28. Will
Chapter twenty-eight
Will
M aureen and I held hands over the console and took the scenic route back to my apartment, singing along with the carols coming through the Audi’s speakers. We grabbed hot chocolates from a coffee shop and checked out a few neighborhood light displays. Even though it was only late afternoon, the sky was already dark enough to see them.
Eventually, I pulled up to the automatic door for my building’s underground garage. I heaved a giant sigh when I noticed a very unwelcome sight near the curb.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What’s the matter?”
“That SUV over there is my father’s.”
“Oh.”
After I swung my car into its designated space and killed the engine, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket to find I’d missed some texts from my parents. There were also a few unanswered calls. My parents weren’t the type to harass me with texts every day. Sure, they worried and judged my choices, but they were also very busy people themselves. And since I didn’t work for them anymore, it wasn’t unusual to go weeks without seeing each other in person. I’d been able to conceal spending the last nine days in Coleman Creek with a few well-timed messages to make it seem like everything in my life was business as usual, although my mom had mentioned in her reply yesterday that I’d been “acting a little strange.”
But my parents also had zero chill when it came to being left on read. When they texted or called, they expected an immediate reply.
That had been evident in today’s texts.
MOTHER: Sweetheart, I just tried calling. We’ll be in your neighborhood in an hour to meet with a client. We’re going to stop by and see you. To say hello.
MOTHER: Are you at home? You’re not answering your buzzer but one of your tenants just came out and said he saw you in the building an hour ago.
I recalled one of the ground floor neighbors waving to me as Maureen and I came down the stairs earlier.
MOTHER: We are going to get a bite to eat at the coffeehouse near your place. We’ll stop by again before we leave.
MOTHER: We haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving.
FATHER: Son, you need to answer your mother’s calls. You know how she gets when you don’t reply.
I rolled my eyes. All the missed calls and texts had come within the span of an hour. Couldn’t they assume I was busy or away from my phone? So accustomed to a quick response, they felt completely justified to freak out when I didn’t get back to them right away. Maureen was correct. It was past time to establish real boundaries.
ME: I’m just getting home now. I was driving.
My phone rang immediately.
“Sweetheart, I was so worried.”
“Mother, you’re being ridiculous. It’s not like it’s been days since I’ve contacted you. There are going to be hours in my life when I’m not able to text.”
“Yes, yes. It’s just that we are so near to your little apartment building. It would be a shame not to stop by. You’ve been so distant this past week.”
Maureen and I got out of the car as I held the phone to my ear.
“I can go to Bren’s place,” Maureen mouthed.
Putting the device to my chest to muffle the sound, I spoke in a hushed voice. “No. Please stay.” Her brows came together as I clarified, “I would love to introduce you to my parents, if you’re okay with it.”
“William?” My mother’s voice came through. “Are you there?”
“Sorry, Mother. I’m here. How about you guys come over when you finish eating?”
“That sounds wonderful, sweetheart. We’ll see you in ten minutes.”
After I hung up, Maureen and I walked in silence up the side stairs from the parking garage into the lobby. Once we reached the third-floor landing, I turned to her.
“You can go to Bren’s if you want, but I’d really love for my parents to meet you.”
Her lips lifted into a wry smile. “I appreciate the offer. But there’s no way I’m meeting your parents when I have sex hair and my makeup isn’t done.”
“Sex hair?”
“It’s a thing.” She kissed me swiftly. “How about you let me know when they leave?”
“Can I take you out tonight?”
“I’d love that. I’ll shower and get ready. Text me when the coast is clear.”
“I’m going to tell them about the concussion and being in Coleman Creek this past week.”
“Good.” She pulled away and walked to Bren and Chase’s doorway. “Who knows? They might surprise you.”
I doubted that. They would be hurt because I hadn’t called them immediately, which was fair. But I didn’t know how to make them understand why I kept them at a distance, that they weren’t rational with anything reminding them of my accident. It triggered them into seeing me as that sullen eighteen-year-old kid who couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions.
We’d made a lot of progress over the past few years, with them giving me more space. Except that had largely been because I’d hidden things from them. Now I saw that to continue moving forward, there needed to be truth between us.
I loved my parents. They loved me. But if we were going to have a mutually respectful relationship, they needed to see me.
Not go off the rails if I didn’t answer a text within an hour.
A few minutes later, I opened my door to find my parents in their typical weekday attire of dark navy suits. I admired their equal partnership in both the business and their relationship. That might have been the reason they’d invested so thoroughly in my relationship with Rosalyn—they saw it as a mirror of their own, and they were happy.
“Son, it’s good to see you.” The concern in my father’s deep voice belied his mundane words.
“Um, it’s nice to see you, too, but I’m confused by the barrage of texts. What’s with all the urgency just to stop by and say hello?” I took my mother’s purse and set it on the kitchen island.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Is there a reason you don’t want us to visit you?”
Her voice held the same note of unease as my father’s.
“No, of course not. But you’re acting like we don’t live in the same city. Or that it’s somehow unreasonable I would be away from my apartment. You didn’t need to wait me out at the coffee place until I came home.”
“But we’re not in your neighborhood very often,” my mother replied. “And today, we were, just by chance.”
Her last words came out so stilted, I knew immediately they were untrue.
“Rosalyn,” I stated flatly.
My father met my eyes as my parents sat down on the couch. “Yes, Rosalyn. She came storming into the office after lunch, very animated about how you refused to help with Wicklein.”
My mother pursed her lips as she added, “I believe her exact words were, ‘Your son is being a real dick.’”
I tried not to, but I couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. It was difficult to imagine Rosalyn speaking like that to my parents. She must have been extremely upset to be anything less than deferential.
“You’ve been acting off for a while.” My father remained stone-faced. “And now it seems it’s affected Rosalyn. What the heck has gotten into you lately, son?”
I took a deep breath. “Look, it’s exactly like I told you at Thanksgiving. And earlier in the year when I sold Yardhouse. And two years ago when I left Wallingford. And four years ago when I ended my engagement. I keep telling you, and you keep not hearing me. I’m going to make the choices I think are best for me. Not always the ones you want me to make.”
“And one of your choices is to treat Rosalyn in such a way she comes unglued?” Mother asked.
I folded my arms, sitting down on the coffee table across from my parents. “Hurting Roz is not what I set out to do. She’s upset because I said things she didn’t want to hear. I told her I won’t help with her accounts anymore. I needed to set firmer boundaries. She keeps acting like she’s entitled to my time, like I owe her something. But I don’t. I’m sorry our relationship ended sourly. I’ll always be sorry for that. But she needs to let it go.”
“Son, why can’t you just help her on this one account? It’s not like you to be so ungenerous.”
“I disagree. It’s not just about Wicklein’s account, Father. Don’t you see? It’s confusing. I need to draw these lines. What we were doing before wasn’t working.”
My mother leaned back heavily against the cushions. “It seemed like it was working.”
“Giving Roz my time and attention—I think subconsciously, it was my way of making it up to her for breaking off the engagement. But it hasn’t done either of us any favors. It’s just gotten us to where she feels free to call me or text me and hurl insults, like that’s acceptable. Or this morning, when she showed up at my door without asking, and then got mad when I wouldn’t do what she wanted. I don’t even know how she got this address.”
My mother’s cheeks flushed, and I threw up my hands. “You gave it to her!?”
She ran her hands along her pantsuit. “It didn’t seem like a big deal. I mean, she’s your…your—”
“Nothing, Mother! She’s my nothing. I’ve told you so many times. She’s my ex-fiancée who also works for my parents. That’s it.”
My father held up his hands. “Okay, son. You need to relax. I won’t deny we’d hoped you and Roz would find your way back to one another, but I see now that’s not going to happen.”
“Of course it’s not going to happen! It’s been years. This is exactly what I mean. You guys need to start listening!” My parents frowned at my raised voice. But before they could complain, I asked, “Is that what all this subterfuge was about? Did you really come here just to get me to change my mind about helping Rosalyn?”
My father sucked in a breath. “No. We told her we think it’s a good idea for her to figure it out on her own. She’s one of the smartest young women I’ve ever met. If Wicklein can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to see that, then he can take his business elsewhere. It’ll sting, but I can’t have him undercutting the woman who is the future of the company.”
I nodded despite my upset. At the end of the day, my parents had their priorities straight. And I appreciated Rosalyn would always have a place at Wallingford.
“So, if you weren’t trying to change my mind, why all the rush to come here? Waiting me out at the coffee shop?”
My mother folded her hands carefully in her lap. “Rosalyn made it sound like you might be in trouble. She said you were still in your pajamas close to noon.”
I scoffed. “Pajamas in the morning is a cause for alarm? It’s not like I have an office to go to.”
My father coughed into his fist. “She also said your words were slightly slurred, and that you were walking strangely.”
Interesting. Rosalyn hadn’t mentioned anything when she’d been here, but it made sense she’d picked up on those things. The bruise on my hip ached after a long sleep, so I’d been limping a bit. And my speech was probably at about ninety-five percent of my usual fluency due to slight morning dizziness. Roz keying into that missing five percent would be very on-brand for her.
“What of it?” I shrugged. “She’s pissed. That doesn’t exactly make her a reliable witness.”
My mother laid a cool palm on my arm. “William, you know how much we love you.” She paused dramatically. “That’s why we wanted to come here and speak with you directly.”
“O-kay.” I dragged out the word.
“We know it can be difficult when life sort of”—she waved her free hand in a circle—“gets away from you.” My father gave her an encouraging nod. “And we realize self-medicating can seem like a very appealing option when things are a bit…chaotic.”
Huh? A shock went through me as my brain caught up with my mother’s words. I eyed her incredulously. She stared down, reluctant to meet my gaze.
Self-medicating.
Drugs.
They thought I was on drugs.
Holy shit.
I stood abruptly and balled my hands into fists, willing myself to stay calm, reminding myself that they loved me.
“Let me get this straight.” I gritted out, releasing a long, audible breath. “I got mad at Rosalyn, and she said my words sounded strange, so therefore, I must be on drugs?”
My father’s gaze narrowed. “Son, you must admit you’ve behaved out of character this past year. We didn’t like it when you left Wallingford, but at least we could respect that you’d struck out on your own. But selling your business? Your condo? Buying this apartment complex? And we’ve noticed you’ve been dressing different lately—”
“Much less polished,” Mother interjected.
My father continued, “When Rosalyn came into our office this morning and explained how you’d yelled at her and told her she wasn’t welcome in your life anymore, it all fell into place.”
I shook my head. “This can’t be happening.”
“We’re here for you, William,” my father went on as though I hadn’t spoken. “And we’ll help you with whatever you need. Rehab. Therapy. Anything.”
My gut boiled. Part of me wanted to rage at my parents. But as they peered up at me earnestly from the couch, I couldn’t hold on to my anger. Only my sadness.
They truly didn’t know me at all.
“You’re never going to stop seeing me as that kid who got into an accident, are you? The weird angsty teenager you didn’t know what to do with. No matter how much I accomplish, it’s never going to work, is it?”
“Son, we are proud of you. That’s why we want you to know it’s okay if you need to ask for our help—”
“No. No .” I threw up my hands. “You’re only proud of the things I achieve on your terms. Your definition of success. I’ve been wasting so much time and energy when it was never going to happen. You’re always going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s why I’m focused on doing the things that make me happy now.”
“Sweetheart, are you trying to tell us that drugs—marijuana or pills or whatever it is—make you happy?”
“Jesus Christ! No! I’m not on fucking drugs!”
My mother raised a hand to her chest as I glared at her. Both my parents looked skeptical, but I honestly didn’t care. I couldn’t control their perceptions, and if they were going to assume the worst, then I needed to stop trying to change their minds.
I exhaled forcefully and sat back down.
“The reason I was in my pajamas is because I’ve needed to sleep a lot lately.”
“Sleep? Why? Are you ill?” My mother leaned forward to put a hand on my forehead, wincing when I jerked away from her touch.
“In a way,” I began, pushing the coffee table back so there were a few more inches between us. “About a week ago, I got a concussion, not to mention some nasty bruising, and I’ve been recovering. I’m sure you recall naps are a big part of the process.”
My mother shook her head rapidly, like a cartoon animal. “What? You got a concussion? How?”
“When I was in Coleman Creek last weekend. For James’s engagement party. I slipped on some ice and hit my head, plus banged up my hip.”
“And you’re just telling us this now?” my father asked sharply.
“So you wouldn’t worry. I got scans there, and I was in and out of the hospital in a day. I thought you might try to bring me back to Seattle or get really worked up.”
“You’re damn right we would have!” This time, he couldn’t stop the explosion. “You’re telling us you were in the hospital, and you didn’t bother telling your mother and me? Of course we would want you to have the best care. You’re our child!”
“I had great care in Coleman Creek—”
“There is no way you had the best care in that little town,” my mother practically cried. “Did they even know about your accident? All the trauma you went through? Have you seen a specialist in Seattle since you got back?”
“For goodness’ sakes, Mother, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. The worst effects of the concussion only lasted a few days. And Seattle doesn’t have the market on competent doctors. I’ll check in with my regular MD this week. But I’ve had two scans and everything is fine. For the record, I was perfectly capable of giving the doctors there my medical history.” I paused, resting my elbows on my knees. “It wasn’t like eleven years ago.”
She would not be easily placated. “And you’re saying this happened last weekend? Who’s been looking after you since then?”
“James and Marley, and their family. I stayed in Coleman Creek until yesterday. James’s sister-in-law drove me back.”
My mother dropped her head into her hands, and my father appeared equally stricken.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered.
“I’m fine, Mother, I promise. But that’s why Rosalyn noticed my words seemed off. And why I was limping.”
“I can’t believe you were in the hospital and didn’t tell us.”
I steepled my fingers beneath my chin. “Rosalyn told you my speech was off, and the first place your mind went was that I’m on drugs. That right there is why I didn’t tell you.”
They looked at one another in silent conversation. Finally, my father cleared his throat. “I’m sorry we assumed. I see now it was premature and presumptuous.”
“You think?”
“And I know you want us to accept all these changes you’re making.” His knees bobbed beneath his hands. “Your mother and I aren’t as oblivious as you seem to believe. We realize Wallingford was never your dream.”
I blanched at his unexpected admission. “Then why did you push it on me?”
He hesitated before replying. “We wanted to keep you safe.”
I sat back on the table, gripping the edge. “And I’ll be forever grateful for everything you did. But you need to stop over-correcting now. I’m good. I don’t need you to protect me from myself. From every mistake I’m going to make.”
His fingers dug into his legs, veins popping from the back of his hands. “I understand, son. But you need to realize, it’s hard for us…to let go. And maybe we overdid it, but we don’t want you to feel you can’t tell us things.”
I leaned back, looking him in the eye.
“Then we have some work to do,” I replied carefully.
My father nodded resignedly. “It’s…disconcerting…to imagine you’re hiding things from us. We’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.”
The expression on his face dissolved some of my anger.
“I know. But you need to let me decide what that is. Sometimes a parents’ job is to sit on the sidelines, right?”
“We did that,” my mother interjected, voice shaking. “When you were in high school. We knew those kids were being awful to you, and we pretended, watched from the edge, and worried and worried. And all that happened was we ended up next to your hospital bed praying.”
I knew my parents also had scars from my accident. But for the first time, it didn’t fill me with guilt. Watching my parents comfort one another, I discovered instead a sense of empathy.
My mother rose and began pacing behind the couch. “Did I ever tell you about Riley’s funeral?”
I thought of all the things my parents had filled me in on that had happened after my accident, when I’d been in my coma, but I couldn’t recall that story.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, your father and I went to that poor boy’s service. It seemed like the least we could do to pay our respects.”
“That’s surprising, honestly. I assumed you blamed him for my accident.”
“A part of us did.” My father took up the story. “But we also accepted the fact that you were officially an adult by then, and spending time with Riley had been your choice. And, of course, it would have been difficult to be upset with someone who died so tragically.”
“The funeral was packed,” my mother continued, sitting back down on the couch. “It sounded like Riley had minimal direction in life—” She glanced at me. “But it also seemed like he was a sweet kid. His parents were proud he’d finished high school and was working at that restaurant. Obviously devastated by his loss.
“When we arrived at the church, we told them who we were, and they had the compassion to ask how you were doing. They wished you well, and it was genuine. But all your father and I could think of was how easily we could have been the ones offering stories and memories. Afterward, I made you a firm promise I’d do better. Not just sit on the sidelines again. That you wouldn’t end up like Riley.”
“Oh, Mother,” I shifted to sit next to her, hugging her slight frame to my side as my father squeezed her shoulders from the opposite end. “I’m okay. I can’t promise I’ll never make a mistake or have another slip on the ice, but I’m okay.”
“Logically, I see that. I do.” She gripped my hand. “And I want to work on doing better, giving you what you need… It’s just hard.”
I volleyed my gaze between my parents. “I’ll do my best to keep that in mind. But I need you guys to step back a little. Even if it’s hard. You don’t always have to help me in order to love me. Sometimes, you can just be there, watching.”
My father placed a hand on my shoulder. “I hear you, son. And I promise we’ll try. I hope you can be patient with us.”
“Yes, sweetheart,” my mother agreed. “We can learn to be on the sidelines sometimes. Just don’t kick us out of the game completely, okay?”
“Okay.”
After we made a plan to pick up our conversation in a few days—giving the heavy words a chance to settle—I said goodbye to my parents.
They’d get better, and I would too. It would take time to change our dynamic, but I felt optimistic it would happen. I couldn’t wait to tell Maureen and texted her immediately after my parents left.
Her knock came a few minutes later. I opened the door and pulled her into my arms, breathing into her neck.
“I just had the most insane talk with my mother and father.”
She kept her arms around my waist but leaned back. “By your tone, I’m assuming you mean that in a good way?”
“Uh-huh. It didn’t start out very promising. They basically came over to yell at me for being mean to Rosalyn and then accused me of being on drugs.”
Maureen blinked. “Um, what?”
“No. It’s good. We opened some of our baggage, and in the end, it was cathartic. You were right I’d been putting it off too long.”
“That’s great, Will. I’m happy for you.” She smiled and my insides flipped.
“And now I want to take you out to celebrate. Dinner? Anywhere you like.”
“Thai food?”
“You got it.”
She had showered and touched up her makeup, dressed in jeans and a silk top. With her heels on, she had about two inches on me, something I found incredibly appealing.
As I leaned in to capture her mouth, her eyes caught on the counter. “Will, whose purse is that?”
Suddenly, the door—which I stupidly hadn’t closed all the way—swung open.
“Sorry, William. I left my purse. I’ll just grab it, and then your father and I will be out of your ha—”
I froze.
Maureen’s forehead dropped to my shoulder.
My mother stood in the doorway, gaping as my father came up behind her. “Oh,” he said.
“Am I okay to introduce you?” I whispered to Maureen.
“Hard to see another option.” I felt her nervous laughter against my jacket.
Though we’d spoken in hushed voices, I’d have given even odds my parents heard our conversation since they stood less than ten feet away. To their credit, they waited patiently for me to say something.
“Mother, Father, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Maureen pulled away from my shoulder and turned around gamely with her hand outstretched. “Hello.”
My mother gawked at her with a confused expression. Then her face broke into a grin, and she uttered the last word I expected.
“Francesca?”