“What happened to your juice cleanse?”
“I left my juicer in Ohio.” He grabs a packed lunch from the fridge, which is so responsible I don’t even know what to think, and then he kisses my cheek. “Go home, V.”
“Love you too,” I say.
Long after he’s shut his front door I linger over my coffee and think about Ohio. About the life I built there. About my job at CRBI, and my friend, Amber. About my apartment and my neighbor and the elm tree out front. But then I think of Nate and Grand Marin and the nights I spent curled around him in his bed and my chest seizes. How can I go back after behaving so poorly?
I finish my coffee and wash the mug and then lock the door behind me. I hail a taxi and take it to my old stomping grounds: the lush, wealthy, manicured lots of Fein Village. There’s another home I long to return to.
My childhood home.
The home of Vivian Steele, the woman who is trapped inside me, scratching at the walls. It’s time to set her free.
Chapter Thirty
Vivian
Back in my parents’ old neighborhood I feel like a time traveler. I used to walk these pristinely manicured streets with my head down. My eyes were usually on my cell phone, checking email or taking a call. Whenever I visited for dinner I’d slip away from the table to work. My father often did the same. He understood the importance of handling issues expediently. Even on a Sunday. Even if it meant leaving your family at the dinner table.
Now, though, I walk along the sidewalk, head up. The trees wave in the wind, wiggling green-leaved fingers. The sky overhead is blue and fathomless. Despite the ache in my heart, today’s a good day.
My parents lived in the enormous house on the corner. It’s where I lived for nineteen years before I moved out on my own.
Yesterday, I visited my mother’s grave again. I laid fresh flowers on her headstone. I cried. I forgave her. I’m working on forgiving myself.
“Vivian?” A woman’s voice prompts me to turn around. My mother’s friend, Bette, is approaching, her puffy white dog at the end of a fluorescent green leash. I rack my brain trying to remember his name…it’s a food, I think.
“Bette. Hi.”
“I haven’t seen you in ages.” She grins. She’s my mother’s age—or the age my mother would have been if she was still alive. Bette engulfs me in a hug and automatically, I stiffen. My family didn’t have many friends left after Dad was arrested. “Goodness, honey, I’m so sorry.”
Her blond hair blows over her lip gloss and she peels the strands away. She’s in a shorts set and sneakers. Her dog barks hello.
“Hi, Marshmallow,” I remember suddenly. I stoop to pet his soft fur. He’s an American Eskimo. His features are ladylike and dainty, from a tiny pink tongue and pert black nose to dark, expressive eyes. “I wanted to visit the neighborhood again,” I tell Bette as I stand.
“New owners.” She pushes the sunglasses to the top of her head and casts an unsavory look toward my parents’ former house. “Hope you aren’t expecting a tour. They keep to themselves.”
I shake my head. “No, there’s nothing there for me any longer.”
“You’ve been through it, honey. Your mom was a good woman.” Bette was a good friend to her. “I quit drinking.”
“Really?”
She nods. I remember her and my mother casually imbibing. No wild parties or anything. I never thought of Bette as having a problem, but she never turned down a screwdriver or mimosa first thing in the morning either.
“I was relying on alcohol too much,” she admits. “And after my divorce from Bernie—”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I don’t know what kind of relationship they had, but it seemed okay.
“Don’t be. It was a long time coming. It’s great to see you. Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m cooking for one”—she points to herself—“but sometimes Alfie swings by to eat.”
Her son. He and my brother used to hang out. They’re the same age. “Oh, no, thank you. I have plans tonight with Walt.”
“How is he?” Her eyebrows bend with concern.
“He’s doing well. Back in Chicago.” I spare her the details. Who has the time?
“Good. You’re both back where you belong.”
As tempted as I am to let that platitude go, especially since she’s trying to be supportive, I don’t. “Do I belong in Chicago?”
I face my parents’ former house, remembering when I lived there. And after, when I lived in the city. I don’t belong here any longer. I am a stranger in this place, and to the woman I used to be.
My new life is a combination of my old one—privilege and money—and my new one—hustle and heart.
“I’m living in Ohio now,” I say, even though I haven’t been there for a week.
“Oh. How lovely.” She’s being polite. “What do you do there?”
“I manage a live-work property,” I lie. Most likely I’ll be begging Daniel for my job back now that Nate and I are through. Even if he would honor his word and employ me at Grand Marin, I wouldn’t feel right about accepting the position. I’ve put him through enough.
“How perfect for you,” Bette praises. “You were always such a good leader.”
Her compliment means more than she knows. My smile is brittle, my voice watery when I say, “Thank you.”
“You take care, okay? And tell Walter Junior I say hello.” She gives me another brief squeeze. She smells like menthol, and it reminds me of the mornings she and my mother used to sit on the patio, laughing while they smoked cigarettes and drank mimosas.
It hurts remembering the good times but it also helps to remember there were good times. Maybe that’s what this trip was about. I’ve visited where my mother is buried. I’ve thought through the tragic events leading to her burial. Today was about visiting my past and finding out what power it held.
Almost none. I shield my eyes from the sun and take one final mental snapshot of the house on the corner. My past doesn’t hold any power over me.
Not anymore.
Walt turns out a piece of chicken onto my plate that has seen better days. It’s black on the ends and, I’m assuming, rubber-tough in the middle. He serves himself the remaining charred chicken breast before popping open a can of green beans. He dumps them into a glass dish, the sucking sound incredibly unappetizing. “How long do you microwave vegetables?”
“No idea.” I give him a lame smile. “Uh, two minutes?”
He sighs, sends a disheartened gaze at our dinner plates, and picks up his cell phone. “Pizza?”
“I’ll buy,” I rush to offer.
Thirty glorious minutes later a piping hot pizza is delivered. Walt throws open the lid and we both lean forward to take a whiff of the heavenly scent. Olives cover the entire pie. I think of Nate and his disdain for them. Thinking of Nate hurts.
“I miss this,” Walt says after a bite of Papa Leo’s pizza. It is the best local franchise in Chicago.
“Me too. I wish Leo would open a restaurant in Clear Ridge.”
Walt stops chewing to ask, “You going back?”
I pick off a piece of pepperoni and eat it. “I don’t know. Yes.”
“I wasn’t talking about missing eating pizza, by the way,” he says. “I was talking about missing spending time with you.”
“Does that mean you don’t want me to leave?” He was booting me out of here yesterday.
“It means I want you to visit more. But your life isn’t here, V.”
“And yours is?”
He takes another bite, chews, and considers. “Yeah,” he decides. “It’s more than the job. It’s the vibe here. I feel…I don’t know, weirdly at home.”
I send a slightly judgmental glance around his apartment. “You could stand some better furniture.” I kick the coffee table where our pizza box rests, and it wobbles like it might collapse.
“Humble beginnings,” he explains. “I don’t need more to care for right now. Plant, pet, person.”
&nbs
p; “Plant, pet, person?”
“If I can care for a plant, then I can care for a pet and then I can consider a relationship.” He points at an orchid standing on the ledge of his only window. I hadn’t noticed it until now.
“Orchids are tricky. You’re starting at the top.”
“They need sun. They need love. They need company. Like us.” He shrugs as if he didn’t say something profound.
“Is your ‘person’ going to be Dee?” I venture.
“I hope so. I love her.”
I sigh.
“You don’t give up on someone when their issues become inconvenient.”
“Tell me about it.” I shoot him a pointed look.
“Yeah, but you’re stuck with me. We’re blood.”
“True.” I eat another bite.
“You should be glad there are people out there who don’t give up, or else you’d have lost Nate.”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of his name. I finish chewing before saying, “I did lose Nate.“
“Hardly.” My brother snorts. He pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket and shows me his text messages. Nate’s, in particular. They’re time-stamped. There’s one a day going back several days. They all say the same thing.
How’s Vivian?
“You replied fine.”
One fine. One okay, one good, and one not sure, to be precise.
“Yeah, but I said more when I spoke to him last night.”
My blood chills. “You talked to him?”
“He’s my boss.” Walt’s tone says duh. ”He’s in town.”
“He’s in town?”
“You a parrot now?” He watches me while he chews. “What do you care? You’re not in love with him anyway, right?”
It’s not that I’m not, it’s that I can’t be.
“Tomorrow night we’re meeting at O’Leary’s for dinner to celebrate completing the site. You have to celebrate your accomplishments.”
Lainey Owen said that the day I met her. I think of Will and Nate’s brothers. My chest is aching.
“You could come. I am allowed a plus-one.”
“I can’t…what would I say to him?”
“‘Sorry for what I said when I was in love with you’?” Walt suggests.
“I’m not—”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, here?” He dips into the box for a third slice. I’m still working on number one. Now that I know Nate is close by and has been asking about me, my appetite is gone. Do I have a second chance? Am I brave enough to take one?
“I thought about what you said about the money,” Walt says.
“You’ll take it?” I chirp.
“You can give me twenty-five percent of it, but it’s going to be invested, not spent. You have to keep the rest, though.” He holds out a hand. “Deal?”
“I’ll keep half,” I amend as I grip his hand.
“Seventy percent.” He tugs my arm.
“Sixty,” I argue. He watches me for a beat, my hand still in his.
“Sixty, and you come with me tomorrow night.”
We have a stare down that I know he’s going to win. “You’re an asshole.”
“Then we agree.” He grins and pumps my arm once.
“This is blackmail.” I forlornly eat another pepperoni.
“I owe you. The money you earmarked for me, that’s not really mine. It’s for us to start new lives. I’ve started mine. You should start yours.”
“I did. You’re the one who crashed into my new life.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he admits, sheepish.
“I didn’t mean it. I love having you back.” I smile. “I’d like you to stay like this.” Before the moment turns sappy, I add, “But with better furniture.”
“I don’t want to be the reason you and Nate aren’t together,” Walt says, sincere concern in his expression. “You two have a real shot. You deserve a man in your life who won’t let you down like Dad and I have.”
“You didn’t let me down.” My lip trembles. “You couldn’t let me down.”
He drops his pizza slice and wraps me in a firm hug. I hold on to him and lecture my tear ducts not to leak on his shirt.
“I’m here for you too, you know,” he says into my ear. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.”
I pull away and swipe my eyes, crying anyway. I’m a freaking sprinkler system lately. “You don’t have to take care of me. I can—”
“Take care of yourself. I know, I know. You can still take care of yourself and love Nate as much as he loves you, can’t you? I don’t think those two things are mutually exclusive.”
“When’d you get so smart?” I ask, swiping my nose on a napkin.
“Meditation.” Walt taps his temple and then picks up his pizza.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nate
The Owens came out to help celebrate the completion of the Chicago site. I’m not entirely sure they wanted to. I suspect Benji rallied everyone for my sake. I’ve been a sullen son of a bitch lately.
Lainey was adamant about coming when I talked to her earlier this week. She mentioned sightseeing and said she’d like to go for a boat ride and do some shopping while she was here. She asked how I was without prying and I’m guessing Benji told on me like the snitch he is.
I love him for it though. And Lainey. All of them. Even Archer, who called to check on me in his own way, by asking if I was available to visit potential future club sites while he’s in town. I appreciated the offer and agreed. Work keeps my mind off Vivian.
Also, my family loves O’Leary’s. We came here for dinner after I was adopted. We were visiting Chicago and they asked my favorite place to eat and this was it.
I should beat myself up for finishing a job late rather than celebrate. Yeah, late. By two days, but still. We’ve met, right? I don’t finish jobs late. Ever.
I am notoriously on time. The entire reason Vivian chapped my ass the first time I met her was because she wanted to slow down my project and keep me from my due date. Then we became involved and things at work slipped. I slipped. It wasn’t unwelcome to have more going on in my life than constantly clawing my way up the mountain of success.
Once I had her in my life, I spent more and more time falling in love and less and less time at work demanding perfection. I’d like to say it was worth it, but I’m not sure it was.
Cris and Benji believe Vivian is in love with me, but I’ve talked to Walt, and I’m not so sure. The last time he and I spoke, though, he didn’t give me a lot of intel. He did mention she lost her job at the bureau. He was hinting at the Grand Marin position, and it was on the tip of my tongue to mention that I haven’t filled it permanently. I hired a temp service until I don’t know when. I have too many vivid memories of making love to her on the conference table and against the wall and the way we smiled like morons in love after we sank to the floor tangled in each other’s limbs to even consider interviewing for that position.
Turns out I was the only moron in love.
I’m walking toward O’Leary’s, having parked a block away. Bodies pack the tables inside and laughter and chatter can be heard through the windows. They are hopping already, and it’s only six o’clock.
Ideally, Vivian would be here celebrating with me. Best-case scenario, because we flew here together and slept in this morning in the hotel bed. And after that maybe we did a little shopping for a second home in Chicago.
I have to let it go. Let her go. I can’t keep replaying our time together. It’s unhealthy.
The last time I saw her she told me she was incapable of loving me. I don’t know if I don’t believe her, or I just don’t want to. It seems she was right about one thing, though. We didn’t last long. Maybe we weren’t meant to. She was leagues above where I’m stationed in life. Billions and a new suit can only cover so much of the man I truly am.
Just a guy who wants a family so bad he’d bend over backwards to build one.
I strai
ghten my shoulders and stretch my neck side to one side. Game face time. You’re a happy, successful entrepreneur, I remind myself as I pull on the door handle to the pub. I rented the party room in the back, typically used for wakes or weddings. We’re expecting fifty-eight guests, give or take a few plus-ones. I’m looking forward to having a beer and forgetting, even temporarily, the shit I’ve been through over the last week-plus. Over the last thirty-plus years.
Archer and Benji are at the bar, no surprise there. So are the Owens. Lainey and Will look nice. They dressed up for the event, which is their MO. I wore jeans. I’m at a pub. Despite my upbringing, tradition dictates a suit is not appropriate pub attire. I guess you could say I’m feeling more like myself. My old self. Or a combination of the old and new. The man I was trying to be before I met Vivian versus the man I became after. Before I knew what love was, and after I fell so hard I’m still sick over her.
This fucking sucks.
“Darling, how are you?” Lainey asks as I kiss her cheek.
“Late on a project,” I answer as I shake Will’s hand.
“Perfection is unattainable,” he says. Archer gives him a sideways look. He wants to argue, but chooses to keep his mouth shut and not ruin my big night. I appreciate it and convey as much with a silent nod.
“Benji.” I shake my other brother’s hand. “Cris didn’t make the trip?”
“She’s holding down the fort.”
“Anyone here yet?” I look through the crowd to the rear of the bar. The room is open, but I can’t tell if anyone’s in there.
“We were waiting for you. I think we’ve arrived first,” Lainey says.
“Let me grab a draft and we’ll go back.” After my hand is wrapped around an ice-cold beer, I walk my family to the private party room. They settle in at a table and a waiter rushes over to present the appetizer options. I shrug when Benji asks what I want. The beer is enough. I just need to survive this night, and then tomorrow, and so on and so forth.
That’s my goal from now until the day I’m finally over Vivian Vandemark.
Once Upon a Billionaire: Blue Collar Billionaires, Book 1 Page 23