“I’m going to lose my job for sure. I should just quit now. Move back to Napa and—” I was full on sobbing and hiccuping. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and try and stop crying about the public humiliation that I was undergoing. When I had calmed down enough, maybe ten minutes later, I forced myself to hold my head high and return to the table.
When I stepped out of the ladies room, and Charlie stood there, our lunches in a to-go bag.
“I got us a ride. We’ll eat at home,” he said taking me under his arm and kissing the top of my head. I nodded, unable to speak yet. Charlie guided us out of the restaurant where he had the restaurant’s hostess holding a cab for us, which we quickly ducked into. I was hoping and praying that the paparazzi weren’t recording this, too.
As we headed up Lexington, I found my voice. “I’m gonna get fat. I mean fatter,” I said flatly, and still sniffling.
“Impossible. And what are you talking about – er? Your body is perfect. You’re perfect.” Charlie said, taking my hand, and running his thumb over my knuckles.
“Right. Like you don’t wish I was a size zero,” I sulked.
Charlie laughed. “Honey, no guy really thinks those skeletons are sexy. They look fine with clothes on, but those hips hurt!” I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Your body is the bomb. And I’m an expert. So, shut it. I love this body now, and I’m gonna love it more as there is more of you to love.”
“And stretch marks are possible. And I’m going to be moody.” I started to cry again. Damn hormones. “I totally understand if you want out. You don’t need this in your—”
Charlie pushed me back into the seat and silenced me with a kiss. A soft, gentle, loving kiss. “Stop it,” he muttered against my lips before pulling back slightly and searching my eyes. His eyes were all honesty, and his words, all southern. “I’m not runnin’. I’m stayin’. We’ll take care of the press. If you want me to make a statement sayin’… whatever you want… I’ll say it. The baby is mine… it’s not mine… our plans. Just please… please… stop talkin’ about us not being ‘us.’ I’m not goin’ anywhere. I know we’re not married and you don’t wanna for a while, but ‘for better or for worse, ’til death do us part,’ you’ve got me.”
I blinked and looked into his wet eyes. He blinked and sent a pair of his own tears down his face.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered.
“We all deserve someone, Phoebe. And for the record, Sweets, it’s I who don’t deserve you.” I shook my head in protest. “It’s true,” he persisted. “If I weren’t Chase Smythe, we wouldn’t be on the radar, you wouldn’t be splashed on the TwitterSphere… If we weren’t ‘Choebe’ and just Charlie and Phoebe—a guy from Georgia, and a smart, beautiful, wonderful, caring woman from California who met in New York City—your life wouldn’t be so complicated. I made it complicated, and for that, I’m sorry. But, we’re going to get through this together. I promised you. And I don’t break my promises.”
By now, both of us had tears streaming down our faces. The cab stopped and called back the fare.
“Eleven-fifty, sir.”
Charlie pulled out a twenty, and passed it through the tiny hole. “Keep the change,” he said and we crawled out. Before I realized where we were, Charlie ushered us into the hotel and to the bank of elevators.
“Why the hotel?” I asked.
“Well, I’m out of clothes, and I need something nice to wear tonight” he said. Then he grinned and leaned in, “I’m also out of rubbers.”
Thankfully, it was a nice June afternoon, and the tourists that normally crawled all over the lobby were out shopping and sightseeing, and the elevator bay was nearly vacant.
An elevator dinged its arrival and we stepped in. We were immediately joined by a family with four kids, teen twin girls, a toddler boy, and a baby strapped to the husband’s front. The baby was snoozing and looked so adorable, my heart leapt a little. But just a little. Fear and panic started to wash through me again. I didn’t want a baby. I had dreams. I had a life I wanted to live. The elevator stopped on the 8th floor and they got out, leaving Charlie and me alone.
“Can I have you squeeze the other hand, please?” he asked. I looked down and saw that I was gripping his hand so tightly, that both our hands were white.
“I’m sorr—”
“No more apologies. I get it. Seeing the baby… I get it.” The elevator reached the 37th floor and we got out. Silently we walked to his room. Safely inside, Charlie set up our lunches at the small dining area in his magnificent suite.
Memories flooded into my mind of that first night I was in here. Tearing his clothes off, dropping my own clothes seductively. It was the first time I’d heard his southern drawl. Charlie gripped my chin and kissed my nose. “I know. I’ll never forget that night, either.”
Over lunch, Charlie and I talked about how we were going to handle the press. We decided it would be best to sit and talk with Valerie and Michael with their years of PR experience and figure out the best way to proceed. But I also insisted on not keeping this baby. And Charlie was a hundred percent on board with me.
Just as Charlie was clearing our styrofoam boxes, my phone rang.
The caller ID showed a name I had no interest in seeing. Danny.
When will my torture end??
I quickly hit DECLINE on the screen. I couldn’t deal with him now. I looked at Charlie who was questioning the expression on my face.
“It was Danny.” Charlie looked confused. “The…father.” God it felt horrible to call him that. He wasn’t a father. He was a sperm donor. An unwelcome sperm donor.
“Oh. Dickwad. Gotcha.”
“He called the other day and left a voicemail saying he needed to talk to me. I know I’m a chicken shit for not talking to him.”
“What do you think he wants? Do you think he’s calling because of Twitter?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “He did post a couple of pictures from when we were dating. So, he knows about us…”
“You know,” he started, walking up to me and dragging us to the sofa. “You’re going to have to talk to him about the adoption. He’s going to have to sign off on it, and his medical record will be important.”
I felt my eyes sting, yet again, from a new batch of tears that threatened.
“I know,” I sighed.
“Want me to talk to him?” he asked, reaching for my phone.
“I’ll do it. I have to grow up at some point. Just—let me talk to my mom first. Oh God,” I groaned. “That’s tonight.” Charlie pulled my legs over his lap and laid my head on his shoulder.
“We’ve got this, Sweets.”
“Why do you call me that? Sweets? I mean, I like it and all, but…”
“Babe is over used. And you are sweet. Like the candy coating on my Good’n Plentys. And you’re even a little spicy on the inside, like the licorice. But mostly sweet. Besides, Good’n’Plenty is a long nickname.” He tilted my head back and his lips found mine. “Mmmmm,” he moaned. “Definitely sweet.”
CHAPTER 38
It was a few minutes before seven and Charlie and I stood on the impressive front stoop of Jack’s mid-town townhouse. The large shiny black door with its polished knocker had an intimidating, yet quaint, appearance. The door opened and there stood my mom. A smile exploded on her face and she hugged me tightly, dragging me into the immense foyer of the home, then delivering a hug, but not as tight, to Charlie.
“Chase, it’s nice to meet you. Come, come,” she urged, taking our hands and leading us into the sumptuously furnished living room. I looked around stunned at the opulence of the room. Rich browns, soft creams, chrome and mirror. An understated elegance with a nod to traditional furnishings.
“The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Fairchild. Thank you for having us over for dinner,” Charlie said, his southern drawl that he used when it was the two of us—gone. Was he nervous? I mused. He was ‘acting’ to get through tonight.
“Actually, I’m going
by Morris these days.” My mother looked at me cautiously.
Morris? As in her maiden name? It surprised me some, and saddened me a little, but I could understand that when you leave someone, you would want a fresh start.
I looked at her dress, a stylish, coffee-colored maxi dress that was a great compliment to the color of her hair. What really caught my eye was the gorgeous white and chocolate diamond pendant that she wore, and when she turned I marveled at the companion pendant that hung down her back.
Jack came into the living room sporting a simple black apron, over jeans and a cerulean blue t-shirt, and wiping his hands with a towel. Such a stark difference from every other time I’d met the man who had worn a suit, an expensive looking suit, those times. When Mom turned to look at him, I mused at how she was nearly unrecognizable from the mom she’d been in California. It wasn’t just the hair, but her whole demeanor. Her body was more relaxed. She positively glowed. I’d never really noticed, but even her eyes were happy.
“I didn’t even hear the door. Phoebe. So good to see you again,” Jack said, tossing his towel over his shoulder and extending a hand to me. I took his hand and he covered it with his other rather than shaking it as I had expected him to. I looked at him and he looked…nervous? I guess after the last time we met, with him having my mother bent over his desk, he would be apprehensive. But realizing how truly happy my mother was with him, I couldn’t hold anything against him. I pulled him into me and gave him a hug. My action seemed to surprise him a bit, but once he recognized that I held no hard feelings, he hugged back sweetly and whispered in my ear, “Thank you.”
We pulled back, and Jack extended a hand to Charlie. “Chase Smythe. Nice to meet you.” The two shook hands. “Jack Stevens.”
“Of course, Mr. Stevens. It’s nice to meet you as well.”
“Can I get everyone something to drink?” Jack offered, walking over to the wet bar tucked along the back wall.
“Just water for me, sir,” Charlie said, then he turned to me. “Phoebe?”
“Same for me,” I said.
“Okay then,” Jack smiled. He cracked open a large bottle of water and poured it into two glasses. “Please, sit,” he gestured, and the three of us took seats in the room. My mom chose an oversized dark brown velvet chair and she curled right up in it like it was made for her. Jack sure didn’t miss it either, because he smiled warmly at her, and she returned the grin. For a split second I wondered what story that chair had to tell, but quickly pushed those aside.
Charlie pulled us into the center of a long sofa, his hand never letting go of mine.
“Chase, I hope everything is okay in Georgia? Your mother is doing better?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for asking. My mother is doing well.”
“Ma’am,” she laughed. “We don’t have to be so formal here. You can call me Beth.”
The name took me by surprise. She’d been Elizabeth for as long as I can remember. My dad and Jess called her Bets, but I don’t recall her ever introducing herself that way, or even liking that nickname. But Beth was an entirely new name. New last name. New first name. The hair. The clothes and jewelry. My mother really was a new person.
Jack handed Charlie and I our glasses of water, then went to retrieve glasses of scotch for himself and my mom, and sat on the arm of the velvet chair she clearly enjoyed. She’d been a wine drinker for…well, forever. Scotch? Would this night of surprises never end with regards to who my mother had become? Although with the smile on her face, I was almost eager to see the next new thing.
“So, Chase. Your hair? What happened? If I were your manager, I’d be fit to be tied,” Jack laughed.
“Oh, well, my mom was losing her hair from the chemo, so she wanted to get it shaved off. She got a little nervous when the time came around, so I jumped in the chair and did it first. And yeah, my manager, Michael, isn’t happy at all.”
“And neither is my boss, Valerie,” I continued. “It was my job to keep him out of trouble,” I said sheepishly.
“Trouble was always your middle name growing up,” my mom said, winking at me.
I rolled my eyes and laughed. She was right. Even though I was always getting into trouble, as the baby of the family and the only girl, I never really got punished for it. But presently, my mind thought about my current trouble.
We sat and chatted for a few minutes about the sunflower farm, and Charlie’s mom’s condition, her developments, and prognosis, and all the while Charlie rubbed his hand nervously over his shaved head.
A bell dinged from the kitchen and Jack got up, kissed my mom on the head, and headed off dutifully.
“So, he’s cooking dinner?” I asked.
“He loves to cook. It’s my recipe, though,” she assured me.
My mother took a careful sip of Scotch, and eyed the two of us. “What have you two been up to since you got back from Georgia? Phoebe, you are positively glowing.” She studied my face as she asked the question. My stomach dropped. It was the same way she asked the questions the morning after my friends and I were out getting into ‘trouble.’ Somehow she always knew. Whether it was tossing toilet paper all over the trees of one of our friends’ homes, sneaking into a movie that I wasn’t supposed to see, or even the night I lost my virginity—she knew.
I couldn’t look her in the eye, and Charlie squeezed my hand. My eyes dropped to the gorgeous pendant that hung from her neck. “I could say the same for you, Mom. I love that necklace. Is it new?”
“It is. A gift from Jack. He bought it in Paris.” She toyed with the pendant and smiled.
“So, Beth, how are things going at Mr. Stevens’ company? Phoebe says you are working on the charity board?”
“Actually, yes I am. I love it.” My mom grew animated and her accusatory tone was dropped. “This past week, I put up an initiative, which was overwhelmingly approved, to hold a ball to raise funds for women who are patients or survivors of breast cancer who run their own businesses. Phoebe mentioned in a text that your mom’s uncle helps to run her farm. And I got to thinking that not everyone has that kind of support.” Mom went on about the various plans for the ball like location, entertainment, and other celebrities that have already signed on to support the project.
“Wow. That’s incredible. If there’s anything I can do to lend support, please ask,” Charlie offered.
“I will. Thank you very much, Chase. You are a good man, just like Phoebe said.” She looked at the two of us, and our clenched hands.
Just then Jack called from the kitchen. “And dinner, is served. Beth, honey, would you grab a bottle and fresh glasses from the bar? I forgot to pull those down earlier.”
“Of course,” my mom purred as she stood. “You two head on into the dining room,” she pointed and walked over to the wet bar and pulled out a bottle of wine, while Charlie and I stood and headed toward the dining room.
Charlie pulled a chair for me at the side of the table. “Do you think she already knows?” he asked quietly.
“With her, anything is possible. But no, she couldn’t. It’s not like she’s on Twitter or watches the celebrity gossip shows. Right?” That last bit had me wondering though since she’d just spent the past five minutes talking about celebrities that I didn’t know she even knew existed.
“You’re probably right,” he agreed and went to sit opposite me from the table, leaving the heads of the table for my mom and Jack.
My mom entered, setting wine glasses in front of all the place settings. “Um, mom. I’m only nineteen, remember?”
She shrugged a bit, “I’m aware. You’ve never declined before.” She was right. Often at dinner my mom would serve my brothers and I a small glass of wine. My parents reasoned that if they made the wine taboo, we’d be more inclined to abuse it. If wine were just a drink with dinner, we’d be less likely to make a big deal of it. Ultimately, her plan worked, and because it wasn’t some big forbidden thing in our house, I never felt compelled to drink like crazy the way some of my fr
iends would when they were out of the watchful eye of their parents.
“Well, I’m good tonight. Thank you,” I said, and declined the glass.
“What’s for dinner anyway?” Charlie asked. “It smells delicious.”
“Ah. This is one of Phoebe’s favorites. Chicken Cordon Blue, wild rice, and asparagus. Be right back.”
“Chicken Cordon Blue and asparagus? You are California,” Charlie said, laughing.
All I could do was shrug.
Jack and my mom came back a couple of minutes later with the serving dishes and they laid them on the center of the table. It looked great until I got a whiff of the asparagus. My stomach turned.
“Mr. Stevens, Beth, it looks incredible,” Charlie said, with a watchful eye on me. I think he had an inkling.
“I used to crave Chicken Cordon Bleu when I was pregnant with Phoebe,” my mom said to Charlie, taking her seat.
Oh! Come! On! She knows. She totally knows. But how? No. I was just sensitive to certain words. I was misconstruing things. She couldn’t know.
I pushed my thoughts down and took the bowl of wild rice that was handed to me. Then the asparagus. I carefully took only a few stalks. Lastly, the chicken platter. Jack and Charlie were talking about cooking—Charlie’s trick for the fluffiest pancakes, Jack’s trick for the perfect steak. Apparently, you should soak a freshly grilled steak it in drawn butter. Who knew?
Eagerly, I cut into my chicken, which really was my favorite meal, but when the cheesy center oozed out, I lost the battle. Quickly, I excused myself from the table and went in search of a bathroom. My mother was behind me before I knew it. She guided me to the elegant powder room down the hall from the living room.
Thankfully, she gave me a small piece of space, allowing me to hurl on my own. When I’d emptied what very little was in my stomach and washed my face, my mom let herself in. She gave me that maternal knowing look.
“You know don’t you?” I asked.
“Well, there was last week when you got sick at breakfast. You are glowing. And…Twitter. Is it true?”
Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3 Page 30