by Randi Rigby
“So, you think Drew’s going to be mad?”
“Did you hear anything else I just said?”
“Yes. But you’re thinking like you. I was wearing Drew’s away jersey at the game. It has his name and number right on it—pairing us up wouldn’t require much of a leap. A surprising number of people know my name at Drew’s school. Mr. Jarrod could’ve asked any one of them for it. And we were late getting out after the game was over. We had to wait for the team to come out of the dressing room and then Ginny sucked everyone into her drama. By the time Drew and I finally made it out to the parking lot there were only a couple of cars left. That’s probably why Mr. Jarrod was peering in the windows—he was trying to figure out which car was mine.”
“And showing up at Barton?”
I was parallel parking and frowning. “Okay. That was weird.” Then I remembered Whitney. “But, maybe not. After I was attacked on Instagram, Drew and his friends rallied the support of everyone they knew. I’m sure the name of my school came up—Barton already has a reputation for being insufferable. That’s the sort of thing people remember.”
“He was there an hour before your school started.”
“I think he just wanted to make sure he could get me alone.”
“Which is not creepy at all.”
“He’s desperate, Jack. You should’ve seen his face.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Neither does Drew. Which brings me back to the real problem: how do I tell Drew I’ve got a letter from his father for him?”
“After he specifically made you promise not to have anything to do with him.” Jack reminded me. Because he was comforting like that. “Yeah. I don’t know, Kel. You better bake the biggest batch of cookies ever and come in wearing your heart on your sleeve.”
“He’s going to be furious, isn’t he?” I turned off the ignition and thunked my forehead against the steering wheel.
“Probably,” Jack said quietly. “We don’t know their history, but whatever happened between them it was bad enough for Disney Prince to threaten physical violence against own father.”
The pit in my stomach was only growing. “Ugh. I can’t think about this right now. I’ve got to go work.” I sat up straight and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Thanks Jack.”
“Kel?”
“Yes?”
“Drew will forgive you.”
“How can you be so sure?” I sounded as miserable as I felt.
“Loads of experience.” Jack’s voice softened. “You’re annoyingly impossible to stay mad at. Good luck today with Archer Darby. Let me know how everything goes?”
I stepped out of the Mini with a composure I was far from feeling. “I will.”
Archer Darby was a husband and wife design team that recently moved from New York to Austin but they’d kept shops in both places. They specialized in high-end business to evening wear. I walked for them at the Couture Fashion Show in Dallas a few weeks ago as part of Dallas Fashion Week where they showcased some of their more formal pieces. They asked me back today to model a private preview of their spring collection for a major potential client. Along with two other girls, I was required to sign several non-disclosures before we were taken back and dressed. The buyers were male, the music quiet, and the pace slow. Beyond the initial impact, there was a great deal of interest in the details and drape of each garment. While sipping tea from exquisitely fine china, the gentlemen commented openly on what they liked while an assistant took notes.
“That all went very well,” Pippa Archer said with her pleasant upper-crust English accent and pleasant smile as she thanked everyone for all their hard work. She placed a slim hand on my arm as she turned to leave. “Kel, may I have a word with you before you go?” This felt considerably less pleasant.
I gathered my handbag and scarf and followed her into her office, my heart pounding.
“Would you mind closing the door behind you? Thanks. Please, sit. Don’t look so worried. You’ve been quite a find for us, Kel. Even our buyers commented on it. Possibly because they snapped up almost everything you wore. Thomas and I are hoping you’ll open our show for us in February during New York Fashion Week.”
I nodded. I heard myself tell her I’d be honored but it felt like I was watching someone else do and say these things from under water.
“I’ll talk to Kirstie then, shall I?”
“Please,” I finally managed, breaking through the surface of my shock and drawing breath. “Thank you for this incredible opportunity, Pippa. I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t.” She made a discreet gesture and her assistant brought in a wrapped Archer Darby box. “Often when I design I have a certain woman in mind. I must’ve been thinking of you with this piece. When you stepped out from behind the curtain with it on we all caught our breath just a little. I’d like you to have it Kel, as a gift from me and Thomas. Consider it a thank you for a job well done today.”
I took the box home and carefully unpacked the gorgeous, ice blue sheath from its bed of tissue paper. The top was fitted and it had a swingy skirt with the exception of one panel, just above my left knee, that was shorter—giving the illusion that there was an underskirt, drawing attention to my long legs. The coloring of the dress made the blue in my eyes pop. Staring at my bare-footed reflection in my closet mirrors felt oddly like déjà vu. Wistfully my fingertips searched for the skirt of the little black dress Mom found for me a lifetime ago. I still remembered that day vividly. It was the day I finally saw what she saw when she looked at me.
Thursday morning I woke up so sore from Tony’s ab workout the night before that I had to grit my teeth to reach for my phone but I was ready to celebrate. It was Drew’s birthday.
I sent him a text. Hey handsome, Happy Birthday! Can’t imagine my life without you in it. Good job you, for being born. And for growing so tall. Love you truly, madly, deeply xx
Charlie was ready to run. “Not today, buddy.” I told him. He was confused. I was putting on sweats and shoes—it looked like we were running. Until I started hauling four huge garbage bags stuffed full of balloons out of the living room.
“You off?” Dad asked, stretching as he wandered into the kitchen.
“Yeah. Thanks again for blowing all these up. Erin must really like you.”
“Maybe she just likes you.”
“Maybe she just likes Drew,” I grinned at him.
“Get out of here. I’ll take care of Charlie.”
“Be back with your car in about an hour.”
Ryan left Drew’s keys to Betty under the flowerpot by the garage for me. I quickly stuffed the cab with Hershey Kisses and balloons and decorated the outside with window markers and streamers. And then took a picture of me grinning next to his truck and hung it on his rear view mirror attached to a posh necktie and a voter’s registration card with a little note that said, “Sorry, only one of us is an adult here—and it’s not me. Happy Birthday!”
At lunch I had eighteen pizzas delivered to him at MacArthur.
After school, Tony abused me for two hours while Drew practiced with the team. Gabriela was preparing a special birthday dinner with all of Drew’s favorites and I was absolutely ditching my “fuel plan” (Tony’s euphemism for “diet of broiled chicken and steamed vegetables”) tonight. Miraculously, I made it to Drew’s house before he did. His little five-year old sister, Daisy, offered to let me hide his present in her closet. We were setting the table together when Drew finally walked in the front door.
“Hey you,” he said with his easy grin. “You’re in trouble.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not the one who’s late.”
“Drew. Shower.” Gabriela took off her apron as she walked out of the kitchen. “You can kiss Kel later.”
“Later.” I put a finger to his lips and winked at him.
“Or never,” Will gagged. “Gross.”
“Ha. I’ll remind you of this conversation in about five years, dude.” Drew messed up h
is little brother’s hair. “Be right back.”
Dinner was a smorgasbord of dishes that had nothing in common except for Drew’s love of them individually and universally—he was in birthday boy, second-helpings heaven. At the end of the meal, Gabriela triumphantly brought out a double-layer, chocolate frosted cake; candles aglow, as was her face as we oohed and aahed over her masterpiece. Ryan had been assigned chief photographer duties and he wildly gestured for us to all crowd in a bit closer as we enthusiastically sang “Happy Birthday.” But just before Drew could make his wish and blow out his candles, the doorbell rang—bringing our Norman Rockwell moment to a screeching halt.
“Are you expecting anyone mi hijo?” Gabriela asked, carefully placing the cake down on the table.
Drew shook his head and excused himself to answer the door. I was filled with a sense of foreboding. He didn’t think I was going to give Drew the letter right away—did he?
Apparently, he did.
“Happy Birthday, son,” Andy Jarrod said, his smile somewhat uncertain as he stood in the doorway. I didn’t know how I didn’t spot the family resemblance right away. In this light it was strikingly obvious that Drew, even with Gabriela’s olive skin and dark hair, was an upgraded version of his father.
Drew frowned. “What are you doing here?”
Mr. Jarrod looked past Drew’s shoulder to me. I shook my head slightly, just enough so he knew I hadn’t given Drew his letter yet. “You promised.” It was accusatory and angry.
“I’m sorry.” I could feel the color flooding my cheeks. “I was waiting for the right time.”
Drew turned to me in confusion. “Kel?”
“He wanted me to give you a letter.” My voice was small but I squared my shoulders and owned it. “I told him I would.”
“When?!”
“Yesterday. At Barton.”
Incredulous, Drew rounded on his father, slamming him up against the house and pinning him there. “You went to her school?! I told you to LEAVE HER ALONE!”
“Children, go in the other room and watch a movie,” Gabriela quickly said, nodding at Ryan.
Their eyes were huge. Daisy looked like she might cry. “Come on guys.” Ryan hurriedly put his arms around his younger siblings and ushered them into the TV room.
“Drew,” she said quietly, placing a gently restraining hand on her son. With a final angry push, Drew released him and stepped away. But he stayed between Gabriela and her ex-husband and he looked like he could plow a fist into his father’s face at any moment. “You need to go, Andy. Now.”
Andy was defiant. “I don’t get a say in this?”
Gabriela shook her head. “You gave up your right to have a say with us a long time ago. You’re no longer welcome here.”
“You can’t shut me out, Gabi. He’s my son, too.”
Drew’s blue eyes, so like his father’s, were practically sparking. “I have news for you Dad. I’m officially an adult now. I can make my own decisions. We’re done. Don’t come back. And stay away from my girlfriend. Next time, Mom might not be here to save you.”
“I just wanted…”
Drew shoved him, knocking him over, and then stepped back and slammed the door shut with a ferocity that echoed throughout the house and startled both Gabriela and me.
“Mi hijo,” Gabriela cautioned and she softly added something else in Spanish I couldn’t quite make out.
“You’re getting a restraining order against him, Kel.” Drew grabbed his truck keys. He was clearly disgusted with me, his father, and maybe even himself. “I need some air.”
I helped Gabriela and the kids somberly clean up the kitchen. The candles had all melted into wax puddles on the cake and gone out. When he didn’t return after an hour, I pulled the letter out of my purse and left it with Gabriela.
“Give him time, Kel. He’ll find his way back to us.”
I numbly nodded. On the way home I called Jack.
“Hey Kel. What’s up?”
“Tell me again how impossible it is to stay mad at me.” My voice was tremulous and wire thin. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep the tears at bay. “Please, Jack.”
11
“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart,
the waking up is the hardest part”
John Mayer
“McDreamy working tonight?”
“He had other plans,” Dad said, his hand on the small of my back as we walked into the kitchen where most of the family had assembled. “It’s just us today.”
I tried my best to smile. “Need any help, Gran?”
Sam brought Liesel. She was tiny, barely 5' tall, with a dark pixie cut, a little button nose, and big brown eyes with crazy long, spiky lashes. “Oh my gosh, you’re Texas Tall!” she squealed and then punched Sam in the thigh. Mostly because that was what she could reach. “Why didn’t you tell me she was your cousin?”
“Who’s Texas Tall?” Sam looked confused.
“Seriously?” Liesel said.
“We love him anyway,” I smiled. “I’m Kel. It’s nice to meet you, Liesel.”
“I bought all the products you used for your natural face video.” She leaned in and pointed to her cheeks. “See, dewy, right?”
“Nice. You have amazing skin.”
“Where’s Drew?” Landry said, hauling in chairs. “His fantasy football team is totally kicking…it,” he finished sheepishly when he noticed Gran archly watching him with a dishtowel in her hand and an eyebrow raised.
“I’m not sure.” He hadn’t returned any of my calls or texts. He’d been radio silent for three days now. I was trying to give him space but I felt wobbly and lost and scared that he even needed it. “Did you want this asparagus in spears or bite-sized?”
“Spears.” Gran handed a salad to Aunt Jill for tossing. “We’re grilling it.”
“You’re even prettier in real life. What’s it like being a model?” Liesel asked, climbing up onto a stool to supervise Sam’s potato mashing.
“A lot of hard work,” Aunt Shae said, putting the finishing touches on her fruit platter. “And not nearly as glamorous as you’d imagine. Kirstie told me Archer Darby wants you to open their show for New York’s Fashion Week. Congratulations, Kel. That’s huge.”
“Thanks.”
“Up.” Hal was tugging on my leg.
“Let’s leave Kel alone,” Jules said, scooping up her son. “Look, she’s making your favorite vegetable.”
“Really?” Liesel frowned. “I couldn’t face asparagus until I was a senior in high school.”
“She was kidding.” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Samuel Mann McCoy,” Gran scolded.
Trey hooted and snapped the length of his forefinger against his middle finger several times, making a clacking noise. “Somebody’s in the doghouse, Sammy boy. Pops says the steaks are about done. Anyone seen Brody?”
Sam looked chastened. “Sorry, Liesel. It’s just, you know, no one likes asparagus when they’re a kid.”
“Haven’t seen him,” Cade said, walking in with Brody on his shoulders. He put his hands to his mouth. “Bro–dy. Bro–dy.”
“He’s up there,” Noah giggled, pointing at his grinning little brother who was hanging on tightly to fistfuls of Cade’s hair.
I made my way out to the back porch where Pops was manning the grill with Uncle Bryce, Uncle Nick and Dad. “Asparagus. I brushed it with olive oil and kosher salt. It’s ready to go.”
“Thanks sweetheart.” Pops took it from me and handed it to Uncle Nick. “Where’s Drew tonight?”
“With his family,” Dad said quickly. Maybe too quickly. Uncle Bryce was suddenly watching me very closely. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep this up. Dad rescued me. “Kel, would you please grab one more platter for us?”
I returned to the kitchen. “Claire, we need one more platter for the meat. Is there anything left in the cupboard?”
She stopped putting rolls in breadbaskets and checks. “Big or small? Actually
, take this one.” She removed the last three rolls off her now empty tray, dusted it for crumbs, and handed it to me.
“Hey Q.” He was hunkered down scratching Charlie’s ears. Sorry, buddy. “Would you please take this out to Pops? Try and keep your hands off the top of it. If there’s any dog hair in the meat Gran will have both our hides.”
Sneaking back through the hallway I made my way to Gran’s cell phone basket. Digging mine out I slipped out the side door and into the rose garden and the relative privacy of the stone bench and texted Drew: At Pops and Gran’s. Everyone keeps asking about you. Don’t know what to tell them. Wish I did. Mostly I’m just missing you. So much. I love you Drew Jarrod. Don’t forget that.
I sat and stared at my phone, willing three little dots to appear but they don’t. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“Kel, awe you sad?” Brody. The kid got around.
“No,” I sniffed.
“You awe cwying.” Nailed by a two-year old.
I swiped at my eyes. “Are you hungry Brody? I’m hungry.”
“I’n hungwy too.”
“Let’s go eat.”
He put his chubby little hand in mine. “No phones,” he sang, pointing at my contraband. “No phones!”
I smiled in spite of myself. I almost wished Jack were here to witness it. This is why I was the way that I was.
Monday night as I was climbing into bed I got a text, but not from Drew.
It was from Travon. What’s up with our boy? You guys okay?
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I responded. Wish I knew. Haven’t heard from him since his birthday party.
Dude looks baaad. Don’t think he’s slept in days. What’s up with that?
His dad showed up. They had words. Drew shoved him up against a wall. If his mom hadn’t been there he probably would’ve taken him out.