Everything We Give_A Novel

by Kerry Lonsdale

  Whatever Ian’s going through, I don’t want him to feel like he must do it alone.

  “I saw Ian take off. What’s his rush?” Nadia asks, coming to stand beside me, phone in hand.

  Distracted, I blink at Nadia. “What?” The elevator doors close without me inside.

  I should be with him.

  I repeatedly jab the down button. Numbers light above the door. The elevator continues its climb up.

  “Where’s he going?”

  I pound the button. Ugh. “He’s flying to Spain.”

  Nadia finishes a text and sends it off. She looks at me with a tilt to her head. “Tonight? I thought he didn’t leave for another week.”

  “He changed his flight.” The elevator begins its crawl down.

  “Right now? No way. He won’t find an international flight tonight.” She checks the time on her phone. “It’s six o’clock.” An incoming text pings. She reads it and smiles.

  “He told me he was able to book it.” I tug at my lower lip. The elevator doors slide open and I let them close. There’s no chance of stopping him. He’s probably on the road by now. I guess we’ll talk when he lands.

  I send Ian a text to that effect and add a kissy-face emoji. My phone shows one bar fading in and out, depending on which way I face. I hope he gets my message, and I’m going to worry about him until I know he did.

  The desire to be with him, to join him in Spain, grows stronger. But I won’t find a flight at this late hour.

  Suddenly, the café’s expansion doesn’t seem important. In fact, my interest started waning long before Ian confronted me this afternoon. Is this really what you want to do?

  No, it’s not. A smile appears on my face as I think about how I felt while gazing upon the newborns.

  Nadia’s fingers fly over her phone. She sends off another text. My brows push up in the middle. “You’re getting reception in here?”

  “It comes and goes.”

  “Who are you texting?”

  “A friend.”

  I grin at the flirtatious note in her tone. “You’re texting a guy. Who is it? Are you dating?” She hasn’t gone out with anyone since she broke up with Mark last year. Talk about a dead-end relationship. He’s successful and very committed to his career, which would have been admirable if he’d shown that same level of commitment with Nadia. But she didn’t like coming in second place. What woman does in a serious relationship?

  “Yes, it’s a guy. No, we’re not dating. It’s work related.”

  “Aimee! Nadia!” Nick Garner runs up to us, grinning. His hair stands on end and his dress shirt from his day job as an attorney is unbuttoned at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up. One shirttail has escaped the waist of his suit pants. “I’m a dad! Again! I have a son! Oh my God, I have a son.” He grasps his face with both hands and laughs.

  “Congratulations,” Nadia and I say in unison. Nick hugs each of us, picking me off my feet when it’s my turn. I feel myself grinning as stupidly as he is. The man is on cloud nine.

  He waves for us to follow. “Kristen’s asking for you. Come meet baby Theo.”

  After cooing over Theodore Michael for a couple of hours and watching Kristen’s daughters meet their baby brother—I so want to give Caty a sibling—Nadia and I leave the Garner family to enjoy their new addition in privacy. As soon as we exit the hospital both our phones ping with notifications. Nadia immediately dives into hers.

  “I’m thinking of pulling the plug on my expansion plans,” I tell Nadia when we stop on the walkway before going our separate ways. She’d asked about the project’s progress in the elevator on the way down since I hired her to design the new locations.

  “That’s because you’re in the not-so-fun stage of paperwork and financing,” she says, multitasking on her phone. She taps out another text. “Every project seems dull at this point.”

  “It’s more than that.” I look across the parking lot. Evening traffic, the steady hum of passing cars, and the occasional horn and siren, noise polluting the evening. The first hint of fall permeates the air, wood smoke and the after-scent of brush fires. Drying leaves and apples. My stomach growls. It’s past dinner. I need to pick up Caty and find something to eat. It’s going to be a late night and I’ve been up since before dawn.

  “I worked the kitchen this morning. I had my hands wrist deep in dough and I loved it. I thought up three new drink mixes while waiting for the coffee to brew. I chatted with my regulars and . . . and who are you texting?” I ask, wondering if she’s even listening to me. I try to peer at her phone. She tilts it away.

  “I told you. A client.” She sends the text and tucks her mobile under her arm. “You were saying?”

  I jut a shoulder, thinking of my day. “I miss all that.”

  “Miss what?”

  “Did you hear anything I said?”

  “Umm . . . dough?”

  “Yes, that!” I hold up my hands, curling my fingers in frustration. I want to give Nadia a good shake. I want her to understand my desire to get back to basics. “I miss kneading dough and brewing coffee. The simple things. Does that sound lame?”

  Nadia’s phone pings. “Sorry.”

  I feel my brows push into my hairline. “Really?”

  “One second.” She shoots me an apologetic smile. “This project is on deadline.” She reads the text. So do I. I can’t help it. She’s standing right beside me and her phone is right there and she isn’t hiding the screen.

  Meet me for a late dinner.

  “Who are you meeting for dinner?” I hear myself asking as my gaze glides to the contact name at the top of the screen. Thomas Donato.

  It takes three seconds of dead silence for Thomas’s name and who Nadia has been texting to register because I can’t process what this means. Nadia and Thomas. Together.

  She senses the instant I see his name. Her arm falls to her side and her expression clouds with guilt.

  I gape, pointing at her phone. “You’re working with Thomas?” I sound incredulous. Heartbroken. Betrayed by my best friend.

  “I was thinking about mentioning it to you last night but—”

  “But what? James came to town? You thought I was too emotional after seeing him to handle the news you’re working with his brother?”

  “Something like that,” Nadia admits in a small voice, which is very unlike her. She understands how much she’s hurt me.

  “What I don’t get is why you’d agree to work with him in the first place. After everything he did to me.”

  “It’s only a small job. It’ll be done in two weeks,” she defends.

  “You thought I’d never find out.”

  Nadia looks at the ground. “I’m not even supposed to mention the project. I signed an NDA.”

  “How could you?”

  Nadia opens her mouth only to close it and slowly shake her head. She looks past me and my heart sinks.

  “You like him,” I say. She once had a crush on Thomas, but that was in high school.

  “No. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  Her lips press paper-thin flat. She puts away her phone. “I can’t discuss the specifics, or why I took on the project. Besides, I doubt anything I say right now will make you understand.”

  “Try me.” My phone pings and I hold a flat palm in front of her face to stop her from talking. “Forget it. I don’t want to hear. I can’t even . . .” My words fall away. I need a moment to collect myself. I need Ian.

  I look at my phone and read through a series of messages from him.

  I’m on the red-eye to JFK out of SFO. Flying to Spain tomorrow AM. Here’s my flight info.

  I’m at the airport waiting to board.

  Boarding the plane now.

  Are you getting these?

  Are you angry?

  You’re angry.

  I’m sorry, Aimee, baby. The timing sucks, but I’ve got to do this. I’m sick of it hanging over my head. Can you forgive me?
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br />   I’ll call when I land. I love you. Sweet dreams, darling.

  My heart breaks. I shouldn’t have listened to Nadia. I should have gotten into that elevator. I should have called him. Ian’s left and I didn’t even get the chance to say good-bye.

  “I can’t deal with you right now,” I say to her and walk off.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Spain,” I yell over my shoulder. Then I flip her the bird.

  CHAPTER 11

  AIMEE

  It’s past midnight when I arrive home with Caty. My mother offered dinner when I told her I hadn’t eaten, and while I ate, my father remarked that Ian had swung by on his way to the airport to say good-bye to Caty.

  “Daddy’s going to see the ponies again,” Caty said, scooting into the chair beside me with a bowl of ice cream. It was after nine p.m. and a school night. I tossed my mother an accusatory look. She shrugged a shoulder and returned the carton to the freezer.

  “He’s going to take some pictures for me.” Caty dipped her spoon into her chocolate chip cookie dough.

  “I can’t wait to see them,” I told her, wishing I’d made a point to have Ian show me the ones he’d taken this past summer.

  By the time I’d finished eating, Caty had fallen asleep on the couch. I couldn’t call Ian as he wasn’t due to land for several more hours, and by then I’d be off in la-la land. We won’t have a chance to talk until the morning before the second leg of his flight, so I stayed and chatted with my parents about the pros and cons of the café’s expansion. They’d spent decades working in the restaurant industry and I valued their advice, even though it wasn’t anything I hadn’t already heard. What were my priorities?

  Family, obviously. But more important, they told me to do what I love, not what I thought I needed to do.

  Hmm. Sounds familiar.

  Caty stirs in my arms when I close and lock the front door. I let her slide to her feet where she sways from weariness. Hands on her shoulders, I steer her through the house to her room. She changes into her pajamas in autopilot mode and crawls up her bed, flopping on top of the pillows. I kiss her forehead and return to the entryway where I left my purse. I need to charge my phone. I also want to respond to Ian’s messages with one of my own.

  Worried about you. Miss you. Call me when you land. OK to wake me.

  I collect the receipts Ian had left scattered on the table, drop some coins that hadn’t made it into the change dish, and swipe the business card that didn’t belong there, adding it to the receipts I’d leave on Ian’s desk. The name on the card catches my eye and I almost drop it.

  LACY SAUNDERS

  Memories scramble all over the place. They bombard me all at once. Lacy finding me at James’s funeral to tell me he’s alive. Her appearance on my doorstep with the wallet I hadn’t been aware I dropped. Her showing up unannounced at the café’s opening only to disappear before talking to me. James’s painting she’d shipped from Mexico along with the handwritten note that changed everything.

  Here’s your proof . . . Come to Oaxaca.

  I might have flown to Mexico to find James, but it was Ian’s arms I landed in.

  Ian.

  Where did he get this?

  Dropping everything but my phone and Lacy’s card, I go into the other room and sink onto the leather sectional. Only one name crosses my mind.

  James.

  I need to talk with your husband. Do you mind if I contact him?

  I roll my phone end over end, thinking about yesterday. James had called me on the café’s main line. I didn’t expect to hear from him again, let alone see him. I didn’t want to see him. But his voice carried an edge of desperation I found hard to ignore. He had a few things that needed to be said. Long, overdue, important things I deserved to hear from him. He wanted to meet face-to-face, assuming I was OK with this.

  Not really, but call me curious. I met with him, anyway, at a coffee shop in Palo Alto. He was visiting with college friends from his Stanford years—friends who’d thought he was dead, he added with a short laugh—and he was staying at a hotel nearby.

  “The coffee shop is neutral territory,” James said with a note of vulnerability I’d never heard in him before. It was a place we hadn’t been to together. No risk of stirring up old memories.

  But stir up they did.

  Being in James’s presence alone, even from across the café, was enough to slice open the old wound. I stopped just inside the entrance and waited for the familiar pain to engulf me that arose whenever I thought of James. The sensation came, but it felt duller, weaker, and it didn’t arise from a longing that things might have turned out differently between us. It never had. The pain clenching my chest and holding on to my breath stemmed from the old hurt over the way we ended. The secrets, the lies, the betrayal. And finally, my forgiveness.

  I took a meditative breath and the sensation faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. Unlike when I saw James earlier in the summer, I was determined to remain in control.

  I made my way over to him. He stood when I approached, even pulled out my chair. I noticed that when he did so, he kept his distance. He also didn’t attempt to hug me before I sat down.

  “Can I get you something? I ordered when I got here.” He pointed at his coffee when he returned to his seat.

  I eyed the murky liquid. “It’s not black with no cream.”

  “No, it’s not.” One side of his mouth lifted into a half smile. “I now take it with cream and a shot of coconut.”

  “Kauai’s rubbing off on you.”

  He tapped his chest. “This old dog can learn new tricks.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ve all changed.”

  James frowned slightly. I looked away. I hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic. It just came out that way. Inhaling deeply, I took a moment to collect myself. Stay in control of your emotions, Aimee.

  I wasn’t in love with James, but sitting across from him reminded me of what it felt like to be in love with him. It reminded me of the person I used to be with him. Naive, timid, and immature.

  We had so much history together. He was my childhood.

  But he wasn’t my future, and it had taken me months and plenty of counseling to come to terms with my own ineptitude during my relationship with him. I’d been so down on myself.

  At my invitation, Ian had attended some of my therapy sessions with me. He’d held my hand and listened attentively as I explained how I didn’t want to be that woman again—one with her ears covered and blinders on—while I was in a relationship with him. Ian had held me and fallen more deeply in love with me as I learned to love myself again.

  I apologized to James. “What I was trying to say is—”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.” He pointed at his cup. “Can I order you a coffee?”

  I regarded the menu on the wall. The selections were bland and ordinary compared with Aimee’s Café. “No, thanks. I’ve had my share today.”

  “That’s right. You’ve got an unlimited supply at your fingertips.” James leaned on his forearms and peered at the contents of his cup. “I never had the chance to tell you, but I’m proud of you.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “For opening your own restaurant.”

  I nodded, absorbing the compliment. James had been the one who’d encouraged me, but at the time, I’d been afraid of venturing out on my own.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot to me. Did you notice my logo?”

  “I did. That was a rush sketch. I didn’t mean—” He abruptly stopped and took a long drink of coffee. He set down his cup, his expression turning sad and regretful. James had been in a hurry to leave for Mexico.

  “I can draw you a better logo.”

  “I like the one I have.” I didn’t want to change it. The logo with the coffee cup and swirl of steam represented everything I’d been through to get where I was today. From making the decision to go out on my own to opening the additional locations. If I opened them.
/>   But there was something I should change about the Los Gatos location.

  “I’m thinking about taking down your paintings. Do you want them?”

  He shook his head. “Keep them. They’re yours.”

  “I can’t.”

  His brows lifted. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both.” I had to do more than tell Ian I’d moved on from James.

  He smirked. “Send them to my mother.”

  “Your mother? She hated your paintings.”

  “Why do you think I told you to send them to her?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re terrible.”

  “Would you believe she used to be an artist?”

  “No way.”

  “She was. Is.”

  “She paints?”

  James nodded.

  “I can’t picture that.” But his talent had to have come from someone.

  “I couldn’t either at first.” His gaze turned inward, but he didn’t elaborate. I knew there was a story somewhere in there, but it wasn’t mine to hear. Not today.

  “Do you really want me to send them to her?” I asked, double-checking.

  “No, I’m kidding. Box them up and ship them COD to me.” He took out his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you my address.”

  I hesitated. Did I want James to have direct access to me? Did I want that with him?

  Grow up, Aimee, I silently admonished. I’d block his number should he text me about anything other than shipping his art.

  “Let me see your phone.” He gave me his device and I added my cell number to my contact. James had the café’s number. I gave him back the phone and he immediately sent a text. My phone pinged.

  “Give me a heads-up when you ship them.” He placed his phone facedown on the table. “You look good. You cut your hair.”

  I absently touched the wave on the side of my head. “Do you really want to do this? Small talk?”

  He shook his head once. “No.”

  “Why did you ask me here?”

  “This isn’t easy for me to say.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then let his arm fall back on the table. “I want to apologize for the way I acted that last year after . . . after . . .”