by Daria White
“Yes, I am. Are you?” she asked.
“I’m pulling off now. I have to hurry if I’ll make the board meeting today.”
“You don’t keep a change of clothes at your office? Don’t all businessmen do that?”
“You watch too many movies.”
“Anyway, will tomorrow work at the same time?”
“What all do you need? It seems like a lot for an article.”
She giggled. “If you were a regular man, maybe. Like I said before, you’re a celebrity.”
If only he hadn’t agreed for People magazine to feature him as the most eligible bachelor. The journalist bombarded him with questions about his family, home life, and his personal life. Dating Andrea Williams meant a new level of invasion of privacy.
He met the model eighteen months prior at the gala his parents hosted every year. It was amazing how one of his father’s millionaire clients knew the rising star. She’d been invited to the event. Lance had been surprised to see her in a small town like Delta Heights, but Andrea’s beauty struck him that night. Who would pass on the opportunity?
“Are you there?” Chantelle asked.
Lance gripped the wheel. “Yeah. Tomorrow will work for me. Though lunch time will be best.”
“Okay, well… don’t get sick.”
He laughed. “You neither.”
With that, he hung up and headed home for some dry clothes.
Chapter 8
Glenda, the family cook, served the Taylor’s family table. Lance’s eyes scanned his choices: purple hull peas, baked chicken, sweet potatoes, cornbread, and brisket. He served his own plate despite the churn in his stomach. Lance hated their “family” dinners, but he didn’t want repercussions from his mother. He loved her, but she could nag him to pieces.
His father was no different, although he was less vocal about it. Though he admired his father, their relationship wasn't as strong as it used to be. Lance missed the old days where he and his father would play catch.
When he tried out for the basketball team in middle school, his dad bought a basketball goal, and hung it on the garage outside for him to practice. Lance’s father used to take him for ice cream as a boy, but now they barely saw each other for lunch at the law office.
Simple nods and grunts were common. Lance believed his mother organized their dinners to help, but if a grown man didn’t want to talk, he didn’t. Still, Lance made the effort. He loved his parents. He came over when he could to visit, but it was getting burdensome. If only the house felt like home.
“You’re not eating?” His mother pointed her fork to his plate.
Lance moved around a few sweet potatoes on his plate. “Not that hungry.”
His mother took a sip from her glass of tea. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. I’m taking care of everything.”
“I thought you raised me to take care of myself.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
She waved away his comment with her fork in hand. “As long as I’m your mother, I’m taking care of things. Especially this wedding.”
“I hope you cleared that with Andrea.”
“She’s sweet. You made a smart choice, but I’m your mother.”
“Whatever you say.” He swallowed a bite of the sweet potatoes and then washed it down with some water.
“I hope I’m not too late,” his father said, joining them in the dining room.
“Not at all, dear.” His mother beamed.
His father twisted his mouth at him. “I see you’re on time.” Then he settled into his chair.
“I was late only one time. You know the reason.”
“One time too many.” His father served himself a plate.
Lance bit the inside of his cheek. Nothing pleased the man. Didn’t he attempt to do everything his father asked? He even followed in the man’s footsteps in his career choice. Lance leaned back in his chair as his mother talked up a storm about Andrea’s wedding dress.
“Something wrong, Lance?” His father asked.
Would it matter? “No, sir. I’m fine.” Eventually, he would explode, but voicing his opinion now was out of the question.
He forced himself to eat the baked chicken, grateful for its succulent taste. Better to forget the past at the moment. The present needed his attention. Chantelle was back in Delta Heights. Lance adjusted in his chair once more.
Should he tell his future wife that his ex was...? Lance sipped more water from his glass. He wouldn’t tell Andrea tonight. She’d be too busy to talk. Another thing he needed to address. He wasn’t going into their marriage without them setting some boundaries. He admired her work, but as he learned from his past mistakes, a relationship wasn’t one-sided.
Chantelle’s eyes flashed in his memory. That was a relationship with two mutual people. He blinked. No thinking of an ex when marrying another. Yet, he couldn’t deny the flutter in his chest when he saw her at the cemetery. Though she was visiting her late father, she stopped by his sister’s grave. That’s how thoughtful she was.
A chuckle escaped his lips, but his parents didn’t notice. Getting caught in the rain with Chantelle was the last thing he thought would happen today. Yet, he liked the way her hair kinked and curled. Rain had slid down the column of her neck. Lance cleared his throat.
“Lance?” His mother raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?”
He nodded. He wanted to finish dinner so he could leave.
“Is there a reason you were late for dinner?”
Lance sighed. He figured his mother would berate him, eventually. She was a stickler for keeping time too. “I was at the gravesite.”
His mother froze in place, holding her fork of sweet potatoes to her lips.
Lance’s father stared at him across the table. “Not much has changed.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“I think you go there too often.” His mother patted her mouth with her napkin.
“I wish you two would go with me sometimes. It’s as if—”
“Don’t upset your mother.” His father’s eyes bore into him.
Lance sat back in his chair. “Upset her how? Why is it so hard to talk about your daughter? My sister?”
His father’s nostrils flared. “Don’t talk to me about losing a—” His eyes widened as if he caught himself. Then Lance’s father lowered his head.
“Losing a what, Dad?” Lance wanted him to say it. Would his father stoop that low?
“He didn’t mean it.” His mother always interjected on his behalf. “He means that if you want to visit your sister, that’s your choice.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.” His father threw his napkin on the table, not bothering to excuse himself.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Lance’s own chair scraped the floor as he stood.
His mother reached for his hand. “He didn’t mean it. We’re working through things in our own way.”
“It would be easier if we did it together.” It had been a little over a decade, but he wouldn’t voice the thought. Lance kissed his mother’s cheek and said goodnight to Glenda. Once outside, he looked at the night sky, clear from the rain that had poured earlier. Stars sparkled and a cool breeze fanned his skin.
He’d been through this before with his father. Tomorrow at the office, they would get back to work. His father may hint at an apology, but they never talked things out. Lance settled into the driver’s seat of his car. He needed to go home. Too bad he found no comfort there either.
***
“I still don’t understand how you got caught in the rain,” her mother said.
Chantelle shivered as her teeth chattered. Her mother made a cup of chamomile tea. She sipped the hot liquid, while resting crossed legged on her mother’s couch.
“I didn’t know it would rain.” She took another gulp, loving the warmth spreading through her body.
“I hope you don’t catch pneumonia.” Her mother planted her hands on her slim hips.
“I won’t. It’s only a chill.”
Her mother took a seat next to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Mom, I’m warming up and—”
“Not that. I mean, seeing Lance again. How do you feel about profiling his wedding?” Her mother’s eyebrows etched together.
“Why would that bother me?” She swallowed her favorite tea, dropping her eye contact to her cup.
“Chantelle?”
Setting her cup on the coffee table, she wrapped the throw blanket around her shoulders. “I can handle it, Mom.”
“Do you remember the day you came home when he first asked you out?” her mother asked.
Chantelle remembered. She rushed to tell her mother the news that her crush and friend, Lance Taylor, had asked her for a date. Her father had only told her one thing.
“Make sure he treats you right,” he had said in his protective fatherly voice.
Now, as she sat in her mother’s living room, Chantelle’s eyes diverted to her lap. She had been working on a chance like this, grateful to Brenda for recognizing her writing skills. Her skin crawled at the thought of her previous editor, who told her she’d only succeed by her good looks.
In her eyes, beauty was a curse. She was so much more on the inside than what others deemed exquisite on the outside. The first person to see her heart outside of the family had been… Lance. Chantelle blinked.
“That’s all in the past,” she said, settling into the back of the couch.
“If you say so. If you think you can do it, I believe you,” her mother said. “Get some rest.”
Chantelle nodded, snuggling on the couch. Despite her best judgment, she checked the comments on her most publicized article she’d written. She’d profiled a famous NFL player and his wife, but they divorced after one year of marriage. Though she wasn’t at fault, some readers criticized her ability to capture the truth in her story. Some accused her of putting their relationship on a pedestal. Chantelle rolled her eyes. They couldn’t be serious. How did her article affect their marriage?
Grunting, she closed out her article. Was she cut out for this? It wasn’t as if she were a relationship expert. Even her last relationship failed.
Assuming she and Bryce were a perfect match, Chantelle tried to be the supportive girlfriend, but things changed from when they first started dating. It wasn’t fun anymore. Chantelle had to look her best at all times to appeal to his corporate colleagues. Her beauty captivated the room when she walked in, and her social skills proved promising when at a party.
Yet, she couldn’t take it anymore. Bryce broke up with her, claiming she didn’t understand “his world.” Whatever that meant. She didn’t want any part of it. Though he was a good man overall, they weren’t suitable.
Wrapping herself in the blanket, Chantelle walked back to her room. Sitting on her bed, she charged her phone. Then a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said.
Her stepfather walked inside with a food tray. “Your mother insists that you eat this.”
“I’m not sick.”
He placed it at the foot of her bed. “Her words, not mine.”
Chantelle leaned over to see her mother’s homemade chicken soup. The steam heated her face, and the aroma tickled her nose. “I’ll eat it later.”
Douglas nodded. “I hope you feel better.” He didn’t say another word, but turned to leave.
Chantelle blew out her cheeks, taking an opportunity with him. “I hope so too. I can’t afford to get sick.”
Douglas stopped in his tracks. He faced her. “Are you excited about your article? Have you… written anything yet?”
Chantelle appreciated his interest. “Overall, yes. Nothing written yet. There is pressure though.”
“To...?”
“Deliver. This is an important piece of work.”
Douglas nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do well.” He gestured at the bowl of soup. “Eat some so I can tell your mother.”
Chantelle raised her hand as if taking an oath in a courtroom. Douglas smiled and left this time, closing the door behind him. Despite the friendship she wanted to build with her stepfather, her own father’s face invaded her thoughts.
She shut her eyes. Standing over her father’s grave wouldn’t get any easier. She could still hear his laugh as he would tickle her as a girl. The cheers he would yell at her during volleyball games. He was the best father a daughter could ask for. Licking her lips, she willed the tears to stay at bay.
Scooting closer to the edge, she sat the food tray in her lap. It warmed her from the inside out as she ate, loving the taste of her mother’s food. Chicken, celery, carrots, and tender noodles with her mother’s special chicken broth. Chantelle needed to visit more often. No one cooked like her mother, though she tried to imitate her skills in the kitchen.
A-CHOO! Her eyes widened. She would take a cold pill before bed, but first, she finished the rest of her soup. After returning her tray to the kitchen, she cleaned her bowl. Warm water rushed over her skin as slipperiness of the soap suds increased.
Drying her hands, she leaned against the counter. While a feeling of weightlessness took over the moment she arrived home, it didn’t deny the widespread numbness. Then she touched a hand to her stomach. It would never get easier. One year. Three years. In her case, ten years. Chantelle released a heavy sigh. She wasn’t angry. She’d healed, but that didn’t change the past.
No point in keeping herself up about it. Chantelle turned in early for the night. She needed a good night’s sleep. She would need all her energy for her interview with Lance.
***
Lance dabbed the sweat from his forehead as he finished his last push up. An evening with his parents should have exhausted him, but only adrenaline raced through his blood.
The exercise helped release the stress. They weren’t a family anymore. He was only existing with them.
He gulped his water bottle. He and Andrea were starting their own family together. Marriage wouldn’t cure his relationship with his parents, but it would give him something else to focus on besides his family’s dysfunction. The cycle couldn’t continue. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Though his parents weren’t his favorite people, they stayed together despite the hard times. However, his father did better handling business as opposed to their family life. Lance’s mother understood. Like tonight, she came to his defense.
Despite everything, Lance wanted that. He wanted someone to stick by him. He wanted to come home to a family. A loving wife. Kids with smiles on their faces. He had the house. The job. The reputation of a celebrity but his house was not a home.
Did he find that in Andrea? The model beauty went against all the stereotypes he had heard about most models. Pompous. Unsympathetic. Not Andrea. She was one of the sweetest women he’d ever met in a long time. No denying the chemistry. Lance recalled touching her cheek for the first time when they kissed. Her beautiful dark brown skin glowed.
“You’re going to kiss me now, aren’t you?” She had asked, tilting her head towards his mouth.
“Would there be anything wrong if I did?” He inched closer. His lips barely touched hers.
Andrea’s arms inched up his back. “I think I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”
“I think I will be too.” He didn’t deny her any longer. His lips had pressed against hers.
They hadn’t been apart since until now. Andrea’s career was booming. Her schedule became more unpredictable.
Lance screwed the top back on his water bottle. Then his tablet beeped. He jerked at the buzzing on his desk. Someone was FaceTiming him. “Hello.”
Andrea’s face appeared on screen. With her loose brown curls in a messy bun, he saw more of her round face.
He gave a faint smile. “How are you?”
She cupped her cheek. “Tired. How about you?”
“It’s been one of those days.”
“One of those days?” She raised an arched eyebrow. “That’s not telling me much.”
<
br /> “I don’t want to talk about it.” He heard the bite in his voice. Though Lance didn’t mean it, judging by Andrea’s forehead wrinkling, she wouldn’t ignore his attitude.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry.”
“What’s with you today? Rough day at the office?”
“Something like that. I have to close this deal and I can’t afford any mistakes.”
“Is making partner that important to you?”
“I’ve come too far to give up now.”
“But you don’t look...”
Why did she stop? “What, Babe?”
“Happy.”
He couldn’t tell her the truth. How stupid would it be to say he was only doing it to get his father’s attention? The thought was ridiculous, so he blocked it out. He was a grown man. Yet, he had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. What made him happy?
A glimpse of it touched him at the cemetery, of all places. It wasn’t until he saw Chantelle standing over him. The ache in his heart over his sister’s death eased when he stood to talk with her.
For a moment, they were the only two people in the world. Chantelle Woods. Amazing. Beautiful. Caring. Talented. Funny.
Then the rain started, and he reached for her. How he would hold her in the past. Chantelle would hug his neck, and he would let go of all the pain of his late teen years and not having his sister around anymore. He couldn’t talk to his parents, but he could share with Chantelle. Sure, Grant would listen, but his sister was another shoulder he could lean on.
“Lance?” Andrea said.
He rubbed his eyes. Those days were over. No reason to be thinking about Chantelle now. It wasn’t fair to Andrea. “Sorry. What?”
“Lance, you’re not listening to me.”
“I am. I hear you.”
“What did I say?” Andrea cocked her head to the side.
“Something about…” He had to get this right. “Your dress being perfect.”
“I guess that’s close. I can’t decide on a mermaid design, ball gown, A-line, trumpet—”
“Can’t you just pick one?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? Picking a wedding dress is one of the most important parts. It’ll determine everything like the flowers, the bridesmaids’ dresses—”