“Evie, it's fine. Don't worry.” I picture her shifting her feet, worried she's said too much.
“Also, I called because Thanksgiving is next Thursday. I invited Zane and his parents, but his mom said they have family visiting. Just want to make sure you're coming.”
“Yes, of course. It's at your house this year, right? Last year it was at my mom’s, so that makes this year your turn.” Dread fills me. I don't want to go to Ethan's house.
“Technically it's my turn.” Evie clears her throat. “But we're having it at your mom's again.” Her voice sounds far away, like she's lost in her thoughts. I get the feeling there's more to the story than she's letting on.
“Sounds great.” I'm quick to be positive. “What can I bring?”
“Your apple pie, of course.”
“I'll be there, pie in hand.”
“Dinner is at four, like always. I'll let you get back to what you were doing. “
We hang up and I put my phone in my purse. Nick sets his book down.
“Evie?” He asks.
I nod. “How’d you know?”
“Good guess. How’s she doing?”
“You probably have a better idea of how she's doing than I do. She said you see them often.”
“Not in the last week.” He says it with regret, as though a week is too long.
Guilt washes over me.
Not in the last five months.
“Have you said anything to Evie about…?” How can I even say this? The words feel funny in my throat.
Nick's eye's narrow. “About what?”
“She said she wanted to give us her blessing. In case…” My face is on fire. My hands travel through my hair, and I look up at the night sky. It's so much easier to talk to the muted inky black. “In case you and I were to develop a relationship.” My face screws up on the last word.
Nick doesn't say anything. I sneak a peek with one eye.
He's…smiling? And shaking his head.
“Evie's something, isn't she?” He laughs once after he says it.
He doesn't seem bothered by her words. I guess I don't need to be either. “Ethan used to call her a force. She called to remind me about Thanksgiving next Thursday.”
Nick nods. “She left me a voicemail this afternoon. It's at your mom's house, right?”
“Yes. I'm bringing apple pie.”
“Lucky me, I've been instructed to just bring myself.” He gets up and offers me a hand. “Want to grab dinner? Let someone else cook for you tonight.”
“Are you giving me a Thursday off?” I follow him to the parking lot.
“Just this once. Last week's steak and veggie tostadas were amazing. And don't even get me started on your spaghetti.” He kisses his fingertips and sends the kiss out to the sky. “For my next lesson, I want to learn how to make chimichangas. I didn't even know that word existed until I moved out here and saw it on the menu at a Mexican restaurant.”
I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Deal.”
Nick turns around and walks backwards. “Deal.” He grins and continues to walk backward the rest of the way to his car.
“Show-off,” I mutter. But I'm laughing.
I'm laughing.
***
Apple pie is my specialty. I used to do the lattice top, but then I replaced it with a cinnamon crumble and became the most popular guest at Thanksgiving dinner. My initial thought when I wake on Thanksgiving morning is that I’m alone in the apartment, and that knowledge brings relief. Harper stayed at her mom’s house last night with her sisters.
I’m assembling my ingredients, Macy’s Day Parade blaring from the living room, when I get a text message.
Can I get a baking lesson this morning?
I smile at Nick’s question and type my response.
It is a Thursday… If you come now you’ll get here while the coffee is still hot.
I watch the three little dots move for a few seconds before his message pops up.
On my way.
A baking lesson… This should be interesting. I’m a bit of a control freak when it comes to making apple pie.
I look down at myself, and consider changing. My cornucopia pajama pants have been my Thanksgiving sleepwear for so many years they’re frayed at the bottom. I twist my leg to get a better look at just how many white threads are sticking out. A lot. But I’m not changing. I like these pants. I will, however, brush my teeth.
Nick arrives with donuts. I pluck one from the bag.
“Seriously?” I say around a mouthful of maple long john with turkey shaped candies on top. “Like we aren’t going to eat enough unhealthy food today.”
He waves off my complaint and takes another bite of his donut, the cream filling oozing out. With one finger he catches it and licks it off. “Turkey is healthy. Green beans are healthy.”
I take another bite. “Not when my mom covers them in cream of mushroom soup, cheddar cheese, and fried onions.”
His eyes widen. “Really?”
“Um hmm.”
He stuffs the rest of the donut in his mouth. “Don’t care.” He grins, the donut showing.
I wrinkle my nose. “You’re super gross right now.”
He finishes chewing and looks at me pointedly. “Says the girl with a candy turkey stuck to her cheek.”
I run my hands over my cheeks, but Nick shakes his head and reaches over, brushing his fingers across my forehead.
“I lied. It was on your forehead. I just wanted to watch you try to get it off your cheeks.” He laughs. I narrow my eyes at him.
The parade announcer’s voice booms into the kitchen with his excitement over the next float. It’s a good reminder that we need to get started.
I take the bag of green apples from the fridge and set them on the counter with the corer and peeler. I take one apple out of the bag and demonstrate how to use the tools.
“The apples will be your job. I’ll handle the dough.” I go back to the fridge for the butter I cut into cubes last night.
“Why don’t I get the dough?”
“Because it’s the hardest part. It requires very precise measurements. Baking is different than cooking. You can’t just toss in a little of this and that.”
He eyes the cubes of butter I’ve set on the counter. I go to the pantry for the other ingredients, and come away with the flour, salt, sugar, and cinnamon.
Eying Nick pointedly, I say “And don’t even think of suggesting I skip the recipe this morning.”
He gasps melodramatically. “Skip the recipe? In a baking situation?” He laughs at himself. “Don’t worry, Kate. I know your limit.”
I give him a look and unload my haul. We work side by side on the counter with the half wall, so we can watch the parade. I don’t know if it’s the holiday or the sugar high, but for the first time since June the pain in my chest feels a little less sharp.
***
I pull into my mom’s driveway at the same time Evie walks out of her front door. She rushes across the street, a big smile on her face. I hurry from my car, meeting her halfway.
“I’m so happy to see you.” Her eyes hold relief. “I was worried you would cancel.”
I pull back. “And rob you of the chance to eat apple pie with cinnamon streusel topping? Never. Where’s James?” We’re standing close enough that I can see the dark circles she has tried to hide with concealer.
She laughs at my pie comment and, with a dismissive shrug, blames James’ absence on a cold. I get the feeling I’m missing something. Does it have anything to do with why Thanksgiving dinner was moved to my mom’s house? Vaguely I remember Mom mentioning something’s going on with Evie. When was that? I can’t recall the exact date. It was sometime during my dark days.
The sound of a car’s engine diverts my attention. We hurry to my mom’s driveway to get out of the way of the car coming toward us. When it gets closer I see it’s Nick. He pulls into the empty space beside my car and climbs out.
“Are we celebrating Thanksgivi
ng outside today?” He grins and hugs Evie, waving at me when she lets him go.
Evie snorts. “This might be warm for a Connecticut boy, but we Phoenicians consider this cold.” She rubs her hands on her arms. “Let’s go inside. Your mom probably needs help.”
I grab the apple pie from the front seat, Nick takes it from me, and we follow Evie inside.
My mother greets us with a big, happy smile. She’s wearing an apron and her hair is a mess. Evie heads straight for the kitchen after stopping to hug my mom. In a few seconds I hear her banging something around. We’d better get in there.
“Kate, I can already smell that pie.” My mom bends at the waist and sniffs the air next to Nick. “Just wait until you try the topping on that pie, Nick. Amazing.”
“Oh, I know.” He grins at me, a playful look of guilt on his face. “I snuck a pinch of it this morning when Kate was watching the parade.”
My mom’s jaw drops open. She glances at me and then back to Nick. “Oh, really?” She squeaks. She turns and motions for us to follow her to the kitchen. “So, Nick, you were over at Kate’s this morning?” She practically shouts the words over at Kate’s this morning. Evie turns from her post at the sink, a potato in one hand and a peeler in the other. Her eyes look interested. Very interested.
Nick sets the pie down on the only remaining counter space. “This morning I had my first official baking lesson.” He glances at me. “Maybe next time Kate will let me touch the dough.”
“Keep dreamin’.” I pull the little container of streusel topping out of my purse and set it next to the pie. Nick eyes it hungrily. I give him a warning look. “Don’t even think about it. That’s not extra. It has to go on the pie last and bake for a few minutes.”
“Fine,” Nick mutters. He walks to the kitchen sink and washes his hands in the other basin. Next to him Evie’s potato peels fly through the air. One lands on his shoulder. He plucks it off and offers to help her. My mom hands him a second peeler and he gets to work.
I stand back, struck by the sight of Evie and Nick standing at the sink with each other. They looks so…comfortable. At home with one another.
The way I feel when I’m with him. He’s so open and honest, always ready to be there for me. I think back to last weekend and his hand on my heart. Your wounds don’t scare me. I lean back on the counter, my head tilting to the side as I listen to their conversation.
Evie’s words from the other night float through my head. Find happiness…blessing…with Nick.
The most stubborn part of my heart finds this idea repugnant. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a piece of me that feels drawn to him.
28
Nick
“Thank you,” I take the coffee from the girl and offer a polite smile. A dash of hurt and embarrassment creeps into her eyes, but she’s quick to push it aside.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she says, her tone different than it was five minutes ago when I stepped up to the counter to order.
A flirtatious head tilt told me she found me attractive, and when she bent forward so her shirt fell open more, I knew she meant business.
There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s pretty. I’m just not interested.
She opens the door into the coffeeshop and walks back in, leaving me alone out here on the patio.
Phoenix isn’t so bad now that it’s not blazing hot. It’s cold in the mornings and progresses to mildly warm as the day progresses. It has everything I could ever think to want in terms of food and entertainment. I live close to school, close to my job, and close to Evie and James.
And, of course, Phoenix has Kate.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, the lines of my mission are no longer clear-cut.
When did that happen? I think back to June when I first met her, and every day since then, and I can’t see an exact point when the lines began to blur. Was it so gradual I didn’t notice?
And now that my feelings for Kate have grown to a size that even I can no longer ignore, what is there to do about that?
She’s Ethan girl. Not mine. I was sent here to bring her back to life, not fall in love with her. This isn’t some cheesy movie. This is real life. And in real life, there are people who won’t want us together.
But there are some who will. Evie, for starters. The only person who really matters when it comes down to it. James matters too, but he’s not participating in life much these days. If he’s not in his woodshed, he’s… well, I don’t know where.
These thoughts have been running through my mind on repeat, caught on a hamster wheel. It’s only been a week since Thanksgiving. The day Evie and Mrs. Masters made it clear they were rooting for me and Kate to get together.
But I don’t think either of them know what Kate has been up to these past five months. She was very good at hiding it, but I recognized the signs.
To be fair, I think she’s overcome the excessive drinking. Her eyes are brighter, her complexion glows.
Her old self is creeping out. Or maybe it’s the new version of her. The person she was forced to become.
The person I’m finding it hard to keep at arms’ length.
***
I’ve been invited over to Chad’s house for dinner tonight.
On my way over, I stop and pick up nice flowers for his wife. His two boys are five and seven, so I grab a couple toy trucks for them.
Chad’s house is small, and very close to the houses on either side of him, and the neighborhood is clean and well-kept.
He opens the front door before I can knock. Smiling, he welcomes me in and says, “The boys told me you were here. They’ve been waiting at the window.” Chad looks over to the open room right off the front door, and my eyes follow.
A set of small toes sticks out from behind a chair, and a giggle floats up into the air, followed by a stern shhh.
“Oh no, Jamie and Wes aren’t here today?” I direct my words toward the toes. “Bummer. I was really hoping to give them the toys I brought. I guess I’ll have to play with them myself.”
The toes disappear from sight, and a second later two dark-haired heads pop up from behind the chair.
“We’re here,” they cry, rushing out.
“Oh, good.” I palm my chest in mock relief.
“Boys,” Chad says, his tone gently reminding them of something.
Both boys stop in front of me and hold out their hands. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Nick.”
Man, these kids are cute. One’s missing a front tooth and the other has a streak of blue marker on his cheek.
“Here.” I hand the trucks to their new owners.
Both boys let out whoops of excitement and tell me thank you, then they’re racing from the room like rockets.
“They have tracks in their room. I bet money that’s where they’re headed.”
Chad leads me through the small hallway and into kitchen. His wife stands at the stove, her back to us, stirring something that smells incredible.
“Babe, meet Nick.” His wife turns around, wooden spoon in hand and a smile ready.
Chad looks at me. “Nick meet—”
“Babe, I know. I heard you say her name.” I hold out the flowers.
Chad and his wife laugh. She walks closer, hand extended. “Kristan, actually.”
I shake her hand and she takes the flowers from me. Grabbing a vase from under the sink, she sticks them in and turns on the faucet, then goes back to the stove. Chad turns off the water when the vase is half-full.
“Thank you for the flowers,” Kristan says over her shoulder. “I hope you like pozole.”
“I have no idea what that is,” I answer honestly. “But I’m here for it.”
“Nick’s a bit of a foodie,” Chad explains to Kristan. “He gets cooking lessons from a mystery woman every Thursday night.”
I sigh and shake my head. In a moment of weakness, I told Chad about Kate’s lessons, and he hasn’t let it go.
“Is that right?” Kristan as
ks, moving the pot off the burner. She looks at me, her expression expectant, but I don’t have much to add.
“Aw, you’re keeping it close to the vest. That means you really like her.” She grins and pulls bread from the oven.
“Do you need help with anything?” I ask, hoping this topic will fizzle out.
“Of course not. You’re a guest.” She spins to look at Chad. “You, however, can set the table.”
He salutes her and pulls out a drawer, gathering silverware.
Dinner is enjoyable, and the boys are even more fun. They are rambunctious but respectful. The kind of kids I hope to have one day.
There was a time when kids weren’t something I even saw in my future. But now I’m feeling like maybe I can have the things I believed were reserved for other people.
Kate’s face pops into my mind, and at the same time my phone rings.
Normally I wouldn’t let a phone call interrupt dinner, but it’s Harper, and that immediately makes me think it’s about Kate.
Smiling apologetically, I get up from the table and excuse myself to the back yard.
“Harper, what’s up?”
“Oh, you know. A little of this and a little of that.”
I frown. This doesn’t sound worth my time.
“Kate okay?” Kate’s the only connection between me and Harper, so if the call isn’t about her, I’m not interested.
Harper blows out an irritated breath. “Yes, she’s fine. I’m not calling about her. I wanted to see if you had anything going on tomorrow night. I planned a big event to celebrate the merging of Kate’s company with Trent’s, and I wanted to know if you’d like to go with me.”
Capturing my bottom lip between two fingers, I squeeze and think about her offer.
I don’t care to spend any unnecessary time around Harper, but Kate on the other hand…
“Sure, what time?”
It’s not nice of me to attend a party with Harper when I don’t care for her, but my conscience is eased by the fact she doesn’t care about anybody but herself. She might not care even if she knew why I agreed to go.
The Day He Went Away Page 21