Chapter 28
28
“ T here’s my girl!” Dad exclaims as soon as the door swings open.
“Hey, Dad.” My voice comes out muffled since he’s already pulled me into a tight hug and my face is now smooshed against his chest.
I got lunch with my mom two days ago, but this is the first time I’ve seen my dad since I got back to New York. Based on his reaction, you’d think we’d been separated for months.
He kisses the top of my head and then releases me. “How are you? Mom said you had a good trip?”
“I’m good. And, yeah, the trip was great. Did she show you the photos I sent?”
“She sure did,” Dad confirms. “Made me miss Europe. We’ve been talking about taking a trip to Italy. This fall, once football season has started? Will you be around?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I reply. “I’m still figuring out my next project.”
Dad nods. “Well, keep it in mind. Your mom is in the living room.”
“Kit and Bash here?”
He shakes his head. “They’re running late.”
Typical.
I kick off my shoes and pad down the hallway toward the living room. Mom’s sitting on the sectional couch with her legs curled under her, flipping through the glossy pages of a magazine between sips of wine.
I glance around the room. Mom redecorated recently. My parents own this building, but this isn’t the penthouse I lived in growing up. It’s where Dad resided before they got married, which they’ve downsized to now that none of us are living at home. I have my own place a few blocks away, and Bash has chosen to crash at Kit’s new place, now that he’s graduated and is living in New York permanently.
“Hey, Mom.” I flop down beside her.
The silk of her blouse brushes my cheek as she leans over to kiss my head, just like Dad did.
Bash might be the baby of our family, but since he sprouted to six-five, I’m the one who gets treated like it.
“How was your day, honey?”
“Fine,” I reply, rubbing the arch of my foot. It’s still suffering from all the days I’ve worn heels lately. “I got brunch with Fran, Bridget, and Jasper. Then had the Dublin interview this afternoon.”
Mom closes the magazine and tosses it onto the coffee table. “How did the interview go?”
“It went well. I liked the team a lot. They’re supposed to get back to me next week.”
“That’s exciting.” Mom takes a sip of wine. “I’ve never been to Ireland. Your dad and I will have to come visit.”
“Visit where?” Dad walks into the living room, a bottle of wine in one hand and two more glasses dangled in the other.
“Ireland,” Mom replies. “Lili might be working on a project there.”
“That’s close to Italy,” Dad says, winking.
“Dad, our last vacation got moved three times because of your and Mom’s schedules. I’m not planning my job around it.”
They exchange one of those looks where they have an entire conversation without saying a single word.
“Fair enough,” he tells me, filling a wineglass and handing it to me. “Congratulations, sweetie.”
“Thanks. But I haven’t actually gotten the job yet.”
“They’d be fools not to hire you,” Mom tells me, smiling at Dad as he tops off her glass with another splash of wine. “Such service.”
“Anything for my girls,” he replies, kissing her soundly on the mouth.
“Gross,” I mutter into my wine.
They both laugh as the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” I volunteer, padding back into the entryway to answer it.
When I open the front door, my brothers are both standing in the hallway. Bash with a hand planted beside the doorway with a wrinkled button-down on. Kit is slouched against the opposite wall, wearing a faded Rangers T-shirt. The brim of a baseball cap is pulled low over his eyes.
“Seriously, you two?” I prop a hand on my hip. “Would a little effort kill you?”
I’m wearing a pink maxi dress with a flower pattern on it.
“Maybe.” Bash gives me a lopsided grin and a one-armed hug before passing me and heading into the penthouse. “Welcome home, sis.”
I knock Kit’s cap off as he follows, and he scowls. “Thought you were still shopping your way across Europe.”
“I was at Chloe’s wedding , Christopher. Not on a global shopping spree.”
His scowl deepens. Mom only calls us by our full names—Elizabeth, Christopher, and Sebastian—when we’re in trouble. And she can be mildly terrifying, so those aren’t positive memories.
I did go shopping in Saint-Tropez, but I don’t mention that to my brother.
“And you could use some new clothes. You can’t possibly show up in that”—I give his basketball shorts a pointed look—“at the office.”
“I know how to dress for work, Elizabeth . Just didn’t feel like dressing up to eat dinner with you.”
I stick my tongue out at him as I close the door. “You’re starting soon, right? End of August?”
“Yeah.” There’s an edge to the word, one I’m surprised to hear.
“Are you …”
“Everyone’s in the living room?”
Kit walks off before I can answer. I trail behind him, feeling the lines form on my forehead.
I always assumed Kit was excited about working at Kensington Consolidated. It’s our family’s company. If my dyslexia hadn’t made an office job like that sound miserable, I know it’s where I would have ended up. But he sounds decidedly unenthused about it, and I’m now realizing he hasn’t mentioned it once this entire summer. I’m not even sure if he’s been to see his fancy corner office yet.
When I return to the living room, Bash’s sprawled on the rug, and Kit has stolen my seat next to Mom on the couch.
I end up in one of the armchairs, Dad in the other. He’s having another silent conversation with Mom, head tilts and eyebrow lifts and forehead wrinkling substitutes for syllables.
It adds to the mystery of tonight. We don’t have dinners, all five of us, with any regularity. Barring a special occasion—I can’t come up with any—my brothers and I getting summoned for a Wednesday night meal is random.
“Is something wrong?” I blurt out.
Bash and Kit both glance up from the tray of appetizers they were demolishing.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Dad says carefully. “But we do have some news to share with you.”
“ Please let it be another jet,” Kit says around a mouthful of cheese. “Lili hogs it.”
“Like you’d be using it for business.” Bash scoffs.
“Well, your mother and I will be using the jet to move back to New York,” Dad says. “Permanently.”
We all stare at him.
Kit speaks first. “What?”
“Your mother and I have decided to move back to New York. For good. We’re selling the house in LA. No more split schedules between coasts.”
“But … what about your work?” Bash asks.
The whole reason our parents left New York in the first place was for Dad’s job.
Dad glances at Mom, then exhales. “I’ve decided to return to Kensington Consolidated. Your uncle Oliver is announcing me as COO at the company gala this weekend.”
We all stare at him in shock, Kit looking the most stunned.
Dad worked at Kensington Consolidated before my brothers were born. But he has never—not once—mentioned returning to work there. I didn’t consider it as a possibility. I assumed my parents would continue jetting between coasts until they retired.
“This is a good thing,” Mom says, glancing around at all of us.
Dad nods in agreement. “It’s a change we’ve talked about for a few years. But it took a while to find the right person to take over the production company. I made Raymond a promise. But Kensington Consolidated—New York—has always been our home. You kids have all ended up on the East Coast, and it feels like the right time for us too.”
“Wow,” I say. “Congrats, Dad.”
Bash and Kit chime in, echoing the sentiment.
It’s not until I’m in the kitchen after dinner, pulling ice cream out of the freezer, that I have the chance to ask Kit, “You good?”
He was quiet during dinner, barely chiming in as I relayed a—selective—retelling of my trip to Wales and Saint-Tropez. No mention of Charlie or my trip to a British emergency room. Bash talked about his summer internship and upcoming fishing trip to Alaska with some college buddies. Nothing from Kit.
“Yeah,” he replies, grabbing the carton from me and a spoon from the drawer and stealing a bite of mint chip.
I glance toward the doorway, making sure we’re still alone, then lower my voice. “You sure? You seem … off.”
“I’m just adjusting to being back in the city, getting resettled.”
“Is this about Dad working at Kensington Consolidated?”
Kit blows out a long breath, then drops his spoon in the sink. “You were smart to choose something different,” he tells me.
“No. I was too dumb to have a Kensington Consolidated–worthy GPA.” I take a big bite of ice cream.
Kit frowns, then flicks my shoulder. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. The only person allowed to call you dumb is me—when you buy shoes that look the same as the five million other pairs you already own.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “You’re going to kick ass at the company, Kit. All that’s changed is, Dad will be there to see it in person.”
“Thanks, Lili.”
We smile at each other, and then Kit ruins the sweet moment by informing me I have chocolate on my chin.
I clean it off, scoop most of the container into a bowl, and then head back out onto the private patio. Mom is lying on one of the reclining lounge chairs, scrolling on her phone.
I assume it’s work, until she flashes me a photo of a yellow Lab.
“What do you think?” she asks. “He’s adorable, right?”
“You’re getting a dog?”
Ever since Teddy, our family’s golden retriever, died, Mom has insisted no dog could ever replace him.
“Your father and I have talked about it.”
Mom smiles suddenly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just … didn’t really ask him about Teddy before I adopted him. Funny to think about how things change, is all.”
“Are you getting a dog because you’re moving back to New York?”
Mom sets down her phone and reaches for the bowl of ice cream I brought out. “That’s part of it, I suppose. This feels like a new chapter, being back in New York full-time. The last time we lived here permanently, we were just starting our family. I want to put down some more roots. And … I’m planning to step down as editor in chief at Haute next year.”
“You are?”
She nods. “It’s time.”
“Wow. That’s big.”
My mom bought her fashion magazine when she was younger than me. She’s worked there for longer than I’ve been alive.
“It is,” she agrees. “It’s been an amazing experience, but it has to end sometime. I want to focus on new adventures. Take a vacation without rescheduling multiple times. Get a dog. Do you think they’ll have room for him or her as a patient at Hallsen Veterinary Clinic?”
I roll my eyes when she mentions my make-believe veterinary clinic. “Mom, you have to stop bringing that up.”
She laughs. “Fine.”
I steal the ice cream back, take a bite, and then lie back to stare up at the sky. You can’t really see the stars here—the city lights are too bright.
“Why did you marry Dad?” I ask.
There’s a noticeable pause as my question registers.
Mom rubs a finger against the side of her wineglass, creating a soft singing sound. “The easy answer is that your grandfather made an arrangement when I was sixteen.”
“But you wouldn’t have married him if you didn’t want to.”
Mom’s smile is proud. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
“What’s the hard answer?”
Something I’ve always wondered, honestly.
My parents don’t have a perfect relationship, but they’re perfect for each other. They have the sort of synergy that seems fated, not something you could manufacture with a fixed arrangement.
“I married him because he felt safe,” Mom tells me. “Because we were equals in money and ambition. I’d seen Gigi stand in Grandfather’s shadow my whole life, knowing that could never be me. It works for your grandparents, but I … I needed more. Not to be happy, just to make that part of my life bearable. That’s what I thought then at least.”
“And now?”
Mom studies me for a few seconds, and I know she’s dying to ask why I’m asking. “Now, there’s nothing scarier than the thought of losing him. This whole life I have? You and your brothers? It’s all because of him. Nothing—not Haute or rouge or anything else—is more important than that. Me stepping back at Haute and your dad returning to Kensington Consolidated is because we want to spend more time with each other and you kids. We’ve both reached points in our careers where it makes sense to cut back.”
I smother a smile. Only my parents would consider being COO of a multibillion-dollar company and running a luxury fashion house “cutting back.”
Mom reaches for my left hand and turns it toward her.
I yank it away, blushing. “Mom!”
“Just checking. I didn’t think you’d get engaged without telling me, but just in case.”
“I would tell you if I was getting engaged. I’m not engaged. I’m not even dating anyone. Partly because …” I contemplate how much to say. “It’s hard, you know. Whenever I meet a guy, I have to wonder what he sees. Me or money. Your relationship with Dad always looks so easy. You make it look easy. Work too. All of it. So, so easy.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s eyes fill with sympathy. “ None of it is easy. It took me a long time to come to terms with my relationship with your father. If he’d been a little less stubborn, our marriage—your childhood—would have looked very different. And juggling work with being a mom and a wife? Finally dropping one of those balls feels like the biggest relief. But I’ve never been comfortable with sharing my struggles or insecurities. And I never wanted you or Kit or Bash to worry about anything you shouldn’t be concerned with.”
“I didn’t get the project in Canada,” I admit. “The job I really wanted. I found out yesterday.”
“You’re just starting your career, sweetheart. You have years—decades—to accomplish everything you want to.”
“Kit’s getting a corner office and a secretary.”
“That was your uncle Oliver’s decision. He would have offered the same to you if you’d decided to work at the company.”
I stare into my glass. “Do you think Dad’s disappointed I didn’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
My gaze lifts to look at my mom. “Are you disappointed I didn’t want to work in fashion?”
“No, I’m not.”
I nod once, the certainty in her voice quieting some of the doubt in my head.
“You want to know why?”
I nod again.
“Because there’s nothing you could have done to make us prouder than to forge your own path, Lili. Everyone expected me to work at Ellsworth Enterprises, if I worked at all. Just like everyone thought your dad would spend his whole career at Kensington Consolidated. I didn’t buy Haute because I’d always wanted to own a fashion magazine. I did it to prove to myself that I could. Just like your dad wanted to show that he could succeed in a building that didn’t have his last name plastered on the side.”
I smile. “The letters are too big, aren’t they?”
Mom matches it. “Obnoxious really.”
We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, staring at the twinkling lights of the city.
“Did something happen with Cal on your trip?” she finally asks.
“We’re not back together, if that’s what you mean. He … he made me feel safe, but I was never scared to lose him.”
Mom nods, letting the topic drop. She always offers advice when I ask for it, but never pushes me to talk. When I told her I broke up with Cal, she didn’t ask if I was sure or what happened. She made frozen margaritas, French-braided my hair, and painted my nails.
“I met someone else,” I admit.
A pause.
“Do I know him?”
I gnaw on my lower lip. “You’ve met him. Charles Marlborough. He was meeting with Asher when you and Dad first got back.”
“The duke ?”
I sigh. “He’s more than that. It’s just a … title.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart. I’m just … surprised. You’ve never mentioned him before. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
Because I pretended not to know him. I almost smile at the memory of Charlie’s annoyed expression.
“He was at Chloe’s wedding. He went to college with her husband.”
“Are you two dating?”
“ No . No, we’re not dating. I don’t even—he’s exasperating. Superior and opinionated and pompous and—” I stop talking when I see Mom smile. Clear my throat. “But he’s the first guy who doesn’t seem to care that I’m a Kensington. Even Cal … I think Cal cared; he just pretended not to. Charlie scares me. Scares me in a good way, I mean. Or maybe it’s bad. Losing him … scares me.”
I never really had him though.
He left me in Saint-Tropez with a hastily scribbled note. Walked away for a third time, and it’s a pattern I can’t keep repeating. Each time, it breaks my heart a little more. He breaks my heart a little more.
“I’d like to meet him. Again, I mean.”
I eat more ice cream before telling her, “That probably won’t happen. It’s not going to work out.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not … I don’t see how it would. It’s too complicated.”
He doesn’t care enough .
I’m too embarrassed to say it. I thought we were turning into something real that last night at his villa. But then he took off like he had always planned to, with the most basic of explanations, and now, it feels like I just saw what I wanted to.
“People say complicated like it’s a bad thing,” Mom muses. “But it just means more effort is required. And there’s nothing worth having, Lili, that doesn’t require some effort.”
I nod.
I don’t ask her what it means if I’m the only one willing to make an effort. I already know the answer.