For Lila, Forever

by Winter Renshaw

  “So where do we go from here?” he asks after an extended pause.

  “I guess we should have you meet MJ— properly and as her father,” I say. “We can transition you into her life and then we can talk about some kind of visitation—”

  His head tilts and he half-laughs. “Lila. That much I assumed. I’m talking about us. You and me. Where do we go from here?”

  So many times over the years I imagined what it’d be like to reunite with him. I’d always imagined I was in a better place than this. That I was financially independent and successful and the kind of grown woman he’d be proud to have on his arm.

  I’m lucky if I wash my hair more than twice a week, and I’m pretty sure most of my lipsticks are expired. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress, and I’ve been using up my current bottle of perfume going on three years now.

  Every time I Googled him during our time apart, I’d be met with dozens of photos of him—mostly work-related. He was always in a tailored suit, polished and clean cut, standing tall and proud like the successful man he clearly grew up to be.

  He’s Manhattan in every sense of the word: metropolitan, worldly, dapper and debonair.

  And I’m Summerton: safe, a little boring, and otherwise unremarkable.

  “I don’t know.” I bury my face in a sip of coffee, buying time to think about how I’m going to answer him.

  “Lila.” He chuffs. “What don’t you know? I’ve waited years to find you so we could be together again.”

  “You act like it’s so simple. Like we just pick up where we left off.”

  “It can be as simple or as complicated as we make it.”

  “Look.” I place my mug down and fold my hands. “I love you. I always have and I always will. I miss what we had so bad it hurts sometimes. And I love the idea of us being together again. But it’ll never be the way it was. You grew up. I grew up. We’ve built completely different lifestyles that couldn’t clash more.”

  Not to mention, I’m homeless and jobless. While I know Thayer would never judge me for that, a woman needs to have a little dignity and confidence before she goes barreling headfirst into a relationship she wants to work out more than anything in the world.

  He’s all gung-ho about this now, but what if months pass and he’s tired of flying across the country? Tired of spending his weekends in Summerton, where people drive around the square for fun on Friday nights and hang out in the parking lot of the Target after it closes.

  Summerton has been a wonderful place to raise MJ, but Summerton isn’t his style, his vibe, or his speed, and no amount of exciting relationship newness will change that.

  “I’m not her anymore, Thayer,” I say. “I’m not the girl you fell in love with. I’m what happened to that girl after life kicked her when she was down. I stood back up, but I’m not the same.”

  “You know what I see when I look at you?” His full lips rub together. “I see a strong woman who has held herself together with a string and a paperclip, survived insurmountable loss, spread herself thin as the glue of her family, and raised a beautiful, thriving child on top of it all. If that doesn’t make you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what does.”

  “You and your words,” I say with a bittersweet smile.

  The waitress stops by with a check, and when she leaves, he places a ten on the table. My gaze is fixed to his tattoos, and I wish I could ask him about them, but the question would seem out of place.

  Some other time.

  “So what do you say?” he asks, and I think of his trademark persistence.

  “You should probably take me home. I’d like to get back in time to tuck MJ in. It’s her third night in a new place, and I—”

  “—you don’t have to explain,” he says. “I’ll take you back.”

  We slide out of our seats and he follows me outside.

  The ride back is uncomfortably quiet, but it doesn’t seem appropriate to make small talk.

  “We’re staying across the street.” I point to Ms. Beauchamp’s split level when we reach Bayberry Lane.

  Thayer pulls into her driveway. “We should probably exchange numbers.”

  “Right.” I take my phone from my bag and we switch, me programming mine into his enormous and pristine iPhone X and him programming his into my scratched iPhone 5. “Here you go.”

  We trade again.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says. “I only came here to make things right. To apologize for being such an ass to you when I didn’t have all the facts.”

  I laugh under my breath. “You couldn’t be an ass if you tried.”

  “Maybe reserve your judgement until you get to know the real me,” he says. “I can be a dick when I need to be. Or when I think my cousin knocked up my girlfriend and didn’t tell me for ten years …”

  “To be fair, had that been the case, your reaction would’ve been completely justified.”

  He laughs.

  “Thanks for coming all this way just for this,” I say before drawing in a deep breath. “Get a hold of me when you get back and we’ll talk about visitation.” I glance down into my lap, my fingers practically knitting a sweater. “As far as the other thing … I’m dealing with a lot right now. I need to find a job and a place for MJ and I to live. And I need to figure out how I’m going to pay for Grandpa’s nursing home. I have nothing to offer you, Thayer. I’m so sorry.”

  “Still as pessimistic, I see.”

  “You’ll be happy to know that our daughter inherited your eternal optimism.”

  “I’d say the Ainsworth genes are strong, but she looks like a dark-haired version of you.”

  “I know, right?”

  “She’s beautiful, Lila,” he says. “I can’t wait to get to know her.”

  “You’re going to love her.”

  “Already do.” He glances away, gaze fixed straight ahead at the emblem on his steering wheel, like he’s lost in thought.

  I wish things could be different. I wish that with my whole heart. But my entire life, the other shoe has always fallen and I can’t handle that happening with him another time.

  “Goodbye, Thayer. Have a safe flight back.” I climb out of the car and close the door with a soft click. He rolls the passenger window down, like he’s not ready to let me go yet. “We’ll figure out everything with MJ soon, but right now … this is a lot for me to take in and I’ve got a lot on my plate, so if you could give me some space ...”

  “Goodbye, Lila.”

  I back away and stand in the driveway, arms hugging my sides as his headlights illuminate the garage behind me. A moment later, his black SUV disappears into the dark night.

  For the better part of a decade I’ve loved, missed, lost, and feared. I’ve fallen apart and put myself back together. I’ve laughed and cried and everything in between.

  I head inside Ms. Beauchamp’s house, emotionally exhausted and wondering if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

  Chapter 55

  Thayer

  I’m in the back of a cab from JFK airport to the Upper East Side Wednesday when my mother calls.

  “Are you at work, lovey?” The nasally tenor of her voice tells me she hasn’t stopped crying since she got the news about Granddad.

  “Just finishing up with something.” I can’t tell her about Lila and MJ with all of this going on. “I’ve got a few things to take care of in the city, but I’ll be home tonight.”

  I’m not exactly thrilled about going to the funeral tomorrow, but I’m doing it for my mother.

  “Are you staying through the weekend?”

  “Didn’t plan on it.”

  “Didn’t Westley tell you about the reading of the will on Saturday? You might as well stick around. What’s one more day? And there’s so much family in town …”

  “Granddad cut me out of the will,” I say.

  There’s silence on the other line.

  “We had an argument Saturday night, after Whitley
’s wedding,” I say. “He told me I was no longer welcome at Rose Crossing, and I left.”

  “I don’t understand … the two of you were so close … he would never …”

  “It’s a long story, Mom. And I’ll tell you everything when the time is right.”

  “Thayer, you have me worried now. Are you sure this is something that can wait?” she asks.

  “Absolutely. I’ll see you tonight, Mom.” I end the call as the cab drops me off outside my building. I swipe my credit card, leave a tip, and head inside, giving the doorman a nod on the way to the elevator.

  A pianist plays Chopin on a baby grand piano in the lobby. It was donated by one of our former residents, a concert pianist, who passed away, and ever since we get volunteers from all over the city who want to come and play for a few hours just for fun. It’s a nice way to be welcomed home, and the co-op insists this little quirk would be great for resale value.

  I try to imagine Lila and MJ here, traipsing through the marble-tiled lobby and squeezing between snotty older women with their purebred pooches under their arms. Everything about Lila’s life in Summerton is easy and simple, laidback and unfussy. My life moves at the speed of light. I’m constantly jetting off to meet with clients, working fourteen-hour days, buzzing across town and back for dinners and luncheons and speaking engagements, guest lectures at NYU and Columbia, and dropping by thousand-dollars-a-plate charity events.

  Lila would hate this.

  And I would never expect MJ to be uprooted from the only home she’s ever known to be transplanted in the chaos that is the Manhattan school system. I didn’t even go to school in the city, and just hearing about how hard it is for parents to get their kids into freaking preschool stresses me out. That’s too much pressure to put on a child, and I would never do that to mine.

  I shoot Lila a text, letting her know I landed and I’ll be in touch soon. She didn’t ask me to text her when I got back, but I think it’s a good idea to open up a casual dialogue between us.

  We talked last night over coffee, and when I suggested the idea of revisiting what we once had, she damn near recoiled at the thought. Her reaction stung, and honestly, I have to say I didn’t see it coming. She sat there and claimed she still loved me and always would, and then she went on to say she had nothing to offer me.

  I imagine she drew comparisons between us, our lives, and the people we grew up to be and convinced herself that there was no way the twenty-nine-year-old me would want to be with the twenty-eight-year-old her.

  But she couldn’t be more wrong.

  And I’m going to prove it to her, even if it takes a lifetime.

  Chapter 56

  Lila

  “How’s the milkshake?” I ask MJ after school on Wednesday.

  She dunks a diner French fry into the top of her glass. “Amazing.”

  “So I brought you here today because I wanted to tell you something,” I say, swiping a fry from her plate. This may be a huge bombshell I’m dropping on her, but I want to keep it casual and lighthearted. I’ve learned with kids, if you make something a big deal, they will too.

  “Did you find us a house?”

  “Not yet. I’m looking,” I say. I’ve spent every waking school hour this week searching for jobs and housing, but I kind of need one before I can get the other … so until the job thing happens, we’re going to have to stay put. “Do you remember the man who came to our house last week? With the dark hair?”

  “Yeah. Your friend. The one who liked my necklace at the coffee shop.” She sips her shake, her cheeks sucked in like a vacuum.

  “So his name is Thayer Ainsworth,” I say.

  She wrinkles her nose. “What kind of name is that?”

  If she only knew …

  I laugh because the first time I heard his name I had the exact same reaction, but I don’t dare tell her that.

  “Let’s not get sidetracked here,” I say. “MJ … that man who came to visit? That’s your father.”

  She finishes chewing her latest fry, swallows, and then stops, staring blankly ahead at me. I expected a bigger reaction out of her than this, but I’ll go with it.

  “How do you know?” she asks.

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing at her innocent question. “Because I do. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

  MJ pushes her food and shake away and leans against the back of her seat, uncharacteristically quiet.

  “I’m sure you have a million questions, sweetheart, but right now all you need to know is that he would really love to get to know you and be a big part of your life,” I say. “What do you think about that?”

  She shrugs. “Okay.”

  MJ reaches for another fry, and a minute later she’s blabbing on about some game she played at recess today.

  I adore her resiliency.

  And I’m beyond relieved at how well she took this news. The thought that MJ will get to know her father and have a relationship with him is more than I could have ever hoped for at this point in our lives.

  I spent a significant part of my younger years feeling like a piece of me was missing, feeling like I wasn’t worthy enough to be loved by a man because my father didn’t love me enough to stick around. And after learning about Ari Caldecott being my biological father and spending an entire summer in his presence and being treated as if I were invisible, I can only say that my “unworthiness complex” has only intensified.

  Just last night, Thayer was practically begging for us to try to be together again, and I realize now that I shut him down because I didn’t feel worthy.

  How could I have not realized?

  “Where does he live?” MJ asks. “My dad.”

  “New York City.”

  “Can we go there sometime and visit him?”

  “Of course.”

  “This summer?” she asks.

  “I think so.” I’m sure Thayer can make that happen, but I’ll let him make the offer first. I’m not about to go to him with my hand out. I’m far too proud, and that’s never been my style. “He’ll come here, too.”

  “Where does he work?”

  “He’s a constitutional lawyer,” I say. “I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about it when you see him again.”

  “Do you think he knows how to play Chinese checkers?” she asks, referring to the game Grandpa used to play with her almost every night after dinner before his condition got worse.

  “If he doesn’t, you can teach him.”

  “What’s his favorite kind of ice cream?” she asks next.

  “You’re asking all the important questions, aren’t you?” I swear she’s destined to be an investigative reporter.

  “I just want to know how alike we are.” She sips her milkshake until air rattles through the straw.

  “Believe me, MJ, there are a hundred things about you that are just like him.”

  “Like my hair?” She tugs on a pigtail that hangs on her left shoulder.

  “Like your inquisitiveness. He was always asking questions, always trying to get to know people. And he was so good at making people feel welcome. I know you’re the same way at school, always making sure everyone’s included. And he’s persistent. Remember how many times you fell off your bike when Grandpa took the training wheels off? You never gave up once. You kept trying until you nailed it,” I say. “And you’re always looking on the bright side. Your dad was like that. I would assume the worst, he would assume the best. You definitely take after him.”

  She smiles and for a fraction of a second, I see him.

  And I see us.

  And I see an entire life together.

  Chapter 57

  Thayer

  “Are you sure that’s the most current version?” I ask Granddad’s attorney Saturday morning. I had no intention of attending the reading of the will, but when my teary-eyed mother begged me to come, I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  I’m seated between my parents in a small conference room. Aunt Lor
elai sits beside my mother, their hands clasped as Uncle Ari massages Lorelai’s shoulders. Ever since learning about Uncle Ari fathering Lila with Ed and Junie’s daughter, I can’t look at him the same. I’ve lost all respect. And it kills me that my aunt is none the wiser. I can’t imagine being married to someone for almost thirty years and never knowing that he fathered a child with someone else and carried on like that child never existed.

  “This is the most recent version we have on file, yes,” Hageman says. “Signed and notarized in 2014.”

  “He didn’t call you last Sunday?” I ask.

  Westley shoots me a look, probably hoping I’ll shut the hell up before he loses the five million Granddad designated for him. According to this guy, my mother and her sister will each receive twenty-two million dollars, a laundry list of various valuables and collectors’ items, and will share ownership of the family home in Bridgeport. Westley and Whitley will each receive five million dollars placed in a trust they can access once they reach thirty-five years of age.

  But me? According to Howard Bertram’s last will and testament, I’m to receive a lump sum of eleven million dollars and Rose Crossing Island.

  “I didn’t know,” I say to all of them, palms in the air. “I swear to you. I have no idea why he divvied things up the way he did.”

  Or why he didn’t call his attorney Sunday like he claimed he was going to do …

  Perhaps his threat was empty and only hurled at me as an attempt to scare me into changing my mind, and maybe he was going to wait a day or so to see if I’d come crawling back to bend to his will.

  Or maybe he meant to do it first thing Monday but his heart gave out first.

  Honestly, I don’t even want the island.

  The rest of the family is quiet and stoic, eyes glassy and red and averted, everyone except for Westley and me.