produce drawer to retrieve bags of carrots and celery. “Are you always up this early on Thanksgiving?”
“Like clockwork. There’s so much to do,” Connie says, brushing stray strands of her blond hair away from her face with the back of her hand. “Every year, I promise myself that I will take it easy and not make so much food, but I can’t help it. I have to say, though, I don’t usually have company in the kitchen this early. Jay and the kids are still sleeping.”
I let loose another yawn.
“How did you and your mom spend Thanksgiving?”
I’ve come to expect a lot of questions from Connie, but she’s usually careful about asking for information about my mother. She’s concentrating on slicing the vegetables in front of her on the cutting board, but I can feel her waiting for my answer.
“We usually went to Aunt Faye’s house,” I say. “My mom wasn’t much of a cook. If it didn’t have a microwavable option on the label, it really wasn’t her thing.” I smile at the memory, recalling the Thanksgiving when I was eleven and Mom attempted to prepare the meal all by herself. Although she’d made a valiant effort, we ended up giving thanks over chow mein and egg rolls from The Jade Palace.
“It took me a long time to learn to cook,” Connie says. “Now, I love it.”
I stare at the TV as a giant balloon of Charlie Brown fills the screen. My mom and I had watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade every year for as long as I could remember. She’d told me that someday she wanted to take me to New York for the holiday, so we could see it in person. I swallow hard.
“Paige, can you get me the small red platter under the counter over there?” I do as she asks, and she meticulously arranges the carrots and celery into a circular pattern. After covering the entire thing with plastic wrap, she returns it to the fridge and immediately gets to work peeling potatoes. Connie does everything expertly, so precisely that I can’t help but wonder how she’s dealing with an unplanned disruption like me in her structured world.
When she glances up and catches me watching her, I panic and stammer, “How—how will we eat all this food?”
Connie smiles. “Slowly. And for about the next three days, by my estimation.”
We work in silence for a few minutes while I finally finish the deviled eggs and try my hand with the potato peeler.
“Paige, look! It’s The Nutcracker,” Connie says, pointing her peeler at the TV. She turns up the volume, and the announcers are talking about the famous holiday ballet and the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” being performed by children from the New York Ballet. I stare at the young dancers, lithe and graceful, immersed in the very dance that my own two feet have done on various stages since I was eight. Unable to pull my eyes away from the screen, my chest constricts, and white noise slowly fills my ears.
“I just had a wonderful idea!” Connie’s voice snaps me out of my trance. “How about I get tickets for you, me and Lily to see The Nutcracker in Portland? The Oregon Ballet Theatre puts on a wonderful show every year.”
Distracted by both the TV and Connie’s words, I miss the potato in my hand and the blade of the peeler slices into my thumb. I squeal, dropping the peeler and the potato as blood colors my skin.
“Oh!” With lightning speed, Connie rips a paper towel from the dispenser on the counter, wets it under the faucet and carefully wraps it around my finger, applying pressure. “I should have warned you, those peelers are sharp.”
When I glance at the TV again, the dancers are gone, and instead, an ornate float featuring Santa’s workshop has taken their place. I release the breath I’m holding, feeling like an idiot as my thumb throbs with pain. “I’m fine.”
Connie wastes no time retrieving the first aid kit from under the sink and disinfecting my wound. She doesn’t bring up the ballet again, and I’m thankful. Once my thumb is bandaged, I make an excuse that I want to call Quinn and wish her a happy Thanksgiving. I head back to my room and bury myself beneath my blankets.
* * *
I’m practically jumping up and down at the living room window when Aunt Faye pulls her rental car into the driveway just after two o’clock.
“We’re so glad to have you here!” Connie gushes, welcoming Faye with a hug. Faye presents them with a bottle of wine she brought from her favorite California vineyard.
“That’s great, thanks,” Jay says, taking the bottle as Connie hurries off to the kitchen to get some glasses.
I don’t leave Aunt Faye’s side. When we settle into the living room before dinner, I hold her hand. When Connie serves the meal, I escort Faye to the chair next to mine. I know the time I have with her will never be enough, and then she’ll leave and I’ll go back to missing her. But I can’t even think about that right now.
Jay carves the turkey, and we all begin filling our plates. By the time I get through half my meal, I’m thankful I’m wearing my yoga pants. If I were wearing jeans, I’m sure I would have lost feeling to my lower extremities.
“This is really good, Mom,” Tanner manages between bites. Lily nods animatedly in agreement.
“You really outdid yourself this year, honey,” Jay tells her, refilling Connie’s wineglass and then his own.
“Paige was a big help,” she says, giving me a wink. “It was nice to have someone in the kitchen with me for a change.”
“I didn’t do much, really,” I say, holding up my bandaged thumb. “This was all you, and it’s really delicious.” Connie beams at the compliments.
“I told you we’d help, but only if you moved the flat screen into the kitchen so we could watch the football games,” Jay says.
“That,” she tells him, “will never happen.”
“Time for thankfulness!” Lily calls, setting down her fork and sitting up as tall as she can in her seat. She has a milk mustache framing her big smile.
“What’s that?” Aunt Faye asks.
“It’s a thing Mom makes us do every year,” Tanner tells her, scooping another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.