“Can we not do this? I know you’ve been worried about me, but this wasn’t a good idea.”
Mom turned her anger on me, though she kept her voice low. “You won’t come to the house for dinner when we ask. You’re too busy working on the farm with whatever your new project is. I had to twist your arm to agree to a thirty-minute lunch.” She cast a glare at Dad. “I didn’t know Jack was going to pick here.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” He genuinely sounded apologetic. “Let’s cut to the chase.” Dad straightened and gave the look I imagined accompanied him delivering a prognosis to a patient. “Your mother and I think you need some time away. You pick the place. A village in Tuscany, a beachfront condo on the Riviera Maya. Even some classless little whorehouse in Amsterdam, if that’s what you need. For however long you need it—a week, a few months.” He sniffed and tilted his chin, shifting from doctor to benefactor. “However long you want, your mother and I will foot the bill.”
I gaped at them. “Really? You honestly think money and a fancy vacation are going to solve this? And furthermore, when was the last time I wasn’t able to pay for what I wanted? For anything that I wanted? I may not sign my name on a prescription pad or cut people open, but I can pay for any luxury vacation just as much as you can. Most vegetables are green, after all.”
Mom grimaced. “Adrian, don’t be crass.”
Over the past couple of weeks, they’d both been surprisingly supportive. Gentle and caring, constantly checking in. Too much. I figured Andre and Amelia had convinced them how much I was truly hurting. It seemed, however, the time for grieving had come and gone, and I needed to get my act together. “I’m not the one offering bundles of money to send my son away so he isn’t an embarrassment.”
“This is not about you being an embarrassment,” Dad practically hissed, and while there was anger in his tone, there was also sincerity. “We’ve already experienced the embarrassment portion, Adrian, lest you forget. This is about getting you better. Do you think we want to sit and see you wallow in misery? Because of some man?”
“I know you don’t get it, but I love him. And I know there’s a good chance it will never work out, but I don’t see myself ever not loving him.” I shrugged. “Like I said. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“What are you saying?” It was Mom’s turn to look hurt. She gestured between Dad and herself. “That we don’t know what love is? That we can’t imagine what it would feel like to think someone is your soul mate?”
At that moment, the waitress came up. “Can I get you all refills on drinks before your meals arrive? Or maybe you’d like to upgrade to a margarita. We have—” At the murderous glare my mother gave her, she wisely turned and walked away.
Mom turned the glare back on me. “You’re not the only one who’s been in love, Adrian.”
I was on tenuous ground. Though we drove each other crazy most of the time, I truly loved my parents. And I knew they loved each other. But theirs was a friend kind of love. Almost a business partnership that had grown to something more through mutual history and affection. I’d never seen passion or romance between the two. But to say so would cause undue pain. “I’m not saying that. But….” I tried to come up with a comparison, and even as it came to mind, I knew it was the wrong route. “Think about Alex and Alan. I’ve read Alex’s journals. This feels like that.” I shook my head. “Not exactly like that. But similarly intense. Alex just knew, exactly like Andre knew about Meghan.”
“Well, if that doesn’t prove you need some time away.” Mom began to rub her forehead. “If you’re going to use Alex as an example of how to live your life—”
A waiter stepped up to the table, cutting her off to deliver our platters of food. Doubtlessly our waitress had shoved the job onto him.
I took advantage of the distraction. “Excuse me. I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
Once there, I paced around the little stall, giving myself a pep talk. I was wasting my time trying to convince them.
I’d go back, finish lunch, and remember that I was Adrian Rivera. It didn’t matter if I was heartbroken, shattered, or a complete fucking mess. The two things that had always been true, with the exception of the flashing shoes, was that I loved my parents, and they loved me, but they did not tell me what to do, or how to live my life. I would make both of those things abundantly clear and offer no further explanation.
I was nearly to the booth when I realized the woman standing by our table was not the waitress. By the time I did, it was too late to turn around. Although I was certain it was exactly what my mother wished I would’ve done.
Mom’s sporadic BFF and archnemesis, Kimberly Epstein, was saying her goodbyes as she noticed me arrive.
Without any other option, I slid into the booth. “Nice to see you, Ms. Epstein.”
“You too, darling.” She smiled her saccharine smile. “Talk around town is that things shattered around your feet. I’m so sorry to hear it.”
“Kim, I suggest you watch yourself.” Mom looked on the edge of getting out of her seat.
Kimberly didn’t so much as glance Mom’s way. As she spoke to me, her smile continued to grow. “Of course, you did have it coming. I’ve always thought you were a smart young man. I don’t know how you didn’t see it headed your way. That Getty boy is nothing but a fame whore. You should’ve known that from watching what he did to Will.”
“I said, enough.” As Mom started to stand, Dad reached for her arm, but she yanked it free.
Her words stoked my anger, but seeing Mom rise to my defense gave me pause.
Kimberly kept going. “If nothing else, before filming your little smut flick, I would’ve thought you would’ve considered the history of our families. How we support one another. And if that wasn’t enough, you would’ve at least had the pride not to drag the Rivera family name through the mud of scandal.”
“Scandal?” Mom nearly shrieked, and shoved Kimberly on the shoulder.
Kimberly staggered back, exaggeratedly gripping her arm as if Mom had threatened to rip it off.
Mom advanced. “You want to talk about scandal, Kimberly? How many wives has your husband had? And which one was he married to when you got knocked up with Nick?”
Dad groaned but didn’t bother to move. It was pointless. The die had been cast.
Mom took another step toward Kimberly. “And wasn’t it your stepson who got married to your son-in-law, all the while your daughter was having an affair? And you want to talk about scandal? You want to talk about dragging founding families’ names through the mud?”
Kimberly grasped at her throat as if she’d been wearing pearls. “How dare you! You are nothing but a lunatic bitch—” Her words broke off, and she glanced around, as if realizing for the first time that the entire restaurant was observing and absolutely loving the showdown. She sniffed, lifted her nose in the air, and walked passed Mom, once more muttering, “Low-class bitch,” as she passed.
“Whore.” Mom didn’t bother to whisper the insult, but glared until Kimberly rushed out the front door, and then she turned to face the rest of the restaurant. “And she’s had three boob jobs. Which is the exact same number of wives her husband’s had. There’s some Epstein trivia for you.” She sat back down.
Dad didn’t lift his head from his hands. “Oh, God.”
Though the flush rising up her neck to cover her cheeks said differently, Mom sat straight and tall, chin raised in pride. “I’ll show that woman what bitch means.”
I couldn’t cover my mouth in time before I snorted out a laugh.
To my surprise, Mom actually winked, and leaned forward. “Well, if nothing else, I hope you win that reality TV star back so that I can rub it in Kimberly Epstein’s face every time she has me over for brunch.”
Amusement faded at her words. Win that reality TV star back…. I couldn’t care less about the star status, but if I was as certain about my place by Harrison’s side as I claimed, I needed to be doing a hell
of a lot more than repairing some broken-down greenhouse.
A shadow fell over the table, and we looked over to find Charley Perez grinning at us from the head of the table. “Just wanted to let you know, your meal is on the house.” He raised his hands to stop the argument, knowing my parents well. “I know you can afford it, but I can’t buy that type of entertainment, so consider it my way of saying thank you.”
Twenty-Five
Harrison
A squirrel scampered up to the window, peered in for a few moments as if making sure everything was to his liking, then turned and scurried up a nearby tree, only to perch on a low-hanging branch to stare at us once more.
“That’s just Deuteronomy. He likes to visit during most sessions. But I promise he won’t break confidentiality.”
I pulled my attention away from the squirrel and refocused on my new therapist, who sat across from me in the small office. “You name squirrels?”
Donovan Carlisle chuckled softly and gave a shrug. “Just that one. He’s been snooping for a few years now.”
It was only my third session with him, but once more I thought how well suited he was for TV. I could almost hear Angela’s direction in the back of my head as I repositioned on the sofa. He was extremely handsome, with short, stylish, nearly silver hair with just a few flecks of black remaining. He would shine on TV. And if he was quirky enough to name rodents outside of his office window, he’d steal America’s heart. Angela would have a few things to say about how his books were stacked on the shelves beside his desk.
I shook off the thought. I’d contacted my lawyers and they were severing my ties with Angela. Even so, as much as I hated having the cameras follow me around, over the past couple of weeks, I kept imagining little moments of my life through the camera lens. Readjusting here and there to compensate. It only clarified how much I needed a therapist, as it was obvious that my psyche was reverting back to something familiar, when every other aspect of my life was topsy-turvy.
Donovan scanned his notepad, seemed to chuckle again but silently that time, then his sharp eyes flashed up to mine. “So, how did the assignment go from last week?”
“Good place to start. I was planning on talking to you about that.” No wonder I thought he was about to chuckle. I was making good headway on our list. “I had a good three or four pages of definitive likes and dislikes, ranges of preferences. Most were fairly straightforward. But then my brother was looking over the paper, I’d left it on the counter, and he happened to notice the question about eggs.”
Donovan shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, did he?”
“Sure did.” I was attempting to keep my voice neutral, but I was struggling. I thought Donovan squirming was more an attempt to keep from laughing. “Jasper is quite the connoisseur of romantic comedies.”
“You don’t say.” Yep. My therapist was on the verge of losing control. “Just out of curiosity, did you decide how you do like your eggs prepared?”
I took a second to make sure I could maintain my serious tone and then sighed. “Do you make fun of all your new clients, doctor?”
He winced, and all humor fell away. Donovan leaned forward, his expression earnest. “Harrison, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to give that impression.”
I couldn’t help pushing a little further. “Really? Pretty sure it was all you could do to keep from laughing a second ago.”
He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, and gave a nod. At his guilt-ridden expression, I felt a little twinge of the emotion myself. “You are right. In my defense, I thought you would make the connection yourself and not only find the humor, but possibly find it beneficial.”
I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Doc. I’m not offended. But if it weren’t for Jasper, I wouldn’t even have caught on.”
He paused, looking skeptical. “You’re not offended?”
“No.” I shrugged. “Plus, you pretty much compared me to Julia Roberts, so it’s not really an insult.”
“Well, again, I apologize. I truly did think you would see the resemblance, but I should have been more forthright. Maybe suggested the movie as an assignment in itself.”
“Once Jasper noticed the similarity, we actually watched Runaway Bride.” Surprise emotion squeezed at my throat. “I do understand your point; you weren’t necessarily wrong.”
He was completely business all of a sudden, returning to his notepad as he leaned back in his chair. “How so? What did you notice?”
“Come on, Donovan. She was running away from the men she thought she loved because she didn’t have any fucking clue who she was. It was exactly what we talked about in our first session. Just in different words. Since I was eleven or twelve, I’ve been what everyone else wanted me to be. Just traded one dictator for another, and somewhere along the way, whoever Harrison Getty was got lost. I knew that before watching the movie. Although, I suppose it did crystallize it a little more.”
He smiled, a kind and gentle thing. “You’re much more complex than a Hollywood romantic comedy, Harrison, but it is a place to start. It never entered my mind that you hadn’t seen the movie. I truly did hope you’d find some humor in the egg suggestion, and that you would see some similarities like you did.”
“You know, it actually gave me a little hope. At least I’m not as bad off as Julia Roberts’s character. I didn’t have to try a billion ways to make eggs to discover which one I liked. I already knew that.”
“That is good. Anytime you can be more self-aware than a blockbuster rom-com, you’re in good shape.” Donovan smiled again. “Forgiven?”
“Of course. Though forgiveness isn’t needed. Like I said. I think it was actually a good thing to watch.” I hesitated, feeling a shift in the conversation, and even though it was only our third session, I’d met Donovan Carlisle enough times in social situations to feel comfortable, and he’d also explained his style at our first meeting. I knew that he would let me lead the conversation. I also knew that where I needed to go next was to talk about Adrian. But I couldn’t make myself. So, I skipped to the next topic. Not unimportant, but one I thought I’d already figured out myself. “I have my first shift at Lavender Petals this afternoon.”
“Really?” Though Donovan’s tone brightened, I had the sense that he was all too aware of the mental gymnastics I’d just flipped through to arrive at the flower shop. “I’m impressed, Harrison. Oftentimes, even after a decision, people take a long time to act on it.”
“I’ve been letting other people make decisions for me during the past two decades. There’s no more time to waste.”
Another smile.
Maybe it was projection, but I could’ve sworn I saw a glint of pride there. For a moment, my pleasure at that embarrassed me. I was a man in my thirties and thinking that I’d made my therapist proud shouldn’t be quite such a pleasing notion. But then again, that had been one of the first things Donovan had said in our first session. Based on my history, certain aspects of my development had gotten stuck. So maybe it was okay that the twelve-year-old kid inside of me needed to feel like someone was proud of him.
“How are you feeling about starting? Nervous, excited?”
Both of those things, and a million others as well. “I feel… free. And, if I’m being honest, a little ridiculous, but I think they come from the same spot. I’m a public figure, for better or worse. Former star quarterback in the NFL, and I’ve made millions in endorsements and royalties and all that crap. And here I am going to work in a flower shop. If VH1 did a Where Are They Now special on me, everyone would either laugh or feel sorry for me about how far I’ve fallen.”
He’d been scribbling some notes, but at that, he looked up, left eyebrow raised. “Is that how you feel about it? That working at Lavender Petals is a step backward?”
“Kind of. When I compare to all those other things, yes.” It was hard to admit. Especially considering how excited and relieved I felt when I pictured walking into Lavender Petal
s in a few hours.
“I can see that.” He nodded slowly as if considering. “But when you look at all those other things—football player, model, reality TV star, gay activist—and then compare it to simply working in a flower shop, which feels more like you? Which feels more like the Harrison Getty you actually want to be?”
His words threw me off for a second, then I realized why. “I thought you were going to end that question by asking which feels more like the Harrison Getty I was born to be.”
“I think those are the same thing, Harrison. At least as far as I believe, and from what I’ve seen. The things we’re born to be are the things we most naturally want. It’s the rest of the world—people, situations, hurts, and disappointments—that tell us what we should want instead. Those can change, but below it all, is what we truly want. In our soul, that doesn’t change. And if you look at it like that, maybe you can answer the questions the same way. Which is the Harrison Getty you actually want to be, and who is the Harrison Getty you were born to be?”
“That’s easy. Working at a flower shop is what….” Suddenly, I couldn’t finish the words, memories catching me unaware.
“Take your time. I find that a sudden surge of emotion often indicates a moment of truth, of realization.”
I swallowed and tried again. “I was about to say that working at a flower shop is what I’d always wanted. But despite you saying those two things are the same, it doesn’t feel that way. Wanting to work with flowers is one thing, but being born to work with them? Seems kind of like a waste of a life, doesn’t it?”
“Harrison, didn’t you tell me your mom worked in a flower shop?” Donovan didn’t have to check his notepad before the next question. “That your happiest memories are in that flower shop with her?”
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, but I managed to nod.
The Glasshouse (Lavender Shores Book 6) Page 25