But was it so horrible to want something for himself? For the past three years, he’d put the kids’ needs ahead of his own. Everything he’d done, every decision he’d made, had been with their best interests in mind. Even when he’d dragged them—Caitlin kicking and screaming—away from North Carolina, it had been for them.
Now, for the first time since Liz had passed away, he wasn’t thinking about what Caitlin and Tyler needed but about what he wanted. Did that make him a bad father? he wondered. Or did it just make him human?
The question plagued him only until Samara showed up, looking very hot tonight in a flirty little skirt that swirled around her thighs when she moved, a knit sweater that molded to her firm, high breasts, and knee-high boots that made it all too easy to picture her wearing those and absolutely nothing else.
Which was definitely not the sort of thing a man should be thinking about while his children were around.
He started to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless, but a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye warned him that they weren’t alone. So instead of grabbing hold of Samara, he took the bottle of wine from her hand.
“Something smells good,” she said.
“Lemon chicken,” he told her, then nodded at the plastic tub in her hand. “What’s that?”
“Ichigo daifuku.” She opened the refrigerator and found room for the container inside. “They’re Japanese sweet cakes with strawberry filling.”
Caitlin, hovering in the doorway, made a face. “Sounds disgusting.”
Steven shot his daughter a reproving look.
Samara forced a smile. “They’re actually quite good, but you don’t have to try one if you don’t want to.”
“I wanna try one,” Tyler said, earning a smile from Samara and a scowl from his sister.
“After dinner,” Steven told his son, as he replaced the lid on the pan where the chicken was simmering.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Samara asked him.
He wouldn’t mind having her hang out in the kitchen with him, but the point in inviting her over was for the children to hang out with her.
“I think I’ve got everything under control here,” he said. “Why don’t you go into the living room with the kids?”
“I got a new game for my Wii,” Tyler told her. “You wanna play it with me?”
“Sounds like fun.” Samara followed him out of the kitchen.
Caitlin stayed behind.
Steven sighed. “Give her a chance, Cait.”
“A chance to do what?”
“To be your friend maybe.”
Her only response was a scowl.
“Why are you so determined not to like her?”
“I don’t like what she’s trying to do,” his daughter finally admitted.
“What is it you think she’s trying to do?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Dad.”
“I never thought you were.”
“Even if it’s true that you’re not dating her, I know you’re sleeping with her.”
Well, that was a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. And he wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed that his daughter had picked up on the intimacy between him and Samara or shocked by her matter-of-fact statement.
She was twelve years old—what did she know about sex?
Obviously more than he’d guessed. And while he wanted to proclaim that his private life should be private, he knew that kind of response would slam the door on any hope of continuing the conversation.
“I care about Samara,” he said. “And physical intimacy is sometimes an expression of that kind of affection.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
“Oh, honey. We’re not exactly at a stage in our relationship to be thinking about anything long-term.”
“You’re not?” she asked, and the hopefulness in her voice made him frown.
“Would it bother you if I got married again someday?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “If that someday was a long time in the future.”
“And if it wasn’t so long in the future?” he prompted.
She glanced away, but not before he saw her eyes fill with tears. “Did you stop loving Mom just because she died?”
“Of course not. But I can’t stop living my life because she isn’t with us anymore.”
“If you fell in love again—” she glanced away, staring intently at the line of grout between the floor tiles “—would you stop loving me and Tyler?”
“Never,” he promised, his heart aching that she could even think such a thing. “Honey, where is this coming from?”
She continued to stare at the floor. “Brittany’s mom had a new baby, and Brittany said she doesn’t have any time for her now.”
Steven took his daughter’s face in his hands. “I don’t know what the situation is with Brittany and her parents,” he said. “I can only promise you that nothing and no one will ever change the way that I feel about you and Tyler.”
Caitlin seemed at least marginally reassured.
Optimistic that this crisis had passed, he turned back to the stove and found himself facing another.
Samara accepted the cup of coffee Steven offered her—already doctored just the way she liked it—and followed him into the living room. She settled beside him on the sofa.
“It was a nice gesture,” she said, referring to the meal they’d just finished.
“It was a disaster.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Yes, the chicken had been a little charred and the potatoes and carrots a little under-cooked, but the food had been edible. Mostly.
They’d drunk water with the meal instead of the wine Samara had brought because Steven had somehow managed to break the bottle while attempting to uncork it. It was kind of funny at first, but as the meal progressed, she could have really used a glass of wine to smooth the edges of her rapidly fraying nerves.
“And I know the food wasn’t the worst part,” he admitted.
She couldn’t dispute that. Caitlin’s mood had been quite a presence at the table, and Samara was beginning to wonder if Steven’s daughter would ever give her a chance.
“Maybe it’s a mistake to try and force this,” Samara said. “As much as I’d like Caitlin to like me, we can’t make it happen.”
“Does it help if I say I like you enough for both of us?”
She smiled and leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Yeah, it helps.”
But in the end, she knew that Steven liking her wouldn’t be enough if his daughter continued to undermine their relationship and he continued to let her. Caitlin’s attitude was a major obstacle, and Samara didn’t know how to overcome that obstacle—or if Steven even wanted to.
“I’m really sorry she’s making this so hard for you,” Steven finally said.
She tried to ignore the response that popped into her head, but in the end, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you?”
He frowned at that, and though Samara knew she was treading on dangerous ground, she also knew it was a necessary step if they were going to make any forward progress.
“You’re her father,” she reminded him. “If you think her behavior is unacceptable, you have to call her on it. You have to make her take responsibility.”
“She’s twelve—”
“Which is old enough to understand the consequences of her actions.”
He didn’t respond to that.
“I can’t imagine how hard it is to be a single parent,” she admitted. “But I do have some experience being the child of a single parent.
“I was four when my mother left, and terrified afterward that my father would follow. I was needy and clingy and desperate to believe that he wouldn’t abandon us, too. He had no tolerance for my pleas or my tears. He was a busy man who spent more hours away from the house than in it, who had been more than happy to leave the care of the children to his
wife, and who didn’t have a clue what to do with his five daughters when his wife walked out.
“So he did what he did best—he delegated. He was successful and rich, so he hired people to perform those tasks that he was unable or unwilling to do. He brought in a housekeeper, a cook and a gardener who did double duty as a chauffeur when needed.”
Years later, she would realize the staff had run the household so efficiently that her father had probably never even missed the wife who had disappeared from all of their lives. But she had, and even after more than twenty years, the pain of her mother’s abandonment and her father’s rejection hadn’t faded.
“I was insignificant to my father—nothing I said or did ever caught his attention. You’re on the complete opposite end of the parenting spectrum, making your kids the center of your world, letting their wants and needs take priority over your own, and giving Caitlin way too much control over your life.”
“She doesn’t control my life,” he said.
But the denial sounded weak to both of them.
Chapter Twelve
Caitlin jolted when the bell rang, signaling the end of class. She looked down at the notebook open on her desk, at the page of algebra problems she would have to do at home tonight because she hadn’t been able to concentrate during class. She sighed and tucked the book under her arm.
“What’s wrong?” Lauren asked, falling into step beside her as they exited the room.
She was startled by the question, and even more startled to realize her new friend was attuned to her mood. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because you’ve been totally zoned out this morning.”
Caitlin stuffed her book into her backpack and pushed her locker closed again. “I think my dad has a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Lauren winced sympathetically.
Her parents were divorced, so she knew what Caitlin was going through. She’d shared all the gory details of their split one day at lunch in the cafeteria. Her mom had remarried six months after the divorce. Her dad didn’t seem to want to step up to the altar again, but was dating a different woman almost every time Lauren saw him.
“Is she bitchy?” Lauren asked about Caitlin’s dad’s girlfriend.
She hesitated, but an innate sense of fairness compelled her to answer honestly. “I guess not. I mean, I don’t really know her that well, but she seems to be nice enough.”
“Is she a bimbo?”
“A bimbo?”
“You know—a woman whose bra size is bigger than her IQ. That’s the kind of woman my dad seems to go for lately.”
“No, I think she’s pretty smart actually.” She knew she had to be, if she’d gone to Stanford with Aunt Jenny, though she didn’t think taking pictures was probably all that difficult—especially if she’d managed to teach Tyler to do it.
“A clinger?” Lauren asked.
Caitlin looked at her blankly. Obviously Lauren had a lot more experience with these types than she did.
“The type who’s always hanging onto his arm, batting her eyelashes and giggling at everything he says.”
She shook her head again.
Lauren frowned. “So what’s wrong with her?”
Caitlin sighed. “She’s just…not my mom.”
“Oh.” Lauren considered that for a moment before she said, “But that’s not exactly her fault though, is it?”
Which wasn’t what Caitlin wanted to hear, and she responded with a scowl.
“Of course, if you hate her, I hate her,” Lauren said loyally, making Caitlin laugh though her chest still felt tight. “Because that’s what friends do—they stick together.”
And the tightness in Caitlin’s chest lessened just a little.
Steven had worried that things might be a little strained between him and Samara after their dialogue about Caitlin, but when he saw her at work the next day, it was as if the conversation had never happened. As the week progressed, he was pleased to know that all had been forgiven and forgotten—and he was looking forward to getting things back on track between them. Friday night was to be the first step in that direction.
He mentally reviewed his evening’s plans as he tore up lettuce for the salad. After the disaster that had resulted from his last attempt to make dinner for Samara, he’d opted against anything that required operation of the stove. Tonight he was in charge of the garden salad and the pizza delivery boy was in charge of the rest.
When dinner was done, they would slide a DVD into the machine, share some popcorn while they watched the movie, then he would tuck the kids into bed. After that was done, he was hopeful he might get Samara into bed, too. He smiled as his mind traveled a little bit further down that path.
She wouldn’t spend the night, of course. Even though there was a spare bedroom, they both understood that overnight visits made a bigger statement than they were ready to make, especially in light of Caitlin’s recent question about their sex life. And though he didn’t like feeling that they were sneaking around, he knew it was best for now.
Until he knew for certain that Samara was going to be a long-term presence in their lives—and he was starting to think and hope that she was—he didn’t want the children reading too much into their relationship. He wasn’t actually worried that his daughter might get too attached, but he knew it was a definite possibility for his son. Tyler loved easily and completely, and it was evident to Steven that his son had already fallen for Samara.
The chime of the doorbell drew his attention back to the kitchen. He knew it couldn’t be the pizza already because he’d only ordered it a few minutes ago. Probably someone selling something, he thought, his irritation growing when the summons came again, sounding more insistent and impatient than the first time.
When he identified the woman standing on his porch, he understood why.
Myra Bradley was the epitome of insistent and impatient. She was also his mother-in-law, his children’s grandmother, and considering that she and her husband still lived in North Carolina, the absolute last person he’d expected to find at his door.
Though the kids were in fairly regular contact with their grandparents, via telephone and e-mail, they hadn’t seen them since they’d made the move to Chicago at the end of the summer. Not that Liz’s parents had ever been a consistent presence in the lives of their grandchildren because of their frequent business travel, but it had still been difficult for Steven to move the children away, denying them the opportunity for occasional spontaneous visits. Or so he’d thought. Apparently he’d been wrong—at least about the spontaneous part.
“Myra,” he said, opening the door for her to enter.
“Hello, Steven.” She enveloped him in a brief hug and a cloud of expensive perfume.
Though he knew it wasn’t the most gracious response, he couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing here?”
“We were at an estate auction in Madison, so we thought we’d pop down for a surprise visit.”
Ted and Myra owned a couple of tremendously successful antique shops in the Carolinas and spent most of their time darting around the country—or around the globe—always in search of new treasures to add to their inventory or to satisfy the request of a favorite customer.
“It certainly is a surprise,” Steven agreed, wondering that they would have undertaken the journey without at least calling first to make sure he and the kids were at home.
Myra beamed. “Then Caitlin did manage to keep the news of our visit to herself?”
Steven wasn’t nearly as pleased by this revelation as his mother-in-law was. In fact, if his daughter had been standing in front of him at that moment, he might have been tempted to wring her neck. Instead, he said, “She certainly did.”
“And where are my darling grandbabies?”
“Your grandbabies are nine and twelve years old now,” he reminded her.
“I know that,” she said imperiously.
Except that they both knew she probably didn’t. While Steven
had absolutely no doubt that Myra loved her grandchildren, she wasn’t a detail person. Though she would spoil them lavishly on any occasion, she didn’t always remember their birthdays. And last year, she’d given Caitlin a card with the number ten on it—for her eleventh birthday.
Liz had never seemed surprised by such things. Or maybe she’d just had a lifetime to accept that Myra’s life would always revolve around her husband and her business, and everything else—including her own daughter and her grandchildren—was secondary.
Thinking of Myra’s husband, Steven asked, “Where is Ted?”
She waved a hand toward the door. “He got a call just as we were pulling into the driveway. Something about an auction in Maryland. He should be done in a minute.”
Then she prompted him again with, “The children?”
“The kids are downstairs,” he admitted, and wondered how—or even if—he was supposed to mention to his deceased wife’s mother that his new girlfriend was downstairs with them.
“Why don’t you give me a minute to finish up here and I’ll give you the grand tour?” he suggested, biding for time.
“I don’t need a tour. I can find my way around.”
Before Steven could protest further, there was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Ted now,” Myra said.
And with a silent apology to Samara, Steven went to get the door while Myra started toward the stairs.
Caitlin sank deeper into her seat as she scrolled through the tunes programmed into her iPod and pretended not to be watching Tyler and Samara playing tennis on the Wii. She didn’t get it—the way Samara actually seemed to enjoy goofing around with her brother as if he was an actual human being and not a mutant geek.
Of course, that was fine with her. At least when Samara was around, Ty wasn’t bugging Caitlin to play his stupid video games all the time, as if she had nothing better to do. But they were always talking and laughing while they played, which was more than a little annoying when she was trying to listen to her music.
Family in Progress Page 12