Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RORY
I’d managed to keep a smile on my face for over an hour while we prepped for Sunday supper. And I was tired. So fucking tired. That only proved how much I’d been slipping these past months. Used to be, I could hold that fake smile all day if that was what was called for. But now? The entire fiasco was exhausting.
“Smells good in here.” Mac blew into the kitchen like a tornado, snagging one of the cut veggies off the tray before leaning her elbow on the counter. “Anything I can help with?”
“I think we’ve pretty much got everything ready. Just waitin’ a bit for the gravy to finish up, then we’re set.” Momma raised an eyebrow at Mac. “Funny how you show up every week just in time to eat.”
Mac held up her hands. “Don’t pin that on me! I came over with Will. Could barely drag the girl away from Finn’s mou?—”
“Remember all the dirt I have on you before you finish that sentence.” Will pressed a kiss to Momma’s cheek and gave me a quick hug. “And it’s a lot juicer than me kissin’ my fiancé.”
“I’m not sure about that. I saw an awful lot of to?—”
“Mackenna Isabelle Haven. I know you are not about to finish that sentence.” Momma leveled her with a look. The look.
“ Tolerance , Momma, jeez,” Mac said. “Will’s got an awful lot of tolerance when it comes to her fiancé. What’d you think I was gonna say?”
The stare our momma gave her said she didn’t buy the flimsy excuse one bit, but she wasn’t going to call her out on it. Good, because I wasn’t sure I could listen to more talk about Will and her fiancé without the brittle smile on my face cracking even more.
“Ava, would you call in your sister, please, so y’all can set the table?” Momma said, handing out orders that somehow made it seem like saying no was an option, though everyone knew it wasn’t. “Will, would you mind pullin’ down all the dishes for them? And Mac, think you can stop runnin’ your mouth long enough to fetch your gran?”
A mix of Yes, ma’am s—from Will and Ava—and laughter—from Mac, naturally—filled the space, and I clung to the first thing I could think of to get me out of there for a moment of breathing room. “Actually, Mac, would you mind helpin’ Ava find Ella? She probably won’t hear y’all callin’ from the back porch. Heaven only knows where that girl ended up. I’ll go ahead and get Gran.”
Since Mac was like my youngest daughter in that she loved everything about being outdoors, she didn’t need to be asked twice.
I took my sweet time making my way toward Gran’s suite. Years ago, after Gramps had passed away, Gran had moved in with us. Daddy had built an addition on to the house just so she’d feel as if she had her own space. As a kid, I’d always thought it was so far removed from the rest of the house. But now, as I tried to collect myself as best I could, I was grateful for the extra time it took to get there.
The main door to Gran’s space was ajar, opening to an unoccupied sitting area. Gran’s bedroom was just beyond, through a partially opened door, and I was about to step through when Nat’s voice rang out in the room.
“What can I mail you from my travels this year? Anything you’ve been itchin’ to get your hands on?”
“Just you, sugar plum.”
Nat laughed, the high, tinkling sound just as clear as if she were in that very room. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. It’d do this old lady a world of good just to see your pretty face this year. It’s been too long.”
“Gran, you see my pretty face once a week, every week. Have I ever missed our video calls?”
Once a week, every week? I should’ve made myself known immediately, because there I was, once again accidentally eavesdropping—okay, so the first time wasn’t so accidental, but this sure as hell was—and hearing things I didn’t want to.
I’d known Nat had a video call with Will and Mac every week. I had made peace with the fact that it somehow never included me. But now to discover Nat carved out time to talk to Gran every week, too, when she couldn’t be bothered to return any of my texts or calls? Couldn’t seem to manage anything more than shooting off a once-a-year birthday text?
“Don’t get smart with me, missy,” Gran said. “Screens don’t count, and you know it. When are you gonna come home again? I’m not gonna live forever, you know. And if you don’t make it back before I kick the bucket, don’t think for a second I won’t haunt your ass every day for the rest of your life—doesn’t matter if you’re in Havenbrook or Havana. Location isn’t a match for a Southern woman with a grudge.”
I slipped out of the room just as Nat’s laughter once again filled my ears. I ducked into the guest bathroom down the hall, locked the door, and plopped down on the closed toilet seat, curling my hands into fists to stop myself from letting the emotions overwhelm me.
I didn’t even know why I was so upset. It wasn’t a secret that Nat and I didn’t get along, so why was I so hurt that my youngest sister wanted nothing to do with me? That Nat went out of her way to avoid having direct contact with me at all?
A knock sounded at the door, startling me enough that I yelped.
“Rory? You okay?”
“Just fine! Be right out!” I knew my voice was overly chipper, but my regulator was all off, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know if I wanted to fix it, because as scary as it was tackling all these emotions, it was so much better than the status quo I’d kept up for so long.
Without needing to, I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, then opened the door. Mac stood there, her brow furrowed as she assessed me. Damn, I’d forgotten to check my face—were my eyes red and blotchy? Was my makeup smeared?
“Momma sent me up when y’all didn’t come down. Did you let Gran know supper was ready?”
“Just made a little detour to powder my nose.” I hooked my arm through Mac’s and tugged her toward Gran’s room. “We can both grab her now.”
“You okay?” Mac asked.
“Fine, just tired.” My voice was too bright, but I didn’t care. If I didn’t overcompensate like this, I was worried I’d crumble right here on the ornate wool rug in the hallway of my parents’ home. And though I’d fallen far these past several months—and surely wasn’t through tumbling just yet—I refused to break.
She hummed and studied me just long enough to make me shift uncomfortably. “You’ve been puttin’ in a lot of hours on this thing with Nash, huh?” Mac bumped her hip with mine. “How many clients have y’all worked with now?”
I exhaled a deep sigh, grateful for the question. “A few. We’re just startin’ our second major project this week, but I’ve done a couple small projects mostly on my own, too. Turnin’ an office into a nursery, switchin’ an unused dining space into a library…that kind of stuff.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Sounds like a big deal to me. Besides that, you’re workin’ at town hall. And you’re bein’ a single mom. And you’re rehabbin’ your house, too? Shit, it’s no wonder you look tired. Just wait till Will has you goin’ full speed on the wedding.”
And just like that, she had managed to move the topic off me and on to something else. Without me having to say a word, she seemed to pick up on the fact that I didn’t want to talk about what was truly bothering me. I’d been learning a lot about her recently—most things, admittedly, I should’ve known long ago. Like how she was loyal, almost to a fault. She didn’t let people get away with anything around her. And she didn’t like to be pushed around.
Tonight, I learned Mac also didn’t push others when it wasn’t the right time, even when it was clear she was anxious for them to talk.
Because of that, I made it down to supper without being confronted about my jumble of emotions. I sat at the dining table, surrounded by a plethora of food and my family talking about everything and nothing. For once, I didn’t mind it. It allowed me to get lost in the din. I said grace, passed the mashed potatoes and gravy, and ate with a smile on my face, but I was a million miles away, trying to sort through everything that’d been thrown at me today.
“Actually, Daddy, Rory’s unbelievably talented,” Mac said with barely restrained irritation in her tone.
I snapped to attention, glancing over at my sister as she and our daddy faced off in what appeared to be a tension-filled discussion. Something I’d missed the beginning of.
Daddy snorted but didn’t even acknowledge Mac’s words with so much as a single syllable, instead slathering butter on his roll.
“Mac’s right,” Will said, glancing over to me before fixing our daddy with a hard stare. “Not a day goes by that a customer doesn’t tell Finn how nice The Willow Tree looks. And that was all her doing.”
“And a damn fine job it was,” Gran said with a nod.
“Just some paint, that’s all.” Daddy waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, it was only a little side project while she went through some personal things. She’s doin’ fine now workin’ for me at town hall. She doesn’t need any of that other nonsense. Isn’t that right, Rory?”
I wanted to tell him how wrong he was. Wanted to list all the things I hated about the boring job that didn’t stimulate my mind or my heart or my soul. Wanted to tell him where to shove his assistant role and his view of the career I aspired to.
Except I needed his boring, tedious job whether I liked it or not. My girls relied on me, and I wouldn’t let them—or myself—down, even if it meant doing something I hated.
Those same girls were looking at me now, their eyes wide as they awaited my response. I might not be ready, willing, or able to tell off my daddy just yet, but I could certainly set him straight on a few things.
“Actually, I’ve started workin’ with Nash on some projects,” I said. “His clients were askin’ about me helpin’ him with the designs, so we’ve agreed to a partnership.”
“With Big Nash?” he asked, distaste clear in his tone. “That man ain’t nothin’ but a?—”
“I’ll remind you that our granddaughters are at this table, Richard,” Momma said, steel in her voice as she leveled Daddy with a glare.
I smoothed the cloth napkin in my lap just for something to do to keep my hands busy. “I’m workin’ with Little Nash, not his daddy.”
“Not sure he’s much better,” Daddy grumbled.
I didn’t understand the sudden need I had to defend Nash, but I couldn’t deny how it clutched me by the throat. I knew how people in town talked about him and his father. And I’d believed it at one point, too. But I’d spent enough time with him that he’d shaken the foundation those preconceived notions stood on.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Gran muttered. “Can you go one day without talkin’ outta your ass, son?”
Over the girls’ hushed giggles, Momma glared at her husband. “Little Nash is one of your daughter’s best friends and the sweetest boy. Even if he weren’t, I’m not sure it’s any of your business, dear. Rory is a grown woman with children of her own, and she’s perfectly capable of makin’ her own decisions.”
While Daddy threw up his hands and grumbled about having all girls and how it’d give him a heart attack sooner or later, Momma shot me a wink, and the tiny part of me that’d faltered earlier righted itself. My momma’s words in the kitchen might not have been intended for me, but they’d come at the perfect time, regardless.
I’d swept aside so many interests and hobbies, all because my daddy wasn’t a fan. All because he’d told me it wasn’t good enough for me—good enough for a Haven. A brief memory flickered through my mind, of my ballet recital—my momma and Gran in the front row, my daddy nowhere to be seen…
Twenty-five years too late, I tucked away those words and let them settle deep in my heart, because I was so tired of listening to everyone else’s thoughts on who or what I should be.
It was time I started listening to my own.