The Wonder of Now

by Beck, Jamie

  “Peyton, hasn’t everything been really good . . . until you saw Todd?”

  “It has, but . . .” He’d handed her an out, and she had to take it. In Paris, Mitch had said white lies meant to protect others were okay, so she lied. “I’ve been thinking about how Claire allowed me to apologize, and maybe part of my work on myself is giving Todd a chance to make amends.”

  “The two situations aren’t the same. Yes, you fell in love and hurt a friend, but he left you when you needed him most. Those betrayals don’t warrant the same consideration.”

  She bit her lip hard. She considered telling him the truth, but then he’d feel duty bound to stick by her if only to prove he wasn’t like Todd. “Even if Todd is undeserving, I still need closure—however that looks. How can I trust in love again if I don’t work through all my feelings? And you deserve so much better than I can give you right now. I can’t ask you to stick around waiting . . .” She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from letting the truth slip out.

  “Peyton, I’ll wait because I believe there’s something between us worth fighting for.”

  “You’ve had to fight for so much your whole life. You shouldn’t have to fight for love, too. Trust me, millions of women are so ready for someone like you to love them.”

  “I don’t want those women.”

  “If I know you’re waiting, I’ll feel pressure to hurry up when what I need most is time to myself.” Peyton tried not to imagine the bitter look that must now inhabit his eyes—exactly like she’d seen in Claire’s eyes for years. She almost confessed the truth because she hated that his last impression of her would be one of selfishness when she was trying so hard to be selfless. But that disgust he had to feel was her best shot at pushing him away.

  “I see,” he said.

  But he didn’t see at all, because she wouldn’t let him know how her heart now lay lifeless in her chest, her body as cold as the deepest water in the Sound. The numbness took over like morphine. “I’m sorry, Mitch.”

  “So am I.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I have to thank you, Mitch. Things have been so much better at work since I started taking your advice.” Lauren reached across the table for the butter, cutting another pat to mix into her mashed potatoes.

  “Good.” Mitch mindlessly forked his meatloaf. He shouldn’t have come to Hoboken tonight. His mother’s suffocating condo hadn’t lifted his mood one bit.

  “Lauren, that’s too much butter.” Their mom snatched the butter dish and set it on the counter behind her seat. “It’s not good for your heart.”

  “You didn’t say a word to Mitch when he showed up with three different homemade desserts.” Lauren spooned a butter-drenched bite into her mouth. “Besides, I’m a fit twenty-three-year-old with no cholesterol problem.”

  “You’ll get one if you don’t start watching what you eat.” His mom then thrust a hand toward him. “Tell her, Mitch. Tell her I’m right.”

  He drew a deep breath through his nose, having already arbitrated everything from how Lauren thought their mom should dye her grays to how his mother wanted Lauren to become a TRUE Mentor like Sadie. “Meatloaf and gravy aren’t exactly a healthy menu item, either, Mom.”

  But thank God for the gravy, which saved the overcooked meatloaf from tasting like paste. He didn’t offer a reason for why he’d been up all night baking.

  His mom huffed, no doubt disappointed that he hadn’t sided with her. He’d lost all patience for their insignificant, petty arguments after the way Peyton had spit him out like old gum.

  When he’d hung up with her earlier this afternoon, he’d put Rebecca in charge of following up with After-Words in Chicago to make sure things were set for tomorrow’s event. He’d then spent an hour on the phone with Kendra Khan, updating her on the rollout of her launch. At least there’d be no problem keeping the lines of that relationship clear. Kendra had even less humor and spontaneity than he did, but she’d written a damn fine—if dark—book.

  “I thought it would be nice if we all drove down to see your uncle George on Saturday.” His mom slurped some iced tea after that whopper of a non sequitur.

  “Pass.” Lauren ladled beef gravy over her mashed potatoes as if daring her mom to say something.

  Thankfully, his mom remained too focused on her own goal to notice. “We haven’t seen my brother in two months, and it’s his birthday next week. He asks about you both all the time. I know he’d love to see us all. I think he’s lonely since Addy died.”

  Aunt Addy had died seven years ago, and Uncle George had met a new companion not long afterward, but Mitch kept that mental note to himself.

  Lauren groaned. “Please don’t force me to make a four-hour round-trip to sit in Uncle George’s little apartment, eating egg salad sandwiches while you two reminisce. He smells like mothballs.”

  “It’s summer. He won’t be wearing wool sweaters and the windows will be open.” Their mother’s grip on her silverware turned her knuckles white. “Why don’t you ever want to do anything with our family, Lauren?”

  “I do family stuff. I’m here now, aren’t I?” She made a show of looking at her hands and then around the condo. “I’ll send Uncle George a card and a gift, but after a long week at work, I want to sleep in and chill on Saturday.”

  “Mitchell?” His mother bugged her eyes, which was her preferred tactic for prompting him to join forces. “Jump in anytime.”

  He shook his head. “No thanks.”

  From the looks on both their faces, one might think he’d turned into a unicorn right there at the table.

  “You okay?” Lauren shoved his shoulder. “You’re acting weird and mopey tonight.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Hm.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you pouting because I didn’t make it to the Strand?”

  “No.” He didn’t pout. That was their domain. “I’m preoccupied with another important launch.”

  “You’re always busy dealing with book launches. Tonight is different.” His mother sat back, arms crossed. “It’s that Peyton, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Did she break your heart already?” His mom clucked, fingers now drumming the table.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. Mitch doesn’t mix work and pleasure,” Lauren said, although she now eyed him with suspicion. He hadn’t discussed his relationship with Peyton with her, and obviously his mother hadn’t, either—a silver lining of their lack of communication, he supposed.

  Mitch remained mute, pushing the dry meatloaf into a puddle of gravy.

  Lauren laughed. “Oh my gosh, you did break your rule!”

  “Oh, Mitch.” His mom shook her head. “I warned you that different worlds always clash. But it’s her loss, honey. You’ll find someone else. Someone better suited . . . like Sadie.”

  He pushed away from the table—the legs of his chair scraping the floor—and took his dish to the sink. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Why? We haven’t had dessert yet, and we have to finalize our plans for visiting George.” His mom wiped her mouth with her napkin.

  “I’m not going to see Uncle George this weekend, but I’ll call him,” Mitch said.

  “Now neither of my kids cares about me and my brother? What did I do to deserve this cold shoulder?”

  “Oy, the guilt trips, Mom. Why do we have to prove our love by doing everything you want?” Lauren asked.

  Mitch was almost grateful for the Uncle George conversation because it kept Lauren from grilling him about Peyton.

  “You hardly do anything I want, let alone do everything.” Their mom rolled her eyes at her daughter.

  Lauren plunked her forehead on the table. “Mitch, make her stop.”

  “Both of you, stop.” His clipped tone caused them both to gape. He rinsed his dish and set it in the dishwasher, then filled the meatloaf pan with hot, soapy water. The women exchanged glances. “I mean it. I’m done with playing the Mathis family ref. Work out you
r relationship or don’t, but this”—he gestured between them—“is not my relationship to fix. I’ve got my own problems, and you don’t see me dumping them in your laps.”

  “Watch your tone. I didn’t raise you to speak to me that way, Mitchell.” His mom frowned.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t mean any disrespect, although you were downright rude to and dismissive of Peyton. How do you think that made me feel, especially after I’d just spent a weekend at her family’s house with her parents?”

  “Did she complain about me?” His mom’s indignant expression would’ve made him laugh if he weren’t so pissed. “Is that what caused a rift?”

  “No, I’m complaining about you. She has too much class to complain to me about my mother. But what if she’d overheard everything you said? Why would you bring up her health, or presume to tell me what I can and can’t handle?”

  “What did you say?” Lauren asked their mom, eyes bright with gossip-hungry interest. “And why am I the last to know anything?”

  “If you came around more, you’d know more.” His mom waved her hand at Lauren. “I wasn’t impolite. I told your brother—in private—that he should be careful dating someone with her history because he’s already been through that misery with your father. Any good mom would try to spare her child more pain.”

  “But I thought she was cured?” Lauren looked at him in confusion.

  Before he answered, his mom interrupted. “She’s only been cancer-free for one year. One! It could come back. You never know.”

  “No one ever knows,” Mitch said. “We could all have cancer right now.”

  “Don’t be smart. You know what I mean.” His mother made the sign of the cross before setting her hands on her hips. “I won’t feel guilty about trying to keep you from having your heart broken. If you’d stayed with me last weekend instead of going up to Connecticut, you wouldn’t be brooding today.”

  He sat back, shaking his head. “You do realize that it’s not up to you to decide who I date, right? You’re so sure Peyton and I had nothing in common, but maybe that’s because I’ve never been able to explore who I really am. Since Dad died, all of my decisions have been about what’s best for the family. Never once have I felt the freedom to dream my own dreams.”

  “I didn’t know you felt so burdened.” His mother slumped in her seat.

  “Neither did I.” As soon as he said it, he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that like it sounded. I don’t resent you or regret where I am in my life, but there might be other things I’d like to do, too. Things that don’t involve you, or paths you might not choose for me. Give me credit for being smart enough to know what I can handle and what I want.”

  “But look at what happened . . . It didn’t work, like I suspected.” His mom turned her palms up.

  “And the world didn’t end. I made a choice, and I’ll live with the consequences. In any case, it’d be much kinder to say you’re sorry that I’m hurt rather than saying ‘I told you so.’”

  “Good luck with that,” Lauren mumbled.

  “And you.” He whirled on his sister. “Enough with the wisecracks. Instead of picking on Mom, go look in the mirror. When’s the last time you did anything for her or me without being pressured? You’ve been coasting along as ‘the baby’ way too long. It’s time to pitch in and give back, unless you’re okay with us treating you the same way.”

  She looked at her mom while hitching a thumb at him. “If Peyton did this to him, I’m with you, Mom.”

  His mouth dropped open, but then Lauren reached for his hand. “I’m kidding, Mitch. Sorry. Very bad joke. I’ll try to do better. I wish I’d made it to the reading, because now it looks like I’ll never meet the Globejotter . . . or her hot brother.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Probably not.”

  Admitting that aloud made it all the more real and painful.

  “Well, I guess this is a good reminder of why I should follow your rule,” Lauren mused before licking the last bit of gravy from her spoon. “While I kinda like that you finally broke a rule, I’m sorry it backfired. What happened?”

  He sighed. “Her ex showed up at the event. It’s complicated. She says she needs time to process everything she’s been through—with cancer, that breakup, the book stuff. I get that. She’s been on a treadmill since her diagnosis and needs time to catch her breath.”

  “Makes sense.” Lauren nodded.

  “Not to me,” his mom said.

  “Only because you don’t like to do anything by yourself,” Lauren replied, then turned back to Mitch. “Give her some space. Maybe send her a note in a week or something, but don’t be clingy. No woman likes a clingy man.”

  Their mom harrumphed, which caused Lauren to double down on her statement by bugging her eyes at him.

  “Mom,” he said, “let’s not argue. I appreciate the dinner and know that you mean well. I’m sorry I brought my bad mood with me, and I’ll go to see Uncle George on Saturday, okay? That said, next time I have a chance to be happy—however that looks to me—I’d like your support instead of a lecture.”

  “Fine.” His mom raised her hands like he was holding her at gunpoint. “Far be it from me to be one of those mothers who doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

  Laughter burst from Lauren, and even Mitch had to smother a chuckle. The pop of humor felt damn good at the end of his crappy day.

  Jerry the Uber driver placed Peyton’s suitcase in the trunk, giving her an extra moment to herself while in the back seat. The sickly-sweet aroma of the deodorizer dangling from the rearview mirror did nothing to stave off her nausea.

  She snaked her hand beneath her wrap dress and across her right breast to feel the lump again. After a year of ignoring her foobs, she’d now massaged that spot a thousand times since yesterday, fishing for the baby pea-size bump beneath the ridge of her scar. Panic toyed with her head, making the lump feel a little different each time—bigger, smaller, oval, round, painful, numb.

  As usual, the waiting was the worst part—or nearly the worst part—because anxiety made her as queasy as chemo did. Three days to go before the imaging tests, and then another few days for the results. Silver lining: she’d lose five more pounds before she got an answer, getting her back into all her precancer clothing. She scrunched a fistful of hair in her hands and pushed away the idea of losing it again.

  When Jerry sank onto his seat and fired up the Ford Focus’s small engine, she straightened her shoulders and pasted a smile on her face. “Thank you. We need to make a quick stop at 436 Forest Street first, and then we’re heading to JFK.”

  “You got it, pretty lady.” He returned her smile in the rearview mirror. His white hair, sunspots, and deep wrinkles proved him to be at least sixty-five, and she could always tell the difference between a harmless compliment and a come-on.

  “Thanks.” She then stared out the window for the three-minute ride to Claire’s home, the familiar streets and houses blurring together. Peyton hadn’t seen Claire since the Strand and didn’t want to see her this morning. She’d texted Logan a minute ago, but he still hadn’t responded by the time Jerry pulled up to the curb.

  “Hang here for five minutes,” Peyton told him. She exited the car and trotted up the steps to knock on the door, calling out, “Come on, Logan. Time to go.”

  The door opened, bringing her face-to-face with Claire, who was dressed in a boldly patterned Vineyard Vines dress and eating a double-chocolate-chip muffin. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” The whole town knew that Claire devoured chocolate to cope with emotional upheaval. Peyton would bet anything that she’d been eating like a madwoman since Wednesday night. For a nanosecond, Peyton considered addressing the elephant on the porch, but then chose not to even whisper Todd’s name. With a slight smile, she asked, “Is Logan ready?”

  “Just about.” Claire picked a chocolate chunk off the muffin top and popped it into her mouth. “He’s brushin
g his teeth.”

  “Oh, okay.” Peyton fumbled for a safe topic. “Cute dress. You’re up and at ’em awfully early.”

  “I have an appointment with Fred Bastion at eight. He’s redecorating his law office. Otherwise we would’ve stayed in the Chelsea apartment last night so Logan could sleep in longer.” Claire tipped her head. “Why didn’t you stay with Mitch?”

  Claire, off on a fishing expedition with zero ability to play poker . . . or fish. Peyton could see straight through the attempt to discover how Todd’s appearance had affected her. And yet, seeing her friend standing there gobbling a muffin, Peyton couldn’t help but bite on the line she’d been thrown. “Mitch and I . . . That’s over.”

  Claire’s eyes went round, but Logan bounded down the stairs and interrupted them before she could ask more. He set his bag down to grab his fiancée into a hug while smiling at Peyton. “Hey, sis.”

  “Did you know that she and Mitch broke things off?” Claire asked before taking a giant bite of her muffin over the back of Logan’s shoulder, which was a pretty cool party trick.

  “What?” He released her, looking at Peyton with surprise. “Tell me this has nothing to do with that ass Todd.”

  Claire shoveled the final chunk of her muffin into her mouth.

  “No.” Peyton shook her head, her throat tightening like it did every time she thought about Mitch, and the real reason why she’d pushed him away. “But we don’t have time to discuss this now. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

  As usual, Logan saw through her bravado. He gripped her arm. “Hang on. You’re hiding something. What did Mitch do?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged free of his grip.

  “So what happened?” Logan hefted his bag up by the shoulder strap. “You two looked happy the other night at dinner.”

  She had been happy. Stupidly so.

  “Bad timing.” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance like a boss.

  “Because of the book?” Logan quizzed.