Chapter Eighteen Odette
Chapter Eighteen
Odette
“There’s our girl!”
I wave to my mother and Nonna as I walk up my grandmother’s driveway. Though I’ve always been told I look just like my mother, who has been told she looks just like her mother, it always surprises me when I see them together and realize just how true that statement is.
We all have dark hair—though Nonna’s is more on the gray side these days—and our blue eyes are all the same shade. We even have the same small noses and dimpled chins. It’s a little eerie sometimes.
I trudge up the stairs, knocking my boots against the last step and dropping my hood from my head. Aside from the storm that rolled through and trashed the cidery, it’s been nice all summer. Nature must have decided it would make up for the lack of rain we’ve had.
Of course, my mom and grandmother are sitting out here enjoying every bit of it. It seems like two types of people live in the Pacific Northwest—the people who thrive even in the rain and the people who complain about it but don’t want to move away because they still love it here.
These two are definitely the former. I think they sit outside during the rain more than they do when it’s sunny, so it’s no surprise they’re on the porch with blankets and a pitcher of lemonade sitting between them.
“Oh, can I have some?” I ask.
“You go right ahead, little one. I made it for you.”
I press a kiss to Nonna’s cheek, then pour myself a glass of lemonade before pulling the spare chair over by them as they swing back and forth.
“So, how are my two favorite gals doing today?”
They exchange a look.
“Uh-oh.” I wag my finger between them. “You two are up to something. Spill.”
“Well,” my mother says, dragging the word out. “I was at Sunnie’s the other day getting a fritter. Did you know they have a peach cobbler one now? Gosh, it’s so good. I don’t know how they come up with these flavors, but I think I could marry that man.”
She’s talking about Ken, the guy who owns the joint. The bakery was named after his wife, who passed away about ten years ago. The whole town loved her, and we all miss Sunnie dearly. She might not be around anymore, but we’re still treated to her amazing fritter recipes.
“I didn’t know that, but what does the new fritter flavor have to do with whatever you’re up to?”
“Oh, I’m getting to it. I’m getting to it.” She huffs, and I hide my smile behind a sip of lemonade. “Anyway, I was at Sunnie’s, and I overheard Darla—you know Darla, don’t you? She’s a receptionist at the high school?”
I know Darla. She ratted Izzy and me out when we skipped school. We were suspended for two days and grounded for a week.
“Anyway,” my mother continues, “her daughter is getting married. Just got engaged last week, and they’re already overwhelmed trying to plan. Of course I gave them your name, and they’ve heard of you, all right.”
My mother frowns, and I can only imagine exactly what it is they’ve heard.
Is it about the fire? Or the allergic reaction my bride had that was so bad she had to leave her own wedding for the emergency room?
Or was it the tall tale of raccoons being set loose during a reception?
It wasn’t raccoons, it was a raccoon—only one, and it was domesticated. It belonged to a guest. I think.
“But all bad reviews aside, they’ve heard you’re partnering with Stick Taps for Izzy’s wedding and are very interested in meeting with you.” My mother beams, clearly excited. “Especially since the bride wants to do a country chic wedding. She thinks the barn would be perfect.”
It would be perfect.
Hope fills my chest, and not for the first time. My email has been lighting up over the last few weeks from hopeful future brides looking for someone to help plan their weddings . . . after they know Izzy’s is a success.
It’s a lot of pressure and why I haven’t let myself get too excited about the sudden surge in potential clients.
Every time that hope starts to balloon, I reach out with a metaphorical pin and pop it.
I can’t get ahead of myself. That’s what the curse wants.
It wants me to get comfortable so it can swoop in and shoot me down yet again.
“That’s great.”
My mother’s smile falls. “That’s great? That’s all you have to say about that?”
“Well, yeah. It would be amazing, and I appreciate you putting it out there, but I don’t want to get too invested in it. You know, just in case it doesn’t . . . work out.”
Nonna tsks. “Oh, little one, you’re worried about the curse, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m worried about the curse. I’m always worried about the curse. That’s what it does. It feeds on our happiness. I can’t let myself get too excited because we all know what will inevitably happen—I’m going to get my heart broken and lose everything.”
“That’s no way to live your life. You can’t let something as silly as this curse hold you back.”
“Says the woman who hasn’t been on a date in at least five years,” I say to my mother.
“Five years?!” Nonna gasps. “Please tell me that isn’t so.”
“Well . . .” my mother hedges.
She feels the same way I do about the curse. She’s just not willing to admit it out loud.
Nonna sighs. “Good heavens. I didn’t realize the talk of the curse had affected your lives so much.
Do I believe our family has some unfortunate luck when it comes to dating and relationships?
Well, yes, I mean look at my own past. It’s .
. .” She laughs quietly. “Tumultuous would be putting it lightly, huh?”
We all laugh.
“However,” she continues. “I don’t want this hanging over your heads and keeping you from being happy like you deserve. I never let it stop me.”
“No, you didn’t, but you’ve had your heart broken how many times?” my mother points out to her.
“Too many to count. But so what? Heartbreak is part of life. You can’t avoid it forever.
If you do, you’ll forget to live in the meantime, and what’s the fun in that?
We get one shot at this. We need to make the most of it, even if we get hurt in the process.
If we get hurt, well, we can always pick ourselves back up, dust off our asses, and get back out there and try again. ”
Nonna doesn’t use bad words very often, an indication she means business.
Truthfully, I can understand where she’s coming from.
If I had a friend going through this, I would probably tell them the same thing my nonna is, but I don’t have that friend.
I am that friend. I am the one whose life has been touched by this.
I’m the one who’s going to get hurt, and dammit, I don’t want to.
I remember my mother’s pain when my father left us.
I remember the nights she used to cry alone in her room when she thought I was asleep.
I remember that sad look in her eyes and how she didn’t smile for months.
How she couldn’t watch anything with romance.
And how she would sneer at couples who walked by.
Then she got better. She put herself back out there just like Nonna says to do, and the same thing happened. She lost her spark. She lost herself. She was heartbroken and devastated.
I’m scared that I’m doomed to repeat her life, and I don’t want to.
“And,” Nonna says, reaching forward and grabbing my chin between her thumb and finger, “that includes in business. I know you’re scared of failure.
I know you’re afraid it won’t work out because the curse is preventing you from being truly happy, but I believe in you, little one.
You need to start believing in yourself as much as you believe in this curse. Cancel the other out.”
Cancel the other out.
She makes it sound so easy, but it’s not. It’s when so much has been stacked against you for so long and you haven’t been happy in years.
No, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been happy lately, and there’s only one reason for that.
Noah.
The only part of hanging out with him I don’t like is lying to Izzy. Everything else is . . . well, it’s really damn good. And I don’t just mean because of the orgasms, which there have been quite a few, sometimes multiple in one night. Okay, always more than one in a night.
Sex aside, it’s actually been fun. He makes me laugh, and he makes me feel safe, even when we are just curled up on the couch, watching TV together.
I was worried things with him might be awkward, but they haven’t been.
I keep waiting for it to happen, for us to wake up one day and realize what we’re doing is totally foolish, but it hasn’t.
If anything, the more time we spend together, the more comfortable I get with him.
The more it feels like it was meant to happen.
Like we were meant to happen.
Could I . . . could I have dodged it? Could I have beaten the curse? Could Noah and I . . . could we work out?
Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You’re being optimistic again, Odette. Don’t let the curse know you’re too happy. It’ll take away everything that brings you joy.
“I hear you, Nonna. I really do. I’ll . . . I’ll try.”
My grandmother nods, seeming satisfied with my answer.
“Good. That’s all I want. And that goes for both of you.
” She gives my mother a stern glare. “Try. Get back out there. Find love again. Find happiness again, even if it is only with yourself. Though I have a suspicion neither of you will end up alone.”
She smiles like she knows something neither of us does, but I don’t question it. I let her keep secrets.
It’s only fair since I’m keeping one too.
And I can’t wait to see him tonight.
I have no idea why, but I’m nervous.
Noah texted me this morning with the simple instructions: Be ready at nine. Wear something warm.
Considering it’s the middle of summer, I am very curious about the “wear something warm” part. I have no idea where he’s taking me so late, but I’m excited to go anyway.
At exactly 8:59, knuckles rap against my front door.