Chapter 36
We walk back to our building hand in hand, chatting quietly and basking in the glow of a perfect first date.
Miles tells me about his parents, who are happily retired and living in Florida. We swap Christmas traditions and spend a
long time contemplating names for a dog we don’t have.
“I’m not naming a dog ‘Stay,’ you lunatic,” I tell him.
“No, no, hear me out. It’s perfect. We’d be like, ‘Come here, Stay! Come here, Stay!’ The dog would be totally confused.”
All in all, it has been a perfect night. And a perfect end to a truly unforgettable day.
Next week is my grand opening, and I’m more excited than ever at how things have fallen into place.
Which is why, when we walk into the courtyard, I’m completely knocked sideways to see someone I know sitting on a bench outside
my apartment, a suitcase on the ground beside him.
It’s John.
Miles’s arm is draped around me, and at the sight of my ex-husband, I go rigid, feeling for a second like I’m doing something
wrong.
Like I’ve been caught. And then I remember.
John stands.
“Oh my gosh,” I say so only Miles can hear me.
“What is it?” Miles asks, his eyes drifting through the courtyard to where my gaze is parked.
I step away from him. “John?” My eyes dip down to his familiar suitcase, and I think of all the times I packed it.
Business trips. Vacations. Golf weekends with his father or the guys from the office.
I planned his wardrobe. Packed his clothes.
Made sure he had all the toiletries he’d need for the number of days he’d be gone. “What are you doing here?”
He looks at Miles, then back to me. “Hey, Claire.”
I go cold as Miles steps up beside me, hand on the small of my back. He reaches across me with his other hand, extending his
toward John. “Hey, man.”
John looks at his hand, pauses, then shakes it. “Hey.”
“I’m Miles—I’m Claire’s—”
“What are you doing here?” I cut in because it’s really none of John’s business who Miles is to me.
“Can we talk?” John asks. Another pointed look at Miles. “Alone?”
I inhale a slow breath, then glance at Miles. He shifts, a little uncomfortable, then nods. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He kisses
my cheek, squeezes my hand, then walks away.
I miss him immediately.
I didn’t want this beautiful, perfect, wonderful night to end this way. I wanted it to end with me in Miles’s arms.
Instead, I’m standing here, instantly on edge, trying to figure out why—and how—my ex-husband is here.
“Is there somewhere we can go?” he asks.
I glance over at my apartment door, then back in time to see Miles disappear behind his. I don’t like this. It feels unfair
for John to just show up here, dropping another grenade into my life.
I walk past him and pull out my key, unlock the door, and walk inside.
John follows, setting his suitcase up against the wall in the entry.
“You can’t stay here,” I say.
“I got a hotel.”
“You should’ve told me you were coming.” I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of water. I hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
“So?” I cross my arms and look at him.
“Who’s the guy?” he asks as if he has the right to know.
I shake my head. “We aren’t talking about my personal life.”
“Okay . . .” He opens the water bottle and takes a drink.
“Just tell me why you’re here,” I say firmly but semi-cordially. “Do you have another campaign you need help with?”
He half scoffs. “I’m not the one who needs help, Claire.”
I frown, already exasperated. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw the video, Claire,” he says. “Everyone saw it. Even my mother, and she’s hardly ever online.”
My stomach rolls, knowing that all those people I used to call friends have been discussing my giant salt disaster. It feels
like I’m standing in the freezing cold water of that fountain all over again.
It seems he doesn’t know the rest of the story.
But I do. And I’m over it.
“So?”
He puts on a pitying expression. “Look, I’m risking a lot to be here. Misty was less than thrilled about me coming here, but
I still feel some obligation toward you.”
I frown. “Why?”
He scoffs. “Because I was the one who kept you from doing these sorts of crazy things over the years. I mean, if it weren’t
for me, you would’ve tried to become a wedding planner when Amelia was in grade school. Or a flower arranger when she hit
seventh grade. You always had these ridiculous ideas that I knew would never amount to anything, so it was left to me to talk
sense into you.”
I’m stunned silent.
The words hit me sideways. I think about all those other ideas I’d had over the years, the ones I’d dreamed of and never pursued—the
times I’d wanted to get a job, to go out into the world and meet people and do something meaningful with my life.
And then I think about all the times John had told me no. Not a harsh, cruel no, but a no just the same.
One that was disguised, as this is, as a redirection “for my own good.”
“This is what happens when I’m not around.” He scoffs. “Throwing all your money down the drain to open a bakery? I mean, really,
Claire?”
I drag my eyes up to his, and I feel the prickle of self-doubt on the back of my neck. “So I called my lawyer. We can’t get
everything back, but he thinks there are a few options—”
“Wait, what?” I cut in. “You did what?”
“Bankruptcy might be the smartest at this point,” he says. “You wouldn’t have to pay everything back right away.”
Anger and disbelief start to rise. “I can’t believe—” And I stop.
If he’s saying what I think he’s saying, he’s even worse than I thought.
“I’m here to help, Claire,” he croons. “Don’t worry, babe, I’m going to figure out a way to help you out of this.”
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to make this make sense. It’s like scales falling from my eyes. This is how he did
it. All those years of keeping me small. All those years of disregarding my creativity but benefiting from it when he needed
to.
How had I never realized it before?
And then I have the most freeing thought I’ve maybe ever had in my whole life. I just don’t care.
I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t care if he’s marrying Misty. I don’t even care if they have babies and he’s an old grandpa
kindergarten dad.
And the not caring—it’s downright exhilarating.
“Claire?” He’s staring at me while I’m having this epiphany, and I can’t help it—I start to laugh. It’s small at the beginning,
just a sort of disbelieving giggle, but it quickly grows into something else, something wild and a little manic.
“What’s so funny?” John sticks his hands on his hips, looking like a father who can’t control his toddler.
The thought makes me laugh even harder—the kind of uncontrollable, shoulder-shaking laugh you have when something strikes
you funny at a totally inappropriate time, like at a funeral or in church. And judging by the sour expression on his face,
I’d say John does not think it’s funny.
And I don’t care about that either.
“Claire, get ahold of yourself, for Pete’s sake,” he hisses.
I hold up a hand. “Sorry.” I walk over to the counter and grab a tissue, dabbing the tears from my eyes and drying my cheeks.
“Wow, I haven’t laughed that hard in—” It starts up again, but I manage to lasso it in a little more quickly. “Okay, sorry.
You were saying?” I stifle another giggle.
This time, his sigh is doubly heavy. “I was saying, I’m here to help save you from yourself.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were saying.” I close my eyes and will myself to be serious. “But I don’t need saving, John.
I’m great. My life here is wonderful.”
“I saw the video, Claire. You don’t have to pretend.”
I slowly shake my head. I actually feel a bit sorry for him, that he still doesn’t get it.
“I’m not pretending. I am fine, and my life is mine to make whatever decisions I want to.”
He starts to say something but quickly snaps his jaw shut.
“I’ve been fine for a while,” I go on. “Better than fine, actually—I’m really, really happy.”
He almost looks pained by the words.
And I don’t care about that either.
“Look, I admit, for a long time I was angry, and I was bitter,” I say. “And I really hated what you did to me.”
“Claire, I—”
I hold up a hand and he shuts right up.
“But I’m not angry anymore. I’m doing really well. I’m happy here. I have great friends. An incredible relationship with someone who actually values me and my ideas. This new life suits me. I appreciate that you think you’re here to take care of me in the only way you know how,
but I don’t need taking care of.”
He stills.
And it’s in that moment that I feel it—the knot that’s been in my stomach since the day I caught him with Misty unravels,
and in its place, I imagine all the seeds of possibility sprouting and growing and winding and weaving like they’re finally,
finally free to do so.
“My business is going to be a success,” I say. “But even if it wasn’t, that’s not your problem. It’s mine. And either way?
I can handle it.”
I lean in just a bit closer.
“And I will.”
He draws in a breath and blows it out, almost like he’s not sure he should believe it.
“You still think of me as that lost, brokenhearted woman you left standing in the fountain all those months ago. But she’s
not here anymore, John.”
He inhales a sharp breath. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
“Does that mean you’re apologizing?”
He blows out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
I narrow my eyes, searching for the honest answer. “No, honestly. I don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet,” I say. “But I will.
I’m working on it. You put me through hell, but I’ve started to realize that good things grow out of pain.”
Good things grow out of pain. The words were out before I even thought about them, spoken from a well somewhere inside me. They give me the confidence
that one day, maybe soon, I will fully forgive John for what he did. It won’t happen all at once. It’ll be a small decision
every day until eventually, the pain will lose all its power.
There’s no room for grudges in my heart when there’s so much love growing every day.
I resist the urge to tell him that his apology skills need work.
I don’t want to get mired in the injustice of the way he treated me or wallow in the self-pity I sometimes feel no matter
how much I deserve to do so.
Not anymore.
I want to look at the beautiful things life has brought me and not focus on what it has cost me. I want to learn from the
past without letting it destroy me, to focus instead on all the good that’s coming my way.
Because there’s so much good.
And even in the dark moments, because I know there will be more, I’ll tip my face toward the sunshine and remember that every
storm has an ending.
Somehow, my life now is even brighter than before.
I look at John. Someday I’ll forgive him. For now, I’ll choose kindness. Even though he doesn’t deserve it.
But it’s what I want.