Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
RORY
I’d turned Nat’s words over and over in my mind from the moment we’d hung up. A perfect match? I’d strived my whole life for perfection and then had tried to throw it all out the window. I’d decided to live for myself and not for anyone else, and yet I’d allowed what others thought—what others said—to have an impact on what I knew in my heart.
We were the perfect match.
And not the kind of perfect I used to aspire to—the kind without any defects. Nope, we were flawed and chaotic and absolutely beautiful together.
An elbow to the ribs snapped me back to the present, and I scanned the faces gathered around the dining room table for Sunday supper. Every single one of them was staring at me.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry?”
“I was just askin’ how things were goin’ with Nash, sweetheart,” Momma said.
“With—” My words cut off as my heart tripped over itself at the mention of his name. “What things with Nash?”
I’d expected to be cornered again tonight by my sisters, but my momma? No doubt the Havenbrook rumor mill was churning, but I’d hoped it’d escaped the notice of my parents.
“Y’all are set to start on Debbie’s house next, aren’t you?”
I let my held breath go in a whoosh, my shoulders relaxing as I nodded. “Yes. On Wednesday, I believe.”
Momma smiled, her eyes shining with pride. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about the work y’all’ve been doin’. Y’all should be real proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
My momma had always been silently supportive of my endeavors. No matter what I did—whether it be staying home with the girls or working at town hall or breaking off to do design—Momma stood behind me. But she’d never been vocal about any of it, and the weight I hadn’t even realized rested on my shoulders suddenly lifted.
“Thanks, Momma. I appreciate that.”
“I’m proud of you, sweetheart. How far out are y’all booked now?”
“Few months.”
“That’s great! I know Nash showed Nat around while she was home, and she took a ton of pictures of everything y’all’ve done. Showcasin’ those’ll get your schedules booked out even more, I bet.”
If I’d heard those words before the call with Nat, I’d have just rolled my eyes and grumbled internally about what kind of Photoshop magic my sister would work on the pictures just to mess with me. But now…well, maybe Nat’s motives weren’t so sinister. Maybe it really would help launch Nash’s and my joint venture to where it needed to be for both of us to have sustainable incomes.
Daddy scoffed. “Still don’t know why you’re wastin’ your time with that nonsense. If you’re so intent on doin’ frivolous stuff, you can help Will set up the town events to get more hours and go full time.”
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm me in the least. That perfection I’d strived for simply in an effort to make my daddy happy had never satisfied him. Nothing had.
When I’d come home with a 4.5 GPA, he’d told me I should’ve taken more AP classes to get that rank higher. When I’d received a full-ride scholarship to Ole Miss, he’d lamented the fact that it wasn’t an Ivy League school. When I’d been elected student council president, had been reigning captain of the debate team, and still managed to be editor of the newspaper, it hadn’t been enough for him.
And then I’d gone on to marry a man whom I’d felt I had to be perfect for to keep, and look where that had gotten me. Was it really such a wonder I’d listened to the whispers—both internally and externally—telling me I’d never be enough for Nash?
I slammed my fork on the plate loud enough that Mac jumped next to me. “What I do isn’t frivolous. And every time you suggest as much—for either me or Will—it’s rude and disrespectful, and I’m tired of it.”
Silence settled over the table, but I refused to shrink back or apologize. I was so damn sick of apologizing for everything I did. The only person I’d never done it with was Nash. And he’d never asked me to.
Daddy stared at me, his forkful of chicken potpie stilled halfway to his mouth. He cleared his throat and set his fork back on his plate. “Well, pardon me for tryin’ to help my daughter out. I just want you to settle in a good, strong career so you can take care of the girls.”
I could’ve nearly recited his words because they happened like clockwork. The snide remark was first, then came the guilt. But I was through allowing my father—or anyone—to make me feel something I didn’t want to.
“No, what you’re tryin’ to do is belittle my choices.”
“That’s not?—”
“I’m not finished,” I said, my voice stern. “You’re also tryin’ to tell me in not so many words that you don’t support me or believe in the path I’ve chosen to pursue.”
“Excuse me, young lady?—”
“Still not finished, Daddy.” With each word, my voice grew a little stronger and I sat up a little straighter. Telling my father exactly what I thought of him and his bullshit ideals felt fantastic . Why hadn’t I done it years ago?
“I’m appreciative of the job you’ve given me at town hall when I certainly wouldn’t have been hired elsewhere. But that’s all it’s ever gonna be to me—a job. It’s never gonna be a career. Never something I’m passionate about. Not something I wake up excited for each day. Not something I dream about or spend my off time thinkin’ of. Not like design.”
“Well, I guess I just don’t understand what’s so special about that.”
I exhaled a deep sigh and barely refrained from rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. “I’m not askin’ you to understand it. I’m askin’ you to support it. To support me .”
I could’ve heard a pin drop in the next room. No one moved an inch. Was anyone even breathing? I glanced over at my girls, and they were staring at me with wide eyes and open mouths. It didn’t bother me one bit that they’d seen me stand up to him, but maybe I’d gone too far. Maybe I’d said too much. Maybe this was a conversation I should’ve had with my father privately. Maybe I?—
Gran slapped her hand down on the table. “Well, it’s about damn time.” She inclined her head toward me and lifted her glass, a grin splitting her face. “If I had it my way, you would’ve told your daddy all that on the day he didn’t show up to your ballet recital, but I suppose that was a lot to ask of a nine-year-old. Better late than never.”
“Ballet?” Ava asked, her voice interested as she darted her eyes between Gran and me. “You used to dance like me, Momma?”
“She sure did,” Gran said. “Was the cutest little swan I’ve ever seen—next to you, of course. Such a shame some jackassery stopped her from pursuin’ that.” Gran shot her son a scowl—one he either didn’t notice or ignored completely. “But it looks like she’s all done with that nonsense. Let this be a lesson to you, girls. Don’t let anyone stomp on your dreams.”
While Ava launched into her dream to be a figure skater, I glanced around the table, my throat tightening when I found nothing but support—from my momma and sisters—and the contrite eyes of my father. I knew it was too much to ask for him to say the words, but I didn’t need them. Not anymore.
For years, I’d allowed him to make me feel like I’d never measured up to his standards. Had allowed everyone to make me feel like that, but I was done. The only standards I needed to reach were the ones I’d established for myself. The example I wanted to set for my girls, and I’d done so.
Somewhere along this twisty, windy road, I’d found myself, had settled more comfortably into my skin, and I was finally and unapologetically myself. I was done with the fake smiles and facades. I was done pretending. If people couldn’t handle me at my worst, they didn’t deserve me at my best.
I sat a little taller in the knowledge that I wasn’t apologizing anymore. I was Rory Haven, firstborn girl in five generations of all boys. Divorced mom to two beautiful, unique girls, a damn good interior designer, and in love with a man eight years my junior.
Now I just had to figure out how to show him that.
I couldn’t get the girls in bed fast enough. Through the rest of supper and after, I’d checked out, my mind working through a dozen different scenarios to let Nash know I was finally in this, all the way. I was done inventing reasons to hold us back. I wanted everything with him, to hell with what anyone else thought.
It’d finally come to me while Will, Mac, and I had been sitting on the back porch after supper. And the real kicker was that I couldn’t do this on my own—I needed Nat to pull it off.
After tucking my girls in and promising them both waffles in the morning, I locked myself in my bedroom and paced from one end to the other. I stared down at my phone, running my thumb up and down over the blank screen. I’d been here before, not too long ago. Locked away in my room, insides in knots as I’d tried to work up the nerve to call my sister.
This time, I was fairly certain Nat would answer. Okay, fifty percent sure. Twenty?
“You’re not gonna know until you call,” I said to myself. “And if she doesn’t answer, you’ll… Well, you’ll just keep tryin’ ’cause that’s what you do.”
Pulling in a lungful of air, I cued up Nat’s name, squeezed my eyes shut, and pressed send.
Four painfully long rings later, Nat answered. “Look, I know we’re talkin’ now or whatever, but twice in one day is a little much. Baby steps and all that. Maybe we can try once a month to start? You’re kind of a lot.”
I breathed out a laugh, my shoulders relaxing. “I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
“Almost didn’t. But I like to be artful with my bitchiness, you know? Gotta keep people on their toes. This better be important, though. And if you tell me it’s about some kind of nonsense like?—”
“It’s about Nash.”
“What’s wrong?” Nat asked, her teasing tone vanished. “He okay?”
“He’s fine. Or I think he is, anyway. We’re still not talkin’—or, well, I haven’t called him. He’d probably answer, but?—”
“Rory.”
“Sorry.” I waved a hand in front of my face to try to cool myself down, my cheeks overheated thanks to the nervous energy zinging around in my body. “I’m not used to askin’ for help, and apparently it makes me a little stupid when I need to.”
“Wait,” Nat said. “You’re askin’ for help? From me ?”
I breathed out a laugh. “First time for everything, right?”
“You do know I’m on the opposite end of the country from you, right? Not a whole lot I can do from two thousand miles away.”
“You can do this. If you want to help me, I mean.”
“If it helps my best friend not be such a mopey bastard—and, okay, if it helps you be happy too—I’ll do what I can.”
That was exactly what I had been hoping she’d say.