At two o’clock more family began arriving. Aunt Nora brought the pumpkin pies that everybody hated but no one would admit, Aunt Debbie brought the pecan pies that everybody fought over. A can of olives was set out for early nibbles on the dining room table. The younger cousins quickly discovered them and walked around with black fingertips until Aunt Becky admonished them and swapped out for a fresh can that she supervised until dinner was served. Finally, each table was loaded with portions of all the sides. Green bean casserole, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, glazed carrots, yams. And in the middle of each table sat a plate of turkey, already carved and dished up from the birds in the kitchen.
Everyone gathered in the living room for prayer, which was given by Nana’s younger brother. Then the room burst into a fit of joyful noise as everyone dispersed to their designated seats, ready to enjoy the amazing feast.
Weston and I were seated at the long table in the living room with most of the spillover adults, as I liked to call them. The oldest adults were the ones who got to sit in the dining room with Grandmama; those included Nana and her siblings. With most of the people around us being our age, the conversation was lively. Weston had plenty of opportunities to show off his business knowledge as the men began discussing their recent investments, and the latest trends in stocks. With his connections to King-Kincaid, they were quite eager to hear his opinion.
“I’m not really one to give advice on investments,” he said. He placed his hand over mine on the table. “But I do recommend investing in Dyson Media. I hear it’s about to go through some management changes that are going to be quite excellent for the company.”
I smiled tightly around my mashed potatoes, trying not to blush. The majority of women in my mother’s family were homemakers. It felt odd for me to discuss business.
“We’ll invest,” my cousin’s wife, Sheila, said. “I’m looking forward to you taking over. You’re going to be amazing. Go women!” She gave me a wink and I winked back.
“Unless she has a baby,” her husband Jeff said.
My body tensed, my chewing paused, and Weston’s hand suddenly felt stiff over mine. This was not a conversation we’d prepared for.
“Women can’t have babies and jobs these days?” Sheila’s tone seemed to indicate this was a discussion that had been had before in her household.
Jeff didn’t seem fazed. “Every family needs to make the decision that’s right for them. What decision have you made? Will you quit working when you have children?”
I coughed, choking on my turkey. Weston handed me my water goblet, and I gulped half of it down.
“Uh, we haven’t talked about it,” he said while rubbing my back.
“You’re getting married and you haven’t talked about it?” Katie, another cousin, asked, her expression aghast.
“No, we’ve talked about it,” I said, trying to recover. What kind of engaged couple hadn’t discussed children? “Weston meant we haven’t decided. Haven’t decided when we’re having them. Not if I’m quitting. I’m not quitting.”
“Right. That’s what I meant,” he said, and from the way he looked at me, I could almost believe he was imagining the same thing I was—beautiful, blue-eyed babies with red hair and deep dimples. Smart and playful and independent.
But of course he wasn’t imagining that. I wasn’t even sure Weston liked kids.
I wasn’t even sure Weston liked me, most days.
“Will you be joining in at Dyson Media?” Jeff asked Weston, changing the subject. I’d never been so grateful to my cousin in my life.
“I’ll be staying with Reach. It keeps my hands busy,” Weston said. “Of course, any time Elizabeth needs my advice, I’m happy to give her my input.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Jeff said. “You have your advertising business. Wasn’t there some sort of a scandal a few years back with King-Kincaid? Some banking thing? I hope that didn’t affect your own business.”
Scandal? I raised a brow and looked at Weston.
He shook his head definitively. “There were rumors when the house financing bubble burst. Nothing really stuck. It was before my business got started, but luckily I had no problems.”
Weston moved his attention back to eating, and while he’d brushed off the comment, I noticed his body had stiffened, and I suddenly wondered if there was something there, something I had missed, something I hadn’t thought to look at.
Then someone was asking me to pass the mashed potatoes and someone else began a story, and I forgot all about it again.
After dinner, Weston and the men got the tables torn down and put away within ten minutes then chilled out while the women cleared dishes and washed them in the kitchen. I ignored the sexist division of tasks that resulted in more work for the women. Everyone seemed happy, and that was what mattered, I supposed.
When the last plate was dried and put away, I went to the door of the living room and waited for my uncle John to finish his story. As I waited, I watched my cousin’s baby playing, recalling the earlier dinner conversation. Was this something I wanted?
She had a toy car she was trying to roll back and forth but kept getting frustrated when it didn’t roll smoothly over the shag carpet. She started to fuss, her cry escalating in the crowded room.
Her father was already soothing a toddler on his lap, and her mother was in the kitchen whipping cream, so I stepped forward to soothe her when Weston, whose back was to me, beat me to it. He slipped from the couch to the floor, then laid down and showed her how she could roll the car on him, allowing her to make a racetrack of his torso and legs.
She squealed, delighted, and he was sexier than I’d ever seen him.
But it wasn’t just sex appeal. Yes, the feelings I had watching him with this baby were primal and base. Some sort of innate need to produce offspring was set off at the sight of him, the same feelings I’d had at the question of us having kids.
But there was heart appeal, too. Like, this was the kind of guy I wanted to be a parent with. The kind of guy who would wear a suit all week, do the dishes with me at night, fuck my brains out in the bedroom, then lay down on the floor and play with his child. The kind of guy who could be in it all the way. Not just for me, but for everything that came with.
I could picture Weston as that guy. I could picture it so well that I had to swallow twice before asking the room who was ready for pie.
After everyone was full of dessert, the games began. Some went to the back room to watch football on the big TV; the youngest kids went downstairs to play their own board games. A group of adults sat around the dining room table and began a vicious game of Uno. Aunt Becky won several rounds, as always, but the trickiest hands, the most draw-fours and surprise reverse cards were placed by Grandmama.
Weston played a good hand, too, and I hated myself for being impressed with how savagely he played against me even while he played footsie under the table. It was the same game we always played—the push and pull. The I hate you/I want you. The poke and prod.
It was getting harder and harder for me to play this game.
At eight o’clock, when families started to clean up and announce they were going home, I let out a deep sigh of relief.
Not much for goodbyes, I busied myself with cleaning up while various cousins made their farewells. I tied up the bag of trash from the kitchen and pulled it out of the trash can. I’d just started to open the door to take it to the backyard when all of a sudden Weston was at my side.
“Let me help you with that,” he said.
He was the one I needed to be away from the most. Reluctantly, I said, “You can grab the recycling,” and nodded to the blue can next to the trash.
He collected and tied that bag, and a minute later we were heading out together into the chilly, crisp night air toward the large cans that were in the back of the carport outside.
“That baby Nicola,” Weston said, as we walked. “She is just the cutest. I could gobble her up. She’s so happy!”
/> “She does seem to love everyone.” I was glad that I was ahead of him, and he couldn’t see my frown. Even though I’d loved watching him play with her, it irritated me to hear him talk about her, for some reason.
Maybe I was just irritated with him in general.
“And, man. Aunt Becky,” he went on, and I had to bite my tongue because that struck a nerve too. “She’s a killer at Uno. Grandmama needs to watch her back with that one. Though, really, Grandmama can probably handle herself. Hey, do think we should invite cousin Jeff to the wedding? And his wife seemed super cool too. Maybe we could go in with them on a gift for—“
I dropped the trash bag in the outside garbage can with a grunt and cut him off at the same time. “Stop it.”
He looked at me curiously, cautiously, as though he wasn’t sure if I meant the talking or the recycling.
I grabbed the recycling bag out of his hand and put it where it belonged, then turned to face him. “Stop it,” I said again, more harshly. “They’re not your family. We are not going in on gifts for anybody together. He’s not your cousin Jeff. She’s not your aunt Becky. And it’s not your grandmama, either. They’re my family. Mine. Not yours.”
He stood there with his mouth open for several seconds. Then I thought I caught a flash of pain behind his eyes, but it was dark and the carport light cast shadows across his face, so I couldn’t be sure. It was enough, though, to cause a sharp stab of doubt.
“You’re right,” he said softly, sincerely. “I got too into the role and crossed a line. Sorry about that.”
He turned to go back toward the house, his shoulders low.
“Weston—?” I called after him, suddenly worried I’d been wrong about everything. That he’d felt it too—that strange, real connection between us, pulling us to be something more than just an arrangement—and I’d just fucked it all up by not giving those feelings a chance.
But when he stopped and swung his head back at me, he was smiling. “Everyone’s leaving,” he said, as though I hadn’t just snapped at him. “That means all the leftover pie is ours. We got to beat your Grandmas to it, though, so come on.”
So it was like he’d said—he’d gotten into the role. With the estrangement between him and his own family, it was probably natural that he soaked up the warmth of one that was so ready to give it.
Regardless, it was still true that he’d crossed a line.
And so had I, by imagining a life with him. I needed to stop with the daydreaming and wishful thinking. Needed to harden myself. Needed to learn how to ignore these feelings before they got out of hand.
For all my father’s flaws, I couldn’t forget the most valuable lesson he’d taught me—there was no room for emotion in business.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Are you nervous?” Nate asked from behind me.
I met his eyes in the mirror, then moved my focus back to my own image as I finished knotting my tie. Elizabeth had chosen a standard tie rather than a bow in a deep midnight blue that matched my pocket square. It was a perfect color for December. Moody and wintry, and it brought out the blue in my eyes.
Brought out the blue in my mood.
“Why would I be nervous? It’s not as if this wedding means anything to me.”
“Yeah, but the girl means something to you.”
I glanced at his reflection once again, frowning. I knew Nate was the one to talk to about sex and women and good times, but I wasn’t so sure he was the one to confide in when it came to heartache. And though I’d never felt this feeling before, that was the best description I had for it—heartache—the pain, tightness, and anguish in the general vicinity of my heart.
It had been there ever since that day in Utah when Elizabeth had reminded me so bluntly that her family was not mine—that she was not mine. She would never be mine. And there was no longer any reason to ask how she felt about me because she had made it plain and clear then.
After the trip and in the week that we’d been home, I’d barely seen her. Between preparing for the wedding and getting things wrapped up at the office before I left for our honeymoon, there was just no time. And that was a good thing. Because these days when I saw her, I didn’t want to fight and I didn’t want to just fuck, and yet those were the only two things I was allowed to have.
Thankfully Nate was the only one who knew she’d become such a weakness of mine.
“I do like her,” I admitted, turning to him. “I’ll be disappointed when she goes. But it’s the circle of life, right?”
He chuckled. “That’s the spirit. By my watch you have thirty minutes. Do you need anything?”
“I could use a drink.” And another week before this was over. Another month. Another lifetime.
Nate slapped me on the back. “Save it for after the ceremony. Then you can have all the drinks you want.” He headed for the door of the dressing room. “Speaking of drinks, I have a date waiting for me in the bar. I’ve got to get down there to her. Oh, your mother was saying she wanted to see you. Should I send her to your dressing room?”
“God, no. She can see me after. When I have that drink in hand.”
He laughed again, but then grew serious. “It’s worth the pain,” he said. “Trust me.”
“My mother isn’t worth any amount of pain,” I said, wishing he would just go and give me the alone time I needed before going through with this.
“I’m not talking about your mother, Weston.”
“Yeah. I think I knew that.”
He laughed as he left, and I was alone, which I had wanted. I could finally take a moment to consider whether it really was worth the pain. It wasn’t like I’d never been sorry to lose a girl before. When I was a teenager, it seemed I’d been sorry to lose every girl. Every one of them, back then, I’d wanted to keep forever. Wanted to love forever. Was devastated when they stepped out of my car, snuck out of my room.
It was nothing more than my desire to have something of my very own. Eventually I learned that if I didn’t get attached, I didn’t experience the stab of pain that accompanied their departure.
At least once this particular heartache was done, I’d have Reach. Debt-free, something that belonged to me.
So Nate was right—the pain would be worth it. Eventually.
Still wishing I could have a shot of hard liquor instead, I walked over to the fridge to get a water bottle when there was a knock on the door. I’d already seen everyone I was expecting to see for the afternoon.
Which meant...fuck. It was probably Mom.
I girded myself for an encounter with her that I absolutely wasn’t in the mood to have when I already had so much emotional baggage to deal with.
But when I opened the door, it wasn’t my mother standing there.
“Kelly?” She was the last person on earth I expected to see. A senator’s daughter I’d spent some time with about three years ago in Colorado. Mostly naked time. She must’ve made it onto the guest list somehow.
“Callie,” she corrected, seeming mildly irritated. And deservedly so considering all that we’d done. It was a slap in the face that I didn’t get her name right. This was why I didn’t do reunions.
“Callie. I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind today.” I opened the door farther. “Come in. I’m glad to see you. Come in.”
She hesitated a moment, seeming to consider, then with a deep breath she crossed the threshold into the dressing room, and I shut the door behind her.
I didn’t remember much about Callie, but I tried to recall what I could. I’d met her on the slopes of Aspen and the week that we’d spent together had been a combination of daredevil skiing and acrobatic sex. She was attractive, more petite than Elizabeth, more athletic. Her eyes were a soft brown and her hair a light chocolate. She was one of those natural kinds of girls, the kind that didn’t wear makeup and liked adventure. She’d been a fun time that I hadn’t thought about in, well, years.
But here she was, standing in front of me, clutching the strap of her pur
se like she was nervous or excited to see me.
Either was possible.
I was suddenly nervous as well, awkward. I hated confrontations with women from my past. At least I had an excuse now for why there would be no further confrontations—a.k.a. I was getting married in less than an hour. It almost seemed fitting to see her, out of the blue as it was, since it was the last day of my bachelorhood and all.
Or temporarily, anyway.
“I really didn’t want to bother you today,” she said before I could ask her why she was here.
“No. No bother. I’m ready to go and just twiddling my thumbs. Are you here for the ceremony?” Now that I looked her over, she wasn’t at all dressed for a wedding. She wore leggings and a cotton dress over it. A scarf was wrapped around her neck and she still had her coat on and open, as though she’d come directly to my room, not bothering to stop at the coat check or find a seat first.
“No. I’m. Well,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t invited. Which is fine. I didn’t come for the wedding, is what I mean. Congratulations and all. I just came today because I knew I could find you here.”
She was definitely nervous.
Which definitely made me more nervous.
“Look, Weston, I know this is a terrible time to talk to you, so I thought I could just see you and make an arrangement to meet with you again some other time—a more appropriate time. I tried texting you a few times this summer, but you never responded, so I wasn’t sure if it was still your number. And then I tried calling your office, but your assistant is really good, actually. She doesn’t let anyone through to you without a specific agenda, and I wasn’t going to share my reasons for talking to you with her. I didn’t think it was a good idea just to show up at your place of business either. I imagined it would be the same scenario. Not that this is any better.” She seemed to rethink her actions then shook her head. “Anyway I’m here now because I didn’t know how to find you without getting lawyers involved and that was definitely not the way I wanted to go—“
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