20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Patrick
I wanted nothing more than to roll over and not get up again.
Scratch that—I did want more than that. I wanted not to wake up alone anymore. Because Marcy would be here with me.
I squinted an eye open. Nope. Still alone.
We’d parted ways at the taco place on shaky ground. Not bad, but unsteady.
“I don’t regret this,” I’d told her.
She’d returned a soft smile. “Me neither. But I don’t know what happens next.”
I didn’t either. But this had to be a good sign, right? I wanted our engagement to be real, and I’d finally cleared the air after holding in that regret for so long. She’d kissed me back as a result.
She kissed me back!
That moved us toward my goal. Ideally, our shared goal, once we had a little more time together.
I almost felt like a new man.
My phone vibrated on the bedside table, lit with my mother’s photo on the screen. If I let it go to voice mail, something told me the phone would just ring again.
“Yeah?” I answered .
“ Patrick . That’s how you talk to your mother? Yeah .” She mimicked me in a dopey tone. “Honestly.”
It was too early for this. “Sorry. Late night. What can I help you with?”
She scoffed at my overly formal question. “You have that business expo today. I wanted to remind you since you haven’t responded to my texts.”
The time on my phone showed nine-thirty. I rarely slept past seven, even on weekends, but last night had been something else—
“Patrick?”
“Yeah, uh sorry.” I rubbed the sleep from my face, only to recall the feel of Marcy’s caress against my cheeks. Man, I’d wanted that feeling for so long. Her lips. Her soft breathing. Crap . I was talking to my mother. “Uh, where is the expo thing again?”
“I texted you.”
If she’d meant to take me down a peg—having to call to wake up her adult son—mission accomplished. Only something was off here. “Why isn’t Bea Clark calling? If she’s the one who set up the gig?”
A notable pause crossed the line. “Bea Clark overstepped yesterday. I heard from the caterer.”
I got out of bed and went for my closet. “When? This morning?”
“Last night, before the party ended. He told me how rudely she treated staff after he’d made a campaign contribution. She’s been warned.”
I wanted to say Bea’s rudeness was a problem regardless of whether a donation had been made, but my mother continued talking about having to mend the issue with the caterer. Which reminded me of a bigger issue. “Someone told me they overheard Bea talking about that casino deal the Ribbens are working on. As if she’s in on it. ”
I heard her intake of air. “Bea Clark was talking about the casino?”
“According to a witness, yes. I can’t have someone on my staff involved in affairs that are fundamentally against my mission.”
“I’m sorry this happened. I’m the one who hired her. Now to find she’s broken our trust.”
“She overstepped with Marcy, too. In front of the caterers and then in the hall, where any of the guests could have seen.”
“Unacceptable. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
When my mother set her sights on a goal, she went all in.
She spoke for another few minutes about the success of last night’s event, and how fortunate we’d been that so many prominent local donors showed up to support us.
Us , not me. I held back a sigh. This was the first time in a long time my parents were actively involved in supporting me. Not without its consequences, but it was better than the constant disappointment I seemed to elicit from them for, say, going to an in-state school for my law degree instead of Ivy League, and then having the audacity to choose to work for a lowly legal clinic over a prestigious law firm.
I left the phone on speaker as I gathered clothes and headed for the shower. She sounded so energized by the whole thing and stated outright her excitement for another event coming up. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you lately. I like working with you on your campaign.”
“Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.” Her words warmed me from the inside.
“Your father too—he’s really proud.”
“He told me that.” It still felt strange, remembering how choked up he sounded. How actually remorseful he’d seemed for pushing me too hard to do things his way.
“I’m glad,” she said quietly. “It’s been too long. It’s felt like we lost you these past few years. ”
My chest ached a little deeper. “I never meant for that to happen. I just wanted to pursue what I cared about. I don’t care about tropical vacations or the country club. Sorry—I didn’t mean to sound like I’m judging you.” Except I was. Maybe I was judging myself for taking part in that life for so long. Benefitting from what we had while outwardly complaining about it. “I guess I was hoping we could meet halfway. That you’d care about what mattered to me because I care.”
She didn’t speak for a beat. “That’s a fair point. I’m sorry we haven’t been involved more.”
“I don’t need—” I almost said I didn’t need her, but I’d asked for her help. “I’d like to be my own person, but with your support.” Adulthood, in a nutshell. I took care of myself every day. Forged my own career path, found my own humble rental house in a small town. I liked what I’d chosen. But I needed them after all, which still left a sour taste in my mouth. That was probably my problem to get over.
“Patrick,” Mom interrupted my thoughts.
Maybe this was all hard for her to say, too. “Yeah?”
“You’re late. Get going.”
She was right. I needed to hustle. I ended the call and tapped into my texts to skim the missed messages.
Buried in the string of texts from Mom, Bea, and from Robby, linking a new guitar track he’d recorded, was a text from Carmen. She’d messaged last night while I’d been at the fundraiser and, well, consumed by Marcy afterward.
Carmen: Sorry this took so long about the storefront thing. It was kind of a challenge to get this info, but you know me—I deliver! So interesting twist: the owner of that shop is that family you’re running against. Eli Ribben.
I slumped against the bathroom wall. Eli Ribben owned my fiancée’s dream bakery space. Now what was I going to do about that?
I arrived to the business expo with scant time to spare. A hotel with an on-site convention center that thankfully took only ten minutes to drive to.
My mind raced about what to do about the bakery space. I needed to shelve the thought until later, when I could focus.
I’d gone with business attire since I wasn’t sure what was expected. I just knew to show up and a booth would be ready for me. My job: meet potential voters and get my name out to the wider community.
In the lobby, I followed signs toward the convention area and ballroom. The hall grew thick with people closer to the ballroom ahead. All women. Huh. Maybe this was a an event centered on women-owned businesses.
Was I in the right place? The last thing a women-centered event needed was some dude hogging the attention.
I spied a petite woman wearing a hotel name badge. “Excuse me. Where is the business expo?”
Her expression informed me I’d won the prize for Idiot of the Day. She pointed to the doors ten feet from us, the only option at the end of the hall. “Bridal Expo. Says it right there.”
Sure enough, a large stand sign directed guests to Metro Detroit’s Largest Bridal Expo .
I checked the address on my text. I had the right place.
I snagged the sleeve of the hotel worker as she turned. Her sharp look turned pure venom.
“Sorry.” I dropped her sleeve. This was not going well. “I’m looking for a business expo. Not wedding stuff. ”
A scoff sounded to my right. “Weddings are big business.” A dark-haired woman in a white pantsuit eyed me with annoyance. “ Men .” She drifted away.
I swiveled back to the hotel worker, but she’d disappeared.
“Okay, let’s regroup,” I told myself. “Definitely a mix-up with the schedule.”
“Patrick! There you are.” The voice sounded familiar, and in a blink, Nonna Russo stood in the doorway to the ballroom, subsequently blocking incoming traffic. “Let me show you to your booth. It’s right beside Lombardi’s catering. It’s a great spot.”
Oh. Oh dear.