by Nan Higgins
Reggie shook her head. “It really wasn’t. I sent you here because I knew Joan, and I knew she would put you to work. I thought this place would be good for you.”
“And the night we took him home? You knew?”
Reggie hesitated. “Joan contacted me the day before Thanksgiving and told me the situation here. She said we were her first choice for Q. I told her I was for it, but it was going to ultimately be up to you.”
London felt tears prickle her eyes, but she blinked them back. “We got back together that night.”
“London, don’t you see, this all happened for a reason. My sending you here was the start of us restarting our life together, a life that Q can be a part of.” Reggie reached for her hand, but she yanked it away.
“We got back together that night, and it was just another manipulation in a long string of manipulations to get us where we are now.” She stared down at her white-knuckled hands, still clenching the arms of her chair, unable to look anywhere near Reggie. In their time apart, she had waited for Reggie to see they were meant to be together and come back. Despite her unease with the circumstances surrounding their reconciliation, she’d let herself believe Reggie had come to her senses. Now she felt as if it had all been a means to an end, and she was shattered all over again.
“Baby, please,” Reggie said. “I was trying to do what I always did after the proposal. Lay out the options for you and give you space to do what you wanted to do organically. To come to whatever terms you felt were best for you, that’s all. I learned my lesson after I proposed. I’ve always known you’re someone who can’t be pushed, and I pushed when I proposed because I wanted so badly to marry you. I didn’t want to make that mistake again.”
“So you lied to me?”
Reggie raked her hand through her hair. “I thought it was something we’d laugh about someday after it all came out.”
“After we got married and adopted Q under false pretenses.”
“What false pretenses? We love each other, and we both love Quentin.”
London stood. “It’s not that simple, and you know it.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll take a Lyft to Grant’s house. I can’t be with you right now; I need to think tonight. Tell Q I’ll pick him up tomorrow to come here for the holiday party.”
London rushed through the living area, grabbed her coat from the vestibule, and stepped outside. She moved to the front of the building, stood on the sidewalk, and ordered her Lyft. Then as an afterthought, she texted Grant.
You home? Less than thirty seconds later, he responded.
Yep.
Good. I’m on my way over, and I need to crash on your couch.
* * *
London woke the next morning to the sound of Grant making coffee. She sat up on the couch and looked between her fingers around the sun-filled room.
“You need curtains in here,” she muttered.
“What?” he called from the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she called back. Moments later, he arrived by her side with a steaming cup of coffee. She accepted it and inhaled the rich smell before taking a sip. “God, I forgot how good your coffee was.”
“Reggie doesn’t make coffee like I do?”
“She makes it, but you make it stronger. I can practically feel my eyes flexing their muscles when I drink your coffee.”
“Mission accomplished.” He took a sip. “I have to start getting ready for work after I finish this cup. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
“Thank you.”
“Sweetie, that’s my way of asking how long you’re staying.”
“Oh. Just today, I think.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll go home tonight. I just needed space away from Reggie last night. I needed to process.”
“Did you come up with any decisions?”
“I did. But I’ll tell you more about them later, okay?” The worst of the sting from last night had subsided, but she was still tender about the situation. It had taken most of the night to calm her feelings enough to think reasonably about the whole thing, and she wanted to stay in that logical space until she had a chance to talk to Reggie.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be here. In the meantime, is there anything you need from me before I leave?”
“Can I use your computer? I have a few emails I need to send out and work to do today, and I didn’t anticipate the need to bring my laptop with me last night.”
“Sure, I’ll get you set up before I jump in the shower.”
She sat at the desk in the corner of his living room, looking around. The fresh pale blue paint was lovely and gave the apartment a tranquil feel. That combined with the Asian-influenced décor, made her feel positively Zen. She hadn’t been back to Grant’s since Thomas moved out, she realized, feeling a little guilty. Granted, he’d moved in with her after his breakup, but he’d been back here for a month, and she hadn’t been over once. Is this what parents go through? Getting wrapped up in their own lives and their kids to the point of neglecting their other loved ones? Maybe.
She realized she was thinking of herself as a parent and Quentin as her kid, and she waited for the familiar panic to flood through her, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt a nearly crippling love for him. It stunned her, leaving her unable to move for several moments. She loved him, and that love filled spaces in her heart she never knew existed. It was as if Quentin had access to a place she’d never visited, but all the same, that place was home. She had to shake herself a little to remove herself from her thoughts, and she deliberately focused on business.
She turned to the computer and began sifting through emails. It amazed her how many could accumulate in the evening after she signed off for the day. She opened a message from a prospective art buyer whose shop London had been trying to get into for over a year, asking for some of her summer samples. She looked around Grant’s impossibly clean desk for paper and a pen so she could jot down a few ideas before emailing him back.
“How can anybody work like this?” she asked under her breath. She opened the top drawer and found some pens and a notepad. When she went to close the drawer, she noticed a set of four photos in a long strip, the kind from a photo booth. She pulled it out and gasped at who was in the pictures with Grant. How could he not have told her?
Footsteps behind her made her whirl around. Grant was approaching the mirror on the other side of the room, straightening his tie and pushing a few loose strands of hair back where they belonged.
“I’m gonna leave a spare key so you can lock up in case you need to leave before I get home.” He caught a glimpse of her in the mirror and stopped his primping. “What’s with the face?”
She held up the pictures. “I was getting ready to ask you the same thing.”
He squinted, turned around, and walked a few steps toward her before realizing what was in her hand. “Oh.”
“You’ve gotta say something besides ‘oh.’ How long have you been dating Michael? And when were you planning to tell me?”
“We’ve only been on a few dates.”
“A few dates? And you’re already taking photo booth pictures?”
“We went to see the Christmas lights at the zoo, and the booth was just right there.” He ducked his head. “And I planned to tell you. I just wanted to see if it was going to stick. And because…well, it’s not even three months since Thomas and I split and even less time since I gave up hope he’d come back. I don’t normally move on this fast, but we hit it off and started staying in touch, and…he’s a great guy. I would’ve told you once I was sure there was something to tell.”
“Fair enough.” A part of her felt as if this was another secret kept from her, another lie of omission. The more sensible part of her knew Grant was cautious, and probably had good reason to be wary after his break up with Thomas.
He glanced at his watch. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’m leading a big meeting this morning, and
I need to get to work to set up. Text me if you need anything, okay? I’ll be at Compass tonight for the holiday party, so I’ll see you there.”
He kissed her on the cheek and hurried out the door, grabbing his coat and putting it on as he left. London looked at the happy faces in the four photos, then put them in the drawer and got back to work.
She got her second and much larger shock that day when she opened an email from Thomas’s law firm. She expected it to be the communication Diana had warned her about. What she found instead gave her a jolt that made her feel as if her blood was racing through her body at record speed, and she shook her head and read the message again, and a third time. She leaned back in the chair and twirled around in it.
“Well,” she said to the empty room, “I didn’t see that coming.”
* * *
“Did you have a good time at Grant’s?” Quentin asked as he and Reggie got in London’s car.
“I did,” she said. “I’d forgotten how long it had been since I was last at his place. He’ll be there tonight, by the way. He’s excited to see you.”
London texted Reggie when she was on her way to make sure Reggie was still coming. Reggie had seemed surprised London still wanted her there. It’s the holiday party, London had said in her text. You should be there.
Quentin, excited about the party, talked nonstop all the way to Compass. London was happy to let him do all the talking she and Reggie didn’t want to do, and she was glad he was so enthusiastic about tonight.
It had been lightly snowing when they left the condo, but in the ten minutes it took to drive to Compass, it turned into nearly a whiteout. London felt relieved when she pulled into the parking lot, having spent the last several minutes straining to see past the billowing clouds of snowfall that pushed toward the Jeep’s windshield. They walked in a clump to the door to ward off the wind. Inside the vestibule, they felt the familiar blast of hot air as they took off their coats.
“Quentin!” Bernadette called when they walked into the living room.
“Hey!” He waved. “Can I go give my friends their holiday cards?”
“Of course.”
He joined the other kids, hugging them and handing out the festive cards he and London had made together.
London felt a hand on her back and turned. Grant stood there in a dark red sweater with a plaid tie peeking out the top. “Hey stranger.” He hugged her, and after a brief pause turned and hugged Reggie too.
“Thanks for keeping my girl company last night,” Reggie said.
Grant lifted his eyebrows. “It wasn’t exactly under the happiest circumstances, but you’re welcome.”
“I know it. I’ll make it up to her.” She turned her apologetic gaze to London. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yes, you will.” She was beginning to forgive Reg for what she’d done after spending the night trying to see things from her point of view, but she wasn’t ready to share that info yet. She would forgive, and they would move on, but not before they had some serious discussions about trust and communication. Reggie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything else.
“Hey, you three,” called Doris, her gravelly voice cutting through the chatter around them. “Get over here to the kitchen and make yourselves useful.” They joined Doris and Michael in the kitchen and exchanged hugs. London watched Michael and Grant kiss each other’s cheeks and embrace, and she grinned when Grant caught her staring. She gave him a brief thumbs-up before anyone else noticed.
“Since we all know what a hazard I am in the kitchen, I’m sure none of you will mind if I excuse myself for a minute,” London said.
“Where are you going?” Reggie asked.
“To talk to Joan.” She squeezed Reg’s outstretched hand. “I won’t be gone long, I promise.”
“She’s in her bedroom,” Doris said, “not her office. Just go right through the east sleeping area, and you’ll find her.”
“Thanks.”
She found the doorway of Joan’s bedroom. It wasn’t what she expected at all, so different from Joan’s office and her personal aesthetic. It was a cozy room that looked as if someone had attempted to try to make it shabby chic but had only achieved the shabby part. Frayed blankets draped the double bed and the back of a worn armchair, and chipped paint covered the single nightstand. There were old black-and-white portraits on the wall: one of a couple on their wedding day and another of the same couple holding a baby wearing a christening gown.
“Those are my parents.” Joan stepped out of a room off to the side that London hadn’t noticed. The vanity and shower curtain led her to deduce it was Joan’s bathroom. “And me when I got baptized.” Joan was putting an earring through her lobe and fastening it.
“Where are your parents now?”
“They died many years ago. I used my inheritance to build this place.”
“I’m sure they would’ve been proud of you for that.”
Joan chuckled. “They would’ve called me a fool. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Most days, it doesn’t.”
“Come on in.” Joan sat in the armchair and gestured to the bed until London sat gingerly on the edge. “What can I do for you this evening?”
“I had a few questions for you.” When Joan nodded, she continued. “First, I wondered if you’d given more thought to the prospect of me working here in some marketing capacity. That was, after all, my reason to come to you, and despite my desperate fails in the kitchen, I wanted to follow up on it.”
Joan held London’s gaze for a moment, then reached into the pocket of her bright red blazer, scooped out the other earring and began to fasten it. “Truthfully, no.”
“No?”
“I haven’t given more thought to you working here. And that’s not to say that you won’t someday teach art classes or serve in some sort of artistic capacity, as I know you’re very skilled in that area. There’s a far smaller chance you’ll ever be in marketing, but I think you know that.”
“I do. Which leads me to my next question: Reggie sent me here because she had the professional connection to you, and she thought it would be a good place for me to start. That’s what she told me, and I believe her.”
“I believe her too, for what it’s worth. To my knowledge, she never cooked up sending you here for any reason other than wanting to help you achieve a goal you were determined to accomplish.”
“And you? Was that ever something you thought was possible?”
“No, I never saw you rising in the ranks to become our next great marketing executive. It was never about that.”
Knowing the answer already, London asked, “What was it about, then?”
“Quentin.”
“You knew from day one he’d be coming home with us.”
“I hoped. I knew the two of you showed enough promise to get you involved and see where it would go. I caught a glimpse of what could be when Reggie brought him here the night he was so scared and beaten down, devastated by what the world and his family had done to him. And then, when you came here…it just seemed like all the stars may have been aligning, but of course, I had to vet all of you to be sure.”
“And now? Are you sure?”
“Well, now, I’m afraid, it’s not my job to be sure. That is up to you, and not just you. You, Reggie, Quentin. You have to be sure, sure of each other and sure of yourselves. I can give my opinion on it, and when the time comes, I will. But as it stands right now, it’s not up to me.”
London pondered that. Now that she’d gotten her bearings and made her decisions, it was scary to think that so much was still beyond her control. It hadn’t occurred to her that Reggie or Quentin might not want the same thing she now wanted, and the thought made her throat tighten. She got lost in her worry until there was a knock on the door.
Quentin stood there, smiling and holding out a sparkling gold card. “Is it okay if I give you your holiday card now, Joan?”
Joan smiled, and it encompassed
her entire face. She crossed the room with outstretched arms to hug Quentin, and he hugged her back ferociously. When she pulled away, Joan put her hands on his shoulders. “You look good,” she said. “You’re taller. Now, where’s my card?” Quentin handed it to her, and she opened it and read:
“Now and always, know that you are loved and sacred. May the spirit of the season hold you and fill your every moment.” Joan turned to Quentin. “And it’s got this beautiful painting in the background!” She touched the shimmering peace and infinity symbols Quentin had artfully woven together.
“London and I made them together,” he said. “She did the calligraphy for the words, and I did the painting. We came up with what it was gonna say together.”
“Sounds like you two make a perfect team. I love it; thank you so much.” She put the card on the very front of her dresser, center stage in the midst of a dozen other holiday cards. “Now, we should probably be getting out there, shouldn’t we? I bet dinner is almost ready.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Reggie sent me to get you guys; she said it would just be a few more minutes.”
Moments later, they all stood behind their chairs, heads bowed as they prepared to eat their holiday meal. “Quentin,” Joan said, “we haven’t heard from you in quite some time. Would you like to speak tonight?”
“Okay. I’m thankful tonight for friends I’ve made, for love I’ve shared, and wishes I’m starting to make again. Especially that last one. You know things have gone wrong in your life when you stop making wishes. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few years or even the next few months, but I know there are good people in the world, and I know again that not all my wishes are wasted.” He cleared his throat, and through tears, London realized he was crying. That newly discovered maternal love swelled in her, and she was struck by an overwhelming urge to hug him as tightly as her arms allowed. She gripped the back of her chair instead. “That’s it,” he finished.