“Uh, I don’t remember . . .”
“Oh, come on, Hugh, yes you do.” I waited an extra beat to really give him time to sweat. “You told Mom we weren’t as solvent as we’d like to be. Of course, you couldn’t have predicted she’d take that information and become Michael Milken, but—”
“What?” Hugh sounded really confused.
“None of your business. Anyway, Hugh, what the fuck were you thinking? And what happened to all that money? I should’ve wondered why you were so interested in keeping track of our finances when you never had been before. Where’s the money, Hugh?”
Now he sounded nervous. “Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly.”
“Sure. Sure you don’t. Remember this conversation when Aidan’s getting teased because his clothes are out-of-date. Remember how important wearing the right thing is, Hugh? Remember how important it is to have health insurance, electricity, phone, Hugh? My lawyer will be talking to yours. You can bet on that.”
I slammed the phone down, not even waiting for Hugh’s reply. Asshole. I knew I didn’t have any proof that he’d stolen from us, but I also knew he’d taken our money we’d agreed we’d save for the future.
And it was not something he was going to be able to get away with ever, much less in a million years.
I heard Aidan coming up the stairs, his voice as excited as I’d ever heard it. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he sure sounded thrilled. I smiled that wistful smile I’d had on my face every time I thought about Nick’s leaving. It’s not as if I thought we’d fall madly in love and ride off into the sunset if he stayed; he’d made his intentions, if not his feelings, pretty clear. No, it was just that Aidan already adored Nick, and it would be amazing if my son had a grown-up male who was responsible, responsive to him, and actually liked him. That was a hard trifecta to find.
Aidan ran up the last few steps as I opened the door, his face lit up with excitement. “Mommy, Mommy, we got to go on the trampoline! And Nick said I was better than he was, do you believe that?”
I met Nick’s eyes and gave him a grateful smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to smother a grin.
“That sounds great, honey. Come on in and take your coat off and you can tell me all about it.”
Aidan chattered nonstop while I removed his jacket, his sweatshirt, and his sneakers. “And then, Mommy, do you know what?”
“What, honey?”
“There was a boy there—an older boy, he said he was eight—and he couldn’t even do what I could.”
“Wow. That sounds amazing.”
“Yeah, Aidan was great on the mats, too.” Nick ruffled Aidan’s hair, then stepped toward the door. “Well, I should get going.”
Aidan sprang to his side, clutching his hand with all the gratitude of a well-fed puppy dog. His face looked like he’d been digging up bones in the dirt, too. “You can’t go now. You promised to play dinosaur with me.” Aidan screwed his face up into a pleading look. Nick shot me a questioning glance.
“Aidan, honey, Nick probably has something to do.” Like leave New York City. “He’ll be around another time.” I licked my finger and tried to get the worst bit of the dirt off his face.
Aidan twisted away from my hand. “Nick?” It broke my heart to hear Aidan’s anguished cry. He’d been almost stoic throughout the whole mess with Hugh, but I knew it had taken a toll somewhere. And I was seeing it played out as another grown-up male tried to leave.
“I can stay, as long as your mom makes me coffee,” Nick said, winking at me.
“Coffee’s what Mommy loves best,” Aidan exclaimed. “Besides me, of course.”
“Of course,” Nick agreed.
I smiled at Nick over Aidan’s head. “I’ll go make it, then,” I said and walked to the kitchen.
When I got back, bearing the best coffee I knew how to make, Aidan and Nick were sitting on the floor, about a hundred million Legos strewn around them. I put the cup down on the table next to Nick, who immediately picked it up and took a sip. His eyes closed in what I assumed was caffeine bliss. Yet another thing we had in common.
“Mommy, we’re making robots!” Aidan exclaimed, gesturing toward at least half a dozen completed figures.
“I thought you said dinosaurs.” I squatted down next to him and tousled his hair. He shook his head in clear exasperation. “Not dinosaurs, Mommy, robots. And when we’re done, they’re going to battle!” He got back to work, his little fingers painstakingly pushing the tiny plastic circles into the tiny plastic holes.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Nick said.
I squatted down next to him. “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked in a low undertone.
He touched my arm in a reassuring gesture. “Of course. Don’t worry so much.”
Yeah, and while I’m at it, I’ll try not to be brunette. Or whiter than a flake of snow. How about confident? Oh, shoot, I forgot. I am confident. Hear me roar.
“Well, thanks.” Our eyes met and held for a moment. I gave him a half smile, then rose again. “Well, if you guys are okay, I’m going to go work on paying some bills. See you in a while.”
I headed down the hall to my bedroom. I had to get out of there before I burst into tears. Why did Aidan have to bond with the one man who was leaving town? Why did I have to want him, too?
What was wrong with us that people kept leaving?
Remembrance of Things Yeast
We’ve done a good job summarizing works of literary fiction in these blurbs, haven’t we?
Well, here we just have to throw our hands in the air and admit defeat. Proust is unwieldy, beyond long-winded, spinning out minutiae as if we had a lifetime to read his work. And sorry, Marcel, but we don’t, even if you hand us a madeleine and some tea.
We’d rather eat this light, fluffy, and completely insubstantial bread. Yum.
23
THE NIGHT OF THE OPENING WAS A GORGEOUS SPRING EVENING: A soft breeze drifted through the trees, it was mild, and most of the tourists must have wandered over to Bubba Gump or somewhere because the sidewalks weren’t even that crowded.
I emerged from the subway and took a few deep breaths. This was it. This was the moment I’d been working toward all summer.
Plus, I tried not to remind myself, this’d be one of the last times I’d see Nick.
I walked resolutely toward the brightly lit shop; most of the other stores had closed for the night, so the store was a beacon across Forty-second Street. I smelled the pastry aroma half a block away, and my mouth started to water.
No matter what his other faults, Simon really was an incredible baker.
There was a camera crew at the shop’s entrance, and a tiny red carpet that made me smile as I stepped on it. This was the closest to glamour I’d probably ever get, and I had to admit it was pretty cool.
“Welcome, Molly.” Simon, of course, met me at the door, his expression showing none of the pissed-off-ness I’d come to expect from him.
“Yes, welcome,” a woman’s voice chimed in behind him. Simon turned halfway around and put his arm around the shoulders of a stunning woman who gazed at him in adoration. He gave me that Cheshire Cat look.
No wonder he wasn’t pissed off anymore. “This is Sarah,” he said. “She does PR for the network.” She had that thin, glassy-eyed look that came from not eating enough.
“Hello, Simon, nice to meet you, Sarah,” I said. “The shop looks amazing.”
It really did. The glass windows and clean steel lines of the tables were a complement for the wall décor, which featured old book covers, bookmarks, reading glasses, and other literary detritus. Behind the counter a large sign had pictures of Simon’s offerings along with my descriptions, written in charming calligraphy. The people who were serving were garbed as the stereotypical absentminded authors, with pens tucked behind their ears, ink stains on their monogrammed shirts, and all wearing similarly geeky glasses.
“Thank you, Molly. Thank you for all of your har
d work,” he added almost as an afterthought. “I have to say, I had my concerns when Natalie was off the project.” He frowned. “I heard about the stunt she pulled when her friend heard the plans. Thankfully we’d already booked the meeting with the network. Of course that’s not the worst thing an ex has ever tried after we’ve broken up.” He sounded as though heartbroken women pulled hijinks like this all the time. No wonder he was so aghast—and didn’t believe me, in fact—when I dumped him.
Which was one of the best decisions I’d made. At least in the last few months, maybe ever. The guy didn’t have an unselfish bone in his gorgeous body.
It was no wonder he’d chased after me so aggressively—once Natalie was out of the picture, he didn’t have a woman on call. I doubted he’d ever been in that situation, not since he’d gone through puberty.
I snagged a glass of champagne from one of the author-waiters and eyed the tables piled with desserts of every shape and size. Tonight I was going to eat one of every single item, even if I burst at the end. I deserved it. What’s more, I wanted it.
John came up from behind me as I was pondering which treat to eat next—the chocolate one or the other chocolate one. “Molly,” he said, clasping my hand with both of his, “so glad you’re here. The network is filming the event, they think they might be able to create some sort of special on it later on, especially if Simon’s test goes well.”
“Simon’s testing for TV?” I said. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I mean it wasn’t as if there were that many—maybe not any—chefs as good-looking as Simon. He seemed born for TV, I shoulda been surprised he didn’t already have a show.
“Yes, that was part of what Natalie was bringing to the table, actually. She has network connections, we almost lost the chance when she and Simon . . .” His words trailed off.
“It would just make so much sense for him to segue to TV, though. I’m glad your company gets the chance to see it through. You guys deserve it.”
Speaking of deserving—I spotted Nick at the other end of the room. He had dressed up for the occasion, and was wearing a dark suit with a tie.
Holding a coffee cup in one hand and a huge flaky bear claw in the other.
As I watched him, he took a bite of the pastry, then grimaced as flakes drifted down and onto his suit.
Even without the baked flakes adorning him like tinsel on a Christmas tree, he was entirely lickable.
I told myself to settle down but still found myself making a beeline toward him. He gave me a guilty little-boy grin when I approached and wiped his face with a fancy linen napkin.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replied, keeping his gaze on me as he took a sip from his cup. “Want some?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I already downed a few at the door. Nervous habit.” I tilted my glass toward him. “Have you had any champagne?”
“I wish I could. I have to make sure everything goes absolutely perfectly tonight. Make sure Simon impresses all the right people.” His expression showed what he thought of that.
“Should I not—?” Suddenly I felt like I shouldn’t be drinking or something.
He waved me off. “No, have fun. You deserve it.”
“Hey, thanks for helping my mom out.”
His face went blank, then his eyes widened in what looked like shock. “She told you?”
“Told me—what?” Now I was surprised. “She has voluntarily been going through her finances, whereas before you spoke to her, I had to threaten to destroy her glass figurines to even get her to open the files.”
He looked relieved. “Right. Well, of course, no problem.”
“What did you think she told me?”
There was that expression again. And silence.
“Well,” he said, using what I recognized as his investor voice, “it’s merely a matter of organizing the assets, she was just overwhelmed by the process.”
What the hell did that even mean? Screw it. “What the hell does that even mean?” I said, downing the last bit of champagne and using the empty glass to make my point. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
That was a lie. I knew it, he knew it, and I wasn’t going to back down from it, not this time.
“What did you do?” I repeated. I kept my eyes on his face until his gaze faltered.
“Not much. I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“You didn’t!” I interrupted. “But you will now. What did you do?” I had years of practice with Aidan, repeating questions until I got the answer I wanted. I was betting Nick had never dealt with a Mother Intent on an Answer.
“I paid for her consultation with the money guy. My friend who owes me a favor?”
“How much money? We’ll pay you back.” My heart was racing.
He shook his head. “No. It’s a gift. And I’m not going to tell you how much, Molly, you’ll just worry.” He really did know me, didn’t he?
For once, I was silenced. It was clear from Nick’s implacable expression that that information was all I was going to get.
“And, if you’ll excuse me, I see one of those executives who were at the presentation heading for Simon.” He darted away before I could find anything to say. Leaving me alone with my now empty glass.
Well, there was something I could have control over. I grabbed another glass from a passing waiter as I contemplated it, the reality of it settling in my stomach like I’d eaten too much chocolate. And I hadn’t even come close yet.
Oh, hell, no. The perfect guy for me, perfect in every way except he had made it clear he wasn’t interested in me, not to mention he lived in another country, had pulled a Mr. Darcy and saved my relative’s ass?
Like I wasn’t already ruined for any other guy. Ever. Damn.
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. I stood there, feeling the rush of competing emotions—relief, embarrassment, love, agony, heck almost anything I could feel—course through me. Nick. Nick had rescued my mother, and he hadn’t done it for any other reason but me. Wow.
I took a sip. This was my secret to hold on to. My secret to hold on to, and cherish, every time I thought about the guy who got away. Who left. And not the rotten ex-husband who’d left, but the other guy. The smart, sexy, witty, Mr. Darcy–savvy one.
I promised myself as I stood there, watching the faux-authors drift around me with their champagne and pastry-laden trays, that I wouldn’t be less than what he must think of me to do something like that.
It was a tall order, but I could do it.
I would do it. Just like Gloria Gaynor, I would survive.
I left the party after three truffles and an almond scone. Not to mention another glass of champagne.
And decided to do something so unlike me I knew I’d chicken out if I even thought about it for a second. I dug in my pocket and found the card—as I remembered, her office wasn’t too far from here. I checked my watch: 7:00 P.M. I bet she’d still be there.
I buzzed the office number.
“Natalie Duran.” She was there.
I took a deep breath. “Hi, Natalie, it’s Molly Hagan. Can I come up?”
“Oh!” She sounded very surprised. Good. “Of course.”
The front door clicked open, and I took the elevator up to her floor. She stood at the door, a puzzled expression on her face. “Hello, Molly, how . . . unexpected to see you.”
“Mm, yes.”
She stepped back so I could go into the office. Like John’s office, it was in shades of business-edgy: maroon, olive, umber. She gestured toward the reception sofa.
“Please, sit.” She was impeccably dressed, as usual, but there were circles under her eyes, and her hair was more disheveled than artfully disarranged.
“No, thank you. I prefer to stand.” I paused. “Look, Natalie, I don’t want to play coy with you. I know you know tonight was the shop’s opening event, and I also know that you tried to sabotage it.” She opened her mouth, and I held my hand up. “I don’t know if you planned it, or
your friend just called you up and you couldn’t resist. I don’t want to know. The fact is, it didn’t work.”
Her lips pinched together and I saw her swallow. “I didn’t . . .” Her voice faltered. She sat down, suddenly.
I had to say the rest of it, everything I’d practiced on the walk over. “You tried to undermine my work and jeopardize the entire venture.”
“That’s not what I meant to do.” Now she sounded entirely defensive—like when Aidan said there was no way he’d eaten the last cookie when the Oreo crumbs were decorating his face.
Her fingers were twisting together in her lap, and I felt a pang of guilt that I’d done that to her. And then a tiny blaze of triumph because I had done that to her.
“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do.” It really did feel as though I were speaking to Aidan. “The fact is, you did it. And I think you did it because of a man.” I paused and let the words settle in. “And I wanted to tell you that’s not okay. It’s never okay to do anything just for a man.” Especially one like Simon—good to look at on the outside, not enough filling on the inside. Kind of like an Oreo, come to think of it.
She looked up at me. I was startled to see the beginning of tears in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said in a whisper.
Wow. I was right? And she was admitting it? She continued, “And I’m really sorry.” She rose from the couch and held her hand out. “I apologize, Molly. It was a rotten thing to do.”
I took her hand and shook it. “Oh. Of course. Thank you. Well,” I said, dropping my hand and sticking it in my pocket, “that’s all I wanted to say. Thank you for hearing me out.”
One lone tear tracked down her face, and I felt like a heel. A justified, finally-got-that-off-my-chest heel, but a heel nonetheless.
We didn’t speak again as I left her office.
As I headed to the subway to return to Brooklyn, I thought of all the ways that could have gone, and that it went as well as it did astonished me.
Vanity Fare Page 24