Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
TONI
“I never thought I’d watch my husband and oldest daughter flirt with the same woman,” Mom muses.
We sip our mulled wine and watch Audrey, Willa, Greta, and Dad decorate the tree it took us two hours to find. It normally takes us about twenty minutes. Years of tree picking has taught us that unless it’s a Charlie Brown tree, you can hide any sort of hole with the back wall, lights, and a few of my pinecone ornaments. Willa and Audrey were determined to find the perfect tree for the house and were just as determined to pay for it as a thank you for including them in the holidays. To my surprise, Dad agreed, but not until he’d argued with them a fair bit. When he saw their enthusiasm for something that we’d long taken for granted, and saw how happy the search made them, he relented.
Now it’s cold and snowing outside, there’s a huge fire in the hearth, Mom’s creamy chicken lasagna is in the oven, I’m sitting on the sofa with Mom, drinking mulled wine, and watching my entire family fall in love with the Adams sisters. My dad is especially taken with Willa and her upbeat personality. My mom is drawn to Audrey’s quiet confidence and her occasional silly side. The five of them have been talking about the new foundation for most of the day. It’s turning into a Big Deal.
“Audrey and I noticed the flirting a couple of weeks ago. Greta and Willa. I almost chalked it up to two super lesbians assuming everyone else is secretly a lesbian,” I say.
Mom chuckles. “I haven’t seen Greta ever this relaxed around anyone. The way she lets Willa tease her is something else.”
“I know, right? She barely smiles and that somehow eggs on Willa even more.”
“Greta wouldn’t be nearly as good at flirting with her if she was trying.”
“Well, I’m not about to even hint at it because she’ll clam up. I really like this version of her.”
Mom looks at me. “She’s always been there, Toni. You just couldn’t see past your jealousy.”
It hurts, a little, hearing that truth so brutally relayed by my mom. But, she’s not wrong. “I know.”
Mom’s eyes widen and her brows rise. “What?”
“You’re right. Though I’m not sure jealousy is the word. I just always wanted her to notice me. To appreciate me. She never did, so I acted like a brat to her and about her.”
“Well, Greta’s like me. We’re better at being critical than complimentary, but that doesn’t mean we don’t talk behind your back about how wonderful you are.”
I give my mom a sidelong look and, sure enough, she’s joking. I play along, though, because there is probably more truth in it than she’s willing to admit. “It would be nice if you would say it to my face.”
“From what I hear, Greta has,” Mom says.
“So, you do talk about me behind my back,” I bristle.
“We talk business behind your back. But that’s going to change from now on. You’ll be part of the conversation. She told you how critical your plans are.”
“Yeah, about that.” I hesitate. There’s something to be said about putting words out in the world and making them manifest. If I put my fears out on the table, will they consume me? Will it put a chink in the facade of confidence I’ve spent years building? I inhale deeply and say, “I’m not sure I’m up for it.”
Mom studies me with her clear blue eyes that are so much like mine. “Why?”
“I’m not the type of person who has five- and ten-year plans.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t have them.”
“It’s just all so different from before. I really liked my life.”
“I know you did. We funded it. You needed a change.”
“Did I?” I ask, skepticism dripping from my voice.
“Let me put this another way,” Mom says. “You’ve never had to work for anything in your life. It’s time you did. For what it’s worth, Greta’s not the only one at the office that’s bragged on the job you’re doing, you know. What’s brought all this on?”
Shae’s bullshit comment . I shrug. “I see how much work all my big ideas need and how long it will all take, I’m just not sure I’m up for being out of the field for that much and that long.”
Mom nods. “You aren’t going to be stuck in the office. Aren’t you going to New Zealand in a couple of weeks for business?”
“Yes.”
“Figure out your limit of office time and schedule trips before you reach the end of your rope. Give the office a year, OK?”
“A year?” My palms start sweating at the mere idea of being inside for a year.
“It’ll go by faster than you think.”
I finally hear something she said moments ago. “Other people have said I’m doing a good job?” I ask, hating how hopeful and needy my voice sounds.
Mom smiles at me. “Yes, and I’m not surprised one bit. I knew putting you in charge was the right decision. I’m very proud of you,” Mom says quietly.
I can’t help my little yelp of astonishment. Mom never compliments me. “Wha…how did you…what in the world made you think I could do this?”
“You like to exude this whole air of chill mountain woman, but no one can be as good as you are at what you do without being careful and diligent and completely focused.” She looks at me full on, with the same half-smile that Greta does so well. “You’re more like me, and Greta, than you want to admit.”
I turn away quickly so she doesn’t see the tears that well in my eyes. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Is it because I’ve somehow managed to get Greta and Mom’s approval, or is the idea that I’m anything like them so horrifying it makes me want to weep. I need to talk to Audrey about this.
That stops me. It’s the first time I’ve thought of her first in an emotionally charged situation that didn’t involve her, but as soon as the initial shock is over, I know that it’s absolutely right. She’s who I want to talk to for her advice, her feedback. To watch as she listens to me, her face a study in focus and concentration on me, and only me, and my problem, as if it’s the most important thing in the world to her.
As if I’m the most important thing in the world to her.
I’m staring at Audrey while I think all of this. She catches me staring and smiles, then pulls a dorky face. I laugh.
“She’s good for you,” Mom says.
“Yeah. Greta said that last night.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, so you’re the reason Greta is suddenly so zen about me and Audrey?”
Mom shrugs one shoulder. “Well, I didn’t hurt the situation.” Mom sips her mulled wine. “Your dad and I approve.”
A huge grin spreads across my face. “She’s great, isn’t she?”
“She is. She reminds me of your sister.”
“What? No way. Gross, Mom.”
Mom laughs outright at that. The oven beeps and she gets up to take out the lasagna.
“We’re out of ornaments,” Audrey says.
“That means it’s done,” Willa says. “I’m out of wine.”
“I’ll get you some,” Greta says.
“Allow me,” Dad says, at the same time.
Audrey comes over and sits next to me. She’s glowing with happiness. “I’m having such a great time.”
“I’m glad,” I say. “I think my parents like you and Willa more than me and Greta.”
“Speak for yourself,” Greta says.
“Of course they do,” Willa says, taking a glass of wine from Greta. “We’re awesome, aren’t we, Audrey?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Dad says.
I stand from the couch and hold my hand out to Audrey, whose gaze is raking over my body. When her eyes meet mine, her mouth has quirked into a sexy half-smile. She stands, puts her soft cheek against mine and whispers in my ear, “You are wearing too many clothes,” sending a shudder through my body.
She pulls away with a cocky, mischievous expression on her beautiful face.
“Tease.”
“One hundred percent,” she says, before turning and heading to the kitchen.
“The tree looks amazing,” I say to Dad.
“It hasn’t looked this good in years,” he agrees.
“I think that’s a thinly veiled insult directed at us, Greta,” I say.
Greta carries the lasagna to the table. “No, that insult was pretty direct.” She laughs.
“Oh my God that smells delicious,” Audrey says.
“It’s definitely not tuna casserole,” Willa says.
After a flurry of getting everything on the table, Mom directing everyone where to sit, and pouring wine, we all raise our glasses in a toast. My dad, the sentimental one, says, “To our wonderful new friends. Thank you for sharing the holidays with us. I know I speak for Ingrid, Greta, and Antonia when I say we hope that you come back soon and often.”
We all clink glasses and drink. I catch Audrey’s eyes over the rim of the glass and wink.
She smiles and raises her glass again. “To the Giordanis. Thank you for welcoming us into your home, and into your family. I can speak for Willa and me: this is the best holiday we’ve ever had.”
“So far,” Willa says.
“Who knows? It might all go downhill from here,” I tease, and everyone laughs.