“But it’s a good thing my boyfriend has a jacket to warm me with.” She smiles up at me, and I fake shiver in my button-down.
Lily laughs as we walk up to Carlucci’s, the nicest restaurant in Fawn Hill. It wasn’t much, no crystal stemware or wine by the bottle, but their marinara sauce was out of this world and the service was excellent. The family who owned it were also good friends of my parents, and both Lily and I had come here plenty of times growing up.
Taking her to dinner was a risk I was willing to take. There was a real possibility that Eric Grantham would begin his crusade to ruin me like he’d promised if he ever found out I was sniffing around his daughter again. But … after spending so much time with Lily, I almost didn’t care anymore. I was a grown man, no longer a little boy quaking in my boots at the thought of what my father or her father might do to us if we didn’t stay apart.
I’d told her I was in love with her, and that was blinding me. It made me feel invincible, especially since she’d said it back, and that numbing agent was either great or disastrous. Senator Grantham, in all likelihood, already knew about us. But, it was a necessary evil I’d have to combat. I was in a relationship with Lily now, and that meant public outings. That meant showing other people how I felt about her.
If he wanted to come after me, I wasn’t going down without a fight. And in the meantime, I was going to live my life. Shit, it had been ten years since I’d really lived the way I wanted to.
As we walked up to Carlucci’s, a familiar figure lingers by the entrance, holding what appears to be a bottle of wine.
“Mrs. Nash?” Lily cocks her head to the side, a curious smile painting her blood-red lips.
She’s never worn the color on her mouth before, and it’s driving me a little insane. I want to feast on it, kiss it right off.
“Lily! Oh, I am so glad Bowen asked me to come tonight. I’ve been waiting, rather impatiently, for our reunion. And how many times have I told you, call me Eliza!”
My mother wraps Lily up in a hug, and the two women embrace as if one is a soldier coming home from war. Lily pulls back and smiles at me while giving me a look that says, “Wow, you’re taking me to dinner with your Mom. I’m impressed.”
Taking her to dinner with my mother? That just shows her how serious I am about her. Or so I hope it will. My mother adores Lily, always has, and she was practically giddy when I told her that we were officially dating again and I wanted to take them both to Carlucci’s.
“Shall we?” I open the door, letting them pass through.
Once inside, Mom greets Mr. Carlucci at the host stand with a double cheek kiss, and Lily gets one, too. I shake his hand, and from there we’re escorted to our table. As we peruse the menu which we’ve all had memorized for about twenty years, my mother asks Lily how the library is. She used to volunteer there every month or so but was asked to be a school lunch aide this year and has given herself fully to the task. Mom loves children and getting to supervise the elementary school kids each day is the highlight of her life right now.
I listen as they chatter back and forth about the town, Mom’s new job, the projects Lily has going on, the upcoming holidays, and everything in between. I just sit back, contributing to the conversation every now and then, but genuinely happy to hear the two most important women in my life get along.
Some restaurant patrons are looking at us, trying to be discreet about it but I can still feel their eyes. I purposely hook my arm around Lily’s shoulders as we sit side by side, so everyone knows that yes, they’re finally together. Bowen Nash and Lily Grantham have finally squashed their beef and are in love again. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a story in the paper next week, that’s how weirdly obsessed this town was with its gossip.
“Bowen, have you heard anything back from that team in St. Louis?” Mom asks, dipping a piece of crusty bread into the sauce on her pasta dish.
I nearly choke on the sip of wine I just swallowed. Jesus, she just lobbed that grenade out of left field.
“Ah, no, I haven’t heard anything.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin, trying to downplay this whole topic of conversation.
“Well, I think it’s so great that you want to try to get back into baseball.” Mom claps her hands together.
She has no idea how awkward she just made this dinner but bless her for being a wonderful mother who supports me.
“You want to play again?” Lily looks me in the eye, her voice taking on an uncertain note.
I shrug, fumbling to explain. “Well, no. Coach, probably. Or scout. Or nothing. I don’t know, I just thought … before we got back together I put some feelers out there. That’s all.”
Lily nods. “And you had an interview?”
Mom cuts in. “With a minor league team in Missouri. For a hitting coach position. Don’t you remember how great he was out on that field?”
The smile that crosses my mom’s face is one of pride, and it must be contagious because Lily takes on the same expression.
“I do. Remember when he hit that grand slam in the playoffs junior year?” She grins up at me.
My mother nods, laughing. “And his face was so smug as he rounded those bases. That was off that pitcher who’d been throwing insults at him on social media before the game.”
“Cracked my lucky bat in half, but it had been worth it.” I chuckled, somewhat surprised at how light this conversation is.
Typically, when I think about my glory years on the diamond, it’s shaded with bitterness and regret.
But tonight, I’m … having fun remembering the old days.
The rest of dinner goes off without a hitch and leaves us all with smiles on our faces and holding our very full stomachs. When Mr. Carlucci comes over asking if we’d like dessert, we all beg off after having stuffed ourselves with pasta and bread. I pick up the bill like the gentleman I am who is trying to impress both his mother and his girlfriend. And when Mr. Carlucci comes back with my card, he drops off two takeout bags of hot, gooey chocolate chip cookies.
After kissing my mother goodbye and making sure she gets to her car safely, Lily and I head home.
Ten minutes later, as we walk into my house, the topic I’ve been trying to shy away from is at the forefront of Lily’s mind.
“So, you had an interview?” Lily’s trying to be curious, but I know she is hurt that I didn’t tell her about my job search.
Or explain what it might mean for us.
“It was unexpected. Honestly, it wasn’t even scheduled. I spoke with one scout I used to know, and he sent them my way. I probably won’t even get it. I’m not even sure I want it.”
I’m rambling, which is so unlike me, and Lily hasn’t turned to look at me since we walked through the front door.
“Okay. Well, just … keep me in the loop, okay?”
Her voice has a forced lightness to it, and I know I should reassure her, be honest about what my intentions were when I took that interview … but I don’t want to get into it. Just like every other serious issue plaguing our relationship, I push it to the back for just a little while longer.
I nod, crossing to her to take her coat and hang it on the rack.
“Now, let’s dig into that bag of cookies. Better yet, let’s take them to bed.” She smiles, reaching for the takeout bag Mr. Carlucci left with our check.
Thank God she is letting this drop for now. I don’t think I have another fight left in me after the past week of tension with her, and I am being honest. Even if I was offered the position, I’m not sure I’d take it.
Twenty-five minutes later, we’re both in bed, Lily’s face is washed and free of the minimal makeup she wears, and there are chocolate chip cookie crumbs dotting the sheets.
It’s then that she asks me the hardest question she has about the accident, yet she has no idea it’s the most difficult to answer.
“Do you miss him? Your father?” Lily looks up at me, her eyes so innocent. “Being at dinner tonight with your mother, I could feel his prese
nce. It must be very hard for her. For all of you.”
How do I answer that question? Of course, I miss my dad. His death is the second most horrible thing I’ve ever experienced, the first being our accident. It’s a specific kind of torture, losing a parent. Especially for a son to lose his father. I feel like I’ve become untethered like there was this person who anchored me and now I have to make every decision without consulting that source of solidness. There was grief, hurt, anger at him leaving so soon and then there was something else.
Since the day my father had come to me and said stay away from Lily, I’d hated him. A part of me smoldered with the fury I held like a torch for him, and it hadn’t abated to this day. His death had only intensified the feeling because we’d never resolved any of it. The day he revealed the mutually assured destruction pact to me, I’d been so angry that I’d barely spoken to him for months afterward.
On the outside, our relationship may have thawed. But really, I’d always carried this resentment. And now it had nowhere to go, except fester inside me like an old, infected wound.
So instead of being honest, I lie. I tell her what she wants to hear. “Of course. Every day.”
Lily sighs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”
My brow furrows. “You were at the funeral.”
I remember seeing her there, in her black dress. Even in black, even though we were standing across the room at my father’s funeral, I remember thinking how beautiful she looked. And then an idea had sprung … since my father was dead, I no longer had to stay away from her.
My feet had begun dragging me to her, one step across the church and then the next …
Until I saw Senator Grantham pull her into his side. He was the only person smirking at my father’s funeral mass, and the grin was directed right at me.
He knew that I knew about the deal they’d struck. And it was clear, from his expression, that he expected me to abide by the rules even after my father’s passing. It made that day even harder than it should have been.
“I know.” Lily sighs, breaking me from those thoughts. “I just mean, I wish I could have been there for you. I … these last ten years have been so hard. With no explanation, we were separated for ten years …”
She still wants me to explain why I left her in the hospital. And we’re wading into dangerous territory again. “Lily …”
“I know. I know. But come on, Bowen, I can’t just take ‘I can’t tell you that’ as an answer forever. I can’t lie here, in your bed, pretending that after a decade of heartache and pain, we’re just completely fine again. We’ve taken it slow, and now we’re in deep. At least I am. Aren’t you?”
Gently, I lay my lips on her cheek. “I took you to dinner with my mother tonight. At Carlucci’s, in front of the whole town. You know me, and I’m not a public guy. I’d say that should show you just how all in I am with you. And don’t give me this whole, ‘aren’t you?’ question. I told you, and I’ll keep telling you, I’m in love with you. As deep and as wide as the ocean, baby.”
I know I’m trying to make light of the situation, but part of me wants to delay the inevitable for a little longer. We just got on solid ground, having told each other our true feelings.
She gently nudges my shoulder with her hand. “I love you, too. But don’t make a joke out of this. I know we’re good, but I want to be exceptional. I want to have a relationship with no secrets, one where we can acknowledge our past but feel no bitterness toward it.”
Obviously, this gorgeous woman in bed next to me is right, but I just can’t tell her yet. I need a little while longer where she doesn’t look at me with betrayal and hurt in her eyes.
Because that’s how she will look at me.
“We’ve had a nice night. I know you deserve an answer, but can we just take it one hurdle at a time? We said I love you. We went out on a date, which also happened to reconnect you and my mother. Can that be enough for tonight?”
Please, God, let it be enough.
When Lily leans over to plant a kiss on my lip, then turns her light out, I know I’m off the hook for one more night.
“I love you,” she whispers into the darkness, curling her body against mine.
It takes me a full hour and a half staring off at the ceiling before my worried brain finally gives out and allows me to fall asleep.
31
Lily
Presley and I roll up our yoga mats, the sweat on mine leaving me semi-disgusted.
“We should probably put an ambulance on standby next time we decide to do hot yoga by ourselves.” She opens the front door of the studio and a cold gust of October wind flies in.
I breathe the frigidity in and chuckle. “Imagine? Us passed out on the floor because we wanted an intense workout.”
“I’ve seen crazier at a soul cycle class.” Presley laughs, handing me a cup of strawberry-infused water as she fills one for herself.
Breathing in through my nose, I try to calm my racing heart down after the yoga boot camp my friend just put me through. She’s testing out classes to add to the schedule, and apparently, I’m her guinea pig. Not that I mind … it means a free class and a crazy good workout.
“Your customers are going to love that class. I feel like I just ran a marathon in a sauna. I may not need to work out for the next week.”
Presley shakes her head. “No, we want people to come back every day. That’s the whole point of business.”
As if she needs to worry about that. The studio is doing great and is the talk of the town. Even most of the older crowd in Fawn Hill love Presley’s senior classes on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.
“So business is doing great, but how about you and your husband?” I wink, calling Keaton by his new moniker.
She blushes. “Isn’t it so sexy that he’s my husband? Who would have thought, me, gushing over the title of the man in my life?”
“I did. From the minute I saw you two together the first time, I knew it was meant to be.” I smugly nod my head.
Presley rolls her eyes, sitting on one of the chairs near the front door to put her sneakers on. “You wear such rose-colored glasses, Lil. I love that about you.”
Something about her words snag on my heart. “And sometimes it gets me into trouble.”
My friend looks up, surveying my expression. “Uh oh, what’s going on?”
I shrug, doing that fake thing people do when they act like they don’t want to talk about it, but really they want to.
Presley catches on. “Don’t tell me nothing. Your shoulders sagged with relief when I asked what was wrong, so spill. You forget that I teach yoga for a living. It’s literally my job to read the areas in people’s bodies where they carry stress.”
“You’re right … and of course, it’s Bowen. We went to dinner the other night with Eliza, which was wonderful. You’re so lucky she is your mother-in-law.”
“I know,” Presley agrees, smiling.
I continue, “But she let slip that he is interviewing with minor league baseball teams for coaching positions. Teams in other states. Possibly even across the country. He didn’t even tell me, Pres. I feel like every time I turn around, there is another secret he’s been keeping. I hate that I’m being left in the dark.”
Past the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the shopfront of the studio, Main Street bustles with Saturday afternoon energy.
“I thought you were doing so great, though. He told you he loves you.”
“He did. But he’s also keeping secrets. About our past, about what’s happening right under my nose. It’s my fault as well. I keep letting him get away with this stuff. I know I do; I know I’m pulling the wool over my own eyes. But part of me wants to stay in this happy little bubble for a little while longer? We love each other, right? Can’t that be enough for now?”
“It can, as long as you’re not affected by or thinking about all of those issues on a daily basis.” Presley’s expression clues me in to the fact that she knows I
’m always thinking about them.
And she’s right. Because when I’m not with Bowen, pretending we don’t have any elephants sitting in every room we occupy together, I’m always thinking about them. The elephants, the issues, whatever you want to call them … they’re always on my mind.
“How can he keep these things bottled up so tightly?”
Presley smiles. A small, sympathetic smile, one that says she’s not saying what she really wants to.
“What?” My tone is all attitude.
She sighs. “Bowen is the middle child.”
“He’s one of four.” Her math makes no sense.
“That may be, but Keaton is the oldest, which makes him the golden boy. Believe me, I’m married to the man. In the eyes of his family, he can do wrong. I kind of hate him for it sometimes. And the twins are a set, they’re basically one giant baby and Eliza treats them as such. I love her, but the twins can also get away with murder and she won’t bat an eye. Bowen, he’s the middle child … he’s like me.”
My heart settles, opening to listen to her. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll never truly understand if you’re not a middle child, and I love you as much as I love yoga, but you’re an only child, Lil. You’ll never really get what it’s like to scrounge for attention, to try to live up to a sibling or appear the best in your parent’s eyes. Or, when all that goes south, to just keep everything to yourself. It’s a default for you, you get every role.”
Presley goes on, “Bowen and I, we were the forgotten ones. I’ve never actually spoken to him about it, but I know that for me, being a middle child determined the way I blossomed. It dictated a path I followed for a long time, and only once I truly stopped caring what other people thought and had the unconditional love of someone who truly cared for me, was I able to veer off it. Naturally, my family loves me, as does Bowen’s, but there were whole years where my parents spent more time on my brother and sister than me. I think … not that Eliza meant to do it, but Bowen could have been in that position, too. It doesn’t help that he’s the introvert, that he literally doesn’t like to be complimented or given praise. After the … after your accident ended his career, he probably retreated further into that middle child role. It’s tough, and you can’t escape the loneliness of it sometimes. That’s all I’m saying.”
Forgiven: The Nash Brothers, Book Two Page 15