“And Lake for me,” Manning echoed. “Like you, I’ve only ever tried to do the best by her, to love and protect her—and now I can do it with every fiber of my being. Without worrying about what anyone else says or thinks.”
My dad worked his jaw side to side as his eyes clouded. Though I feared his reaction, it wasn’t enough to get me to back down. Not with Manning at my side.
And my father certainly didn’t intimidate Manning. “She’s my only concern,” Manning continued, “my only priority, and I’m here to tell you that you don’t need to worry about her anymore. She’s safe and happy and cared for.”
My dad had clenched his mouth shut, his lips a bloodless line. Anger darkened his face. I couldn’t understand how any of what Manning had professed could upset him. I opened my mouth to defend Manning’s love for me, and mine for him, with a ferocity my father had never seen. But I stopped when I saw the tears in his eyes.
He set his elbow on the desk and hid his face with one hand. Was he crying? “Go,” he said after a moment. “Leave.”
I’d read the emotion on his face as anger because sadness was so unfamiliar there. I was too surprised to do anything other than let Manning pull me out of the study. Once we were alone in the hallway, I looked up at him. “What just happened in there?”
“He cracked a little—and that’s good. Believe me.”
“I don’t even know what that was.”
“Regret. Pain. You’re his daughter, Lake. Of course he worries about you with an intensity neither of us will understand until we have our own children.” He glanced at the door behind me. “All I did was relieve him of a worry that has weighed on his shoulders for years.”
I couldn’t help getting choked up, mostly because my emotions were all over the place. Even though I was touched, my pride was still wounded. “If that’s true, then why’d he kick us out?”
“It’s probably hard for him to let you see him that way.” Manning reached for my Pinot, so I handed it over, even though he rarely drank wine. Maybe he’d been more nervous than I’d thought. “I’ve learned a lot from your dad,” he said after a sip, “including the fact that I hide my vulnerabilities from the people I love the same way he does.”
“You don’t do that with me anymore,” I said. Manning would never be able to help being protective of me and our life, but now we made decisions together that affected us, including the one to be here today. He’d come a long way from the days of keeping me in the dark with the misguided intentions of protecting me.
“Like I said, I’ve learned from him,” Manning said. “Shutting down his emotions helps nothing and only hurts the people he loves.”
“That doesn’t explain why he told us to go,” I said, still stung by the rejection. “Is he angry?”
“If I had to guess . . .” The corner of Manning’s mouth quirked, and after a moment, he chuckled. “I’d say yes—only because angry is your dad’s default emotion. But I’m sure it’s more that he didn’t want you to see his concern and regret. That’s the way he’s programmed. I think we got through to him, though.”
“You did,” I said, raising my hand to touch Manning’s cheek. “I’ve never seen him back down to anyone but you.”
“Because I’m more like him than I sometimes want you to realize.” He focused his full attention on me, and demanded the same from me, so I noticed as his eyes subtly set with determination. “But I promise, the mistakes he’s made, the ones my dad’s made, and even my own, too, will only serve as lessons to me. They’ll shape the father I become for the better.”
My stomach fluttered the way it always did at the thought of Manning as a father. This time, though, the butterflies were more severe. Because I knew Manning could already be a father. We’d ceremoniously thrown away my birth control after our marriage talk and had already started the process of turning the idea of a family into reality.
I curled my fingers a little into Manning’s cheek. “Then I don’t regret a thing,” I said. “If any of our heartache will make us better parents, I have nothing but gratitude for it.”
“Same.” He winked. “But enough with the difficult lessons. I’m ready to put what I’ve learned into practice.”
So was I. A small part of me wanted to get pregnant quickly, before one of us realized we’d gotten the order of things all wrong. We’d only been at it weeks—but I couldn’t help hoping that was all it would take.
6
Even after years away, I moved seamlessly around the kitchen with my mom. She handed me the turkey roast from the oven that she’d made many times throughout my childhood, then complimented my tamales, even though they were a completely untraditional dish for my family.
As I washed my hands, I watched Manning in the backyard through the window over the sink. A cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, he squatted to fix an uneven patio chair. When he and I had first moved in together, I’d been able to coax him away from his pack-a-day habit with baked goods, blowjobs, and backrubs. After that, I rarely saw him with a cigarette. But he’d lit up between every meal yesterday, on the drive down today, and now—had he been smoking the entire half hour he’d been in the backyard?
“Always needs to keep his hands busy, that one,” Mom said as she moved pots and pans into the sink. “Especially when he’s nervous.”
Manning had been smoking and moving around non-stop the past few days. Confronting my family might have been his idea, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him. “You can tell?” I asked.
“Sure. He’s spent a lot of time around here. I wouldn’t say he’s easy to read all the time, but he has his moods.” She smiled a little at me. “Wouldn’t you be nervous in his position?”
Manning hadn’t seen much of Tiffany since their divorce, although they spoke now and then. I never stayed in the room for their conversations, but according to him, they didn’t cover much more than formalities. Manning didn’t like hiding our relationship from the people he cared about any more than I did.
Manning moved from a patio chair to what looked like a busted wall sconce. I was still standing at the window when the front door opened and the telltale click of heels crossed the foyer. It happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to call for Manning or even my mother, who had disappeared into the pantry.
I seized the nearest bottle of wine and was already pouring myself a refill as Tiffany walked in. She stopped when she saw me, and I froze mid-pour. Just the island sat between us. Her hair, long and curled, covered the shoulders of a burgundy shrug, and she held a pie tin in her hand. She glanced at my blueberry pie on the countertop and then at me. “You’re spilling wine.”
“Shit.” I set down the bottle and ripped off a paper towel to mop up the overflow.
“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” she said. Her short black dress and high heels wouldn’t normally have been out of the ordinary, except that as far as she knew, it was plain old dinner with the family—and Manning and his date.
“Well, I am,” I mumbled, glancing over my shoulder at Manning, who’d left me high and dry when this had been his idea. I willed him to look up and come inside, but he continued to tinker with the lighting fixture.
Tiffany followed my gaze. This wasn’t exactly how I wanted her to find out—I’d assumed Manning would be at my side when she showed up. Even my mother was taking an unusually long time in the pantry. Or maybe, to make things extra uncomfortable, time had slowed down only for Tiffany and me.
Her eyes darted from the window back to my face. “You’re here with him?” she asked.
It’d been years since I’d shown up at Manning’s home in Big Bear and stayed for good. Even longer since he and Tiffany had decided to end their marriage. But I supposed there was really no amount of time that would make this conversation any less awkward, so I took a steeling breath and raised my overfilled wineglass before I said, “Yes, I’m Manning’s, well, date—for lack of a better word.”
She gagged like a cat with a fur
ball stuck in its throat. “Oh my God.”
“Yep.” I slurped Pinot off the top. “I didn’t know the best way to tell you, just that I wanted to do it in person.” After setting the glass down, I patted the corners of my mouth with the towel. “I know it’s shocking, but believe me, neither of us wants to hurt you.”
“You’re dating my ex-husband,” Tiffany pointed out, her voice pitching.
“You have every right to be angry and hurt,” I said, opening the cupboard under the sink to toss the paper towel in the trash, “but you have to admit that some part of you knew this could happen.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A long time—but then, you knew that.”
I held my breath in anticipation of my sister’s wrath. So much time had passed, and so many confusing emotions and memories still tinged the air between us with tension. When Tiffany had asked Manning to the fair all those years ago, could she have ever imagined things would end up this way? Could I? And if so, would either of us have changed anything? Because I knew I was in the wrong, and that the insecurity that lived in my sister often caused her to lash out, I wanted to go to her. Hug her. Be her little sister again. Remind her that I loved her despite everything, even as I knowingly hurt her. But this moment wasn’t about me—it was about what she needed.
“Manning and I want to be a part of this family,” I continued when she didn’t respond. “We want to stay for dinner and hear about your life—and share ours as well.” Again, I looked out the window. After the struggle it’d taken to get me to the house, Manning wouldn’t want to leave, but in that moment, I wasn’t sure I had any right to force my presence on Tiffany.
Her face scrunched as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “It’s weird,” she said. “And kind of gross. I wouldn’t want somebody else’s sloppy seconds, especially my sister’s, but it’s your life.”
I blinked at her a few times, trying to process her words. Weird? Gross? Sloppy seconds? I had to stop myself from laughing. That response didn’t faze me at all. I’d never seen Manning as sloppy seconds, only as the man I loved. “You’re not angry?” I asked.
Tiffany set her pie down. I fought myself from checking if she’d also brought Manning’s favorite flavor. She twisted her lips as if considering whether she should be angry. It was unlike her to deny an opportunity to overreact, which made me wonder if she’d matured at some point over the past decade, or if I’d stumbled into some kind of alternate universe. The latter seemed more likely.
“I’m not angry,” she decided, lightly flipping some hair over her shoulder. “I mean, I’ve suspected this since the divorce. I know you told me at the viewing party you hadn’t seen him, but I wasn’t sure if I could believe you.”
“It was the truth,” I said. “Nothing happened until after.”
“Well, I didn’t know that, so all this time, I sort of assumed you might be together.” She rounded the island to pick up the wine bottle, checking to make sure I’d left some. “But even if I hadn’t had time to come to terms with it,” she said, pouring herself a glass, “I don’t think the two of you together ever surprised me. Not at camp, and not in New York.”
Her point wasn’t lost on me. Perhaps Manning and I hadn’t always been fair to Tiffany, but it would be impossible to explain or reason away a love like ours. So instead, I just laid out the truth. “If it helps, it was never about hurting you. But Manning and I . . . we are, and always have been, so in love.”
She set her drink on the island and squatted to a cabinet to remove a cake stand—the same one my mom and I had used over the years for dessert. It was bizarre to picture Tiffany baking, but apparently, it wasn’t her first time. “Oh, I totally understand.”
Of all the reactions I’d expected to get from Tiffany, understanding was nowhere near the top of the list. It wasn’t even on the list. “You do?” I asked, failing to hide my surprise.
Smiling to herself, she ran her fingers under the lid of the tin, working it open. “Love makes you do crazy things.”
Was she serious, or passive-aggressively insulting me? “Yes, it does,” I said. “And I know this can’t be easy for you, but like I said, we had no intention of—”
“All right already,” she said. “I don’t care. This whole thing is, like, ancient history. I have more important things happening in my life.”
“Oh.” Well, that was different. Or was it? Only one thing could distract Tiffany from talking about herself—and that was talking about herself. “What’s . . . happening in your life?”
She opened a draw to get a pie server. “I met a man. A doctor.”
“You’re dating someone?” I asked.
“Dating?” She hummed a laugh as if enjoying an inside joke. “It seems like such a small word for what we’re doing.”
She’d just used the same word to describe Manning and me, so of course I understood how small it felt. He and I had done a lot but we hadn’t truly dated. Certainly that would be lost on Tiffany, though, especially because it seemed as if she’d forgotten I was even in the room. “Who is he?” I asked.
She transferred the pie to the cake plate. “Robby. You don’t know him, but he’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. He’s tall and handsome. And a doctor.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Well, it says so much about who he is. Kind, caring, and great with kids . . .” She shifted her eyes over my shoulder and out the back window. I couldn’t help wondering if Robby really existed in all his perfection, or if this was another way for Tiffany to get a leg up on me. I was in love? She was in more love. I’d met the best man in the world? Well, hers was a doctor.
Even with the adoring look on her face, I wasn’t entirely sure it was genuine. It couldn’t be easy to see me with Manning. Was she talking Robby up to make herself look better? Or was she so enamored, she really didn’t give a shit what we did?
“I’m happy for you.” I relaxed my hip against the counter. “How long have you been together?” I asked with a sip of Pinot.
“Over a year. I’ve never been happier. I literally don’t even care about stupid stuff anymore, you know? Robby always says drama is below us.”
I nearly spit out my wine. But without drama, who was my sister? “I need to meet Robby.”
“He’s wonderful,” Mom said, reentering the kitchen.
I eyed her armfuls of canned goods. “You felt a sudden need to clean out the pantry?”
“I remembered that Robby asked me to donate some food to a drive at the hospital,” she said, averting her eyes.
“Right.” Surely, it had nothing to do with wanting to stay out of the fray. I looked for Manning again as Tiffany brushed by me.
“I should say hello,” she said, pulling open the sliding glass door.
I started to follow her when my mom touched my arm. “Give them a minute, sweetie.”
“Manning might need me there.”
“You did it on your own,” Mom said. “So can he. Let your sister process this how she needs to.”
Reluctantly, I returned to the window to watch them. “Is Robby real?” I asked.
She laughed. “Completely. He’s a very nice man. And a doctor! He’s patient with her—just what she needs.”
“Hmm.” I gripped the sink as Manning blew on a dusty light bulb, then screwed it back in. He paused and turned as Tiffany approached. They exchanged a few words, and then he offered her a cigarette, cupping his hand around her mouth as he lit it for her. Tiffany’s shoulders fell from around her ears as she cocked a hip. Manning took a drag, smiling a little as he nodded and blew smoke into the backyard. No longer in the same room as Tiffany, relief filtered through me, and it looked as if she felt the same.
She nudged his shoulder with a laugh, then glanced in my direction. Even though Manning and I had ended up together, and I couldn’t feel anything other than grateful for it, Tiffany had shared one experience with Manning I still hadn’t.
I turned away from the w
indow to face the pies. “Do you have another cake plate?”
“I don’t,” Mom said, frowning. “Sorry, honey. We’ll get both on the table tonight, though.”
I lifted the cover and inspected Tiffany’s baking skills. Apple—Manning’s second favorite flavor. It smelled amazing. “This isn’t store-bought?” I asked.
“I’d be surprised. Tiffany loves to bake.”
“There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.” I re-covered the dessert. I’d always considered the kitchen my domain, but it looked like if I came home again, I’d be sharing it.
Manning slid open the kitchen door for Tiffany, who removed her shrug on her way out of the kitchen.
Noticing my half-empty glass, he picked up the bottle of wine I’d been drinking from the last half hour on his way over to me. “You good?” he asked under his breath.
“I think so.”
“Yeah?” he asked, refilling my drink. “Did it not go well? She was weirdly calm out there.”
“No, she was fine. I was so shocked that I’m not even sure I remember what we talked about. But . . .”
“Dinner’s ready. Go tell your father.” Mom paused while separating dinner rolls into a basket, as if suddenly recalling this wasn’t just another Sunday dinner. “Never mind. I’ll get him.”
Once Manning and I were alone, he asked, “But what? What’s the matter?”
“It’s strange to see you and Tiffany together. She seems so comfortable with you.”
He set down the bottle and took my jaw in one big hand, lifting my face to him. “That’s good, Lake. Trust me, I’ve never seen her like this, and I would know—she’s in love.”
“With a doctor,” I added.
He laughed. “Yeah. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about us beyond making sure we know what he does for a living. She isn’t looking to cause us any trouble.”
As he leaned in for a kiss, I checked that we were still alone. “That’s probably not appropriate,” I told him.
Something in the Way: A Forbidden Love Saga: The Complete Collection Page 91