Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“That’s okay, I know you’re a busy boy.” She moves back and looks up at me with concern, then cups my face with a hand, her eyes searching mine.
I wait for her to ask what’s wrong and why I’m there, but she just says, “Take a seat, and I’ll make us a coffee.
I’ve just taken some apple muffins out of the oven if you’d like one. ”
“I’d love one.” I take off my jacket and hang it over the back of one of the chairs around the wooden table in the center of the kitchen, then sit.
The warm aroma of apples and cinnamon takes me straight back to the days where I would sit here with my father and brothers after we came home from school, talking about our day.
After we sated our ravenous hunger with muffins and milk, we’d then have an hour or two before dinner, and I’d go off with Dad to the workshop and help him with his furniture.
The memory is so strong it brings a lump to my throat.
Mum brings over our coffees, glances at me and obviously sees my emotion, but she doesn’t comment.
She brings the plate of muffins over and puts them on the table with a tub of Lurpak, which has always been my favorite butter, then sits next to me.
I take a muffin, halve it, smear on thick dollops of butter, and take a bite.
The warm taste of soft apples fills my mouth, and I sigh.
“So…” she says, leaning back and sipping her coffee. “Not that I’m not enjoying your company… but what are you doing here, sweetheart?”
I’m having trouble swallowing. I have a large mouthful of coffee, trying to wash down the muffin that’s lodged in my throat.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings.
I didn’t come here because I wanted to confide in her.
I don’t know why I’m here, really. “Not sure,” I say.
“I was at Midnight, and… then I found myself here.”
I look around the room. This kitchen has an atmosphere I haven’t really experienced since I left home as a teen.
When my children were young, the house Eleanor and I shared never felt like this because both of us were always out, busy with our lives.
As I think about Marama and her baby, though, I know her house will be like this, with kids’ pictures stuck on the fridge, dogs’ bowls in the corner, and the comforting aroma of baking wrapping around you when you walk in. The thought makes me ache.
“Is this about a woman?” Mum asks.
My eyebrows rise. “What makes you say that?”
She just smiles. “You wouldn’t be here if you were wrangling with a business decision.”
I lean back, take a deep breath, then let it out, long and slow. I meet her eyes, an exchange that tells her everything, then sigh again, looking away, out of the window.
“What’s her name?” she asks softly.
I massage the bridge of my nose. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why? Do I know her?”
I don’t answer. She knows all the Davis family, albeit not well, and suddenly I’m ashamed to admit what I’ve done.
“Okay,” she says. “So I do know her. Is that the problem?”
“Not in and of itself.”
“So…”
I put my cup down, lean my elbows on the table, and cover my face with my hands. Suddenly, the weight of it is too much to bear.
“She’s pregnant,” I say from behind my hands.
There’s a long silence. I dip my head, sinking my hands into my hair, then sit up and lean back again with a sigh.
Mum is watching me, her gaze bright and direct. “I don’t see why that’s such a disaster.”
“I’m forty-six, for a start. I have a grandchild.”
She shrugs. “At least he’ll have someone to play with.”
I give a short laugh. “If only it were that easy.”
“What’s the issue? Is she married?”
“No.”
She looks relieved. “Well, that’s something. Look, Spencer, babies don’t always come along when they’re meant to, but, speaking as someone who can’t have them, I have to say that I can’t see them as anything but a gift.”
I pick at the muffin, feeling thirteen again. She always knew how to make me feel ashamed of my behavior without raising her voice.
“Sweetheart,” she says softly. “Talk to me. What is it? Do you want more and she doesn’t, is that it?”
I shake my head, my throat tightening again. “I don’t want to tell you,” I say huskily. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“Less of you? What do you mean?”
I run a hand through my hair again. Then I think ahhh… what the fuck does it matter? It’s all going to come out eventually. “It’s Marama Davis.”
She blinks. I can see her working through it, realizing who I mean, and then the implications of that. “Ohhh…” She nods slowly. “I saw the articles in Kōrero.”
“Yeah.”
“They were true? You bid a million dollars for her?”
“Yeah. I did it to take her off the market. I said it was because it was demeaning and I did it for Rangi, but that wasn’t the reason. I didn’t want some random guy winning the auction. I wanted her for myself.”
“She’s painted a portrait of you?”
“Yes, it’s amazing, I have it in my house.”
“And the one for Lumen? Taming the wolf?”
“I haven’t seen it, but yes, she’s implied that’s what she’s doing.”
“Because Genevieve Beaumont asked her to?” At the time, I told her about Genevieve’s bitterness when she couldn’t get into the Midnight Circle.
“Yes. I think she’s struggling with having to paint it that way, but obviously it’s a commission, so she has to do what they want.”
She nods slowly. “And you’ve fallen in love with one another?”
I lower my gaze to the plate. “I haven’t said so in so many words.”
“Has she?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love her?”
I lift my gaze back to hers again. “Yes.”
Her lips curve up. “So what’s the problem again?”
“She’s young, Mum…”
“She’s not eighteen, love. What is she, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?”
“She’s just turned thirty.”
“There you go, then. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I just give her a sarcastic look.
“There isn’t,” she says. “Age is just a number. What matters is that you love each other.”
“I don’t think her father would agree. I know how I’d feel if a guy in his forties knocked up Helen.”
That makes her hesitate, and she gives a big sigh. “Yeah, I can see how it might look to Rangi. But you’ll just have to persuade him otherwise.”
I have a mouthful of coffee, wishing it could wash away the shame that feels so heavy, it’s weighing me down.
As if she can see it, Mum says, “What’s really the issue here, love?
Is this to do with Eleanor?” When I look at her with surprise at her astuteness, she says, “Honey, I’m not blind.
I knew what Eleanor was like. From the outside, she was a good wife and a good mother, but I saw her pull away from you enough times, and the look on your face when she did it.
You’ve spent a lifetime trying to pretend you don’t need love, locking yourself behind padlocked gates.
What’s the matter? Are you afraid that if you let her love you, you’ll open yourself to being hurt? ”
“Yes,” I say, my voice husky. “And that I’ll look like a fool.”
“For being in love?”
“People don’t look kindly on men in my position who profess to fall for younger women. They’ll say it’s a midlife crisis. That she appeals to my vanity.”
“Is that what it is? You like having a younger woman on your arm?”
I think about Marama, how her smile warms me through, how she makes me feel. “No. It’s not that at all. She makes me feel… complete.” I give her a lopsided smile.
“Aw, your whole face just lit up, honey.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“It did. You obviously have feelings for this girl. Why are you so worried about what people think of you? Are you really going to let someone else’s jealousy get in the way of your happiness?”
“There are things to think about, Mum. When she’s fifty, I’ll be heading toward seventy.”
“That’s true. But it still means hopefully you’d have a long and happy life together.”
“I don’t want to be an old father.”
“Do you think of me as old?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s what I mean. Age is in the head, my love.
You’ll never be old in that way. Look, we don’t choose whom we fall in love with.
Cupid’s arrows fly where they will. The only control we have is the choices we make afterward.
Are you going to walk away from her, from your child, from love, because you’re afraid of what others will think of you? ”
“I think it might already be too late,” I say softly. “I’ve hurt her badly.”
“Did you say sorry?”
“She didn’t really give me the chance.”
“Hurt feelings can be mended by true love, Spencer. You just need to be honest and unafraid. Yes, if you open your heart, you stand the chance of being hurt. But love is about being naked—not just physically, but emotionally, and putting your heart into someone else’s hands.”
“I’m not used to being vulnerable,” I mumble. “It sucks.”
“It does. But there’s also something wonderful about it, too, when the other person takes your heart and holds it so gently, as if it’s something precious they never want to let go.”
I squeeze her fingers. “I miss Dad.” I don’t let myself think of him much, and my throat tightens.
She swallows hard. “Me too, darling. He was a good man. I’d give anything to have him back with me.
So if you stand even a small chance of happiness with this girl, I’d say go for it, and to hell with everyone else.
” She clears her throat. “Now, I’m about to put a leg of lamb in the oven for tonight.
Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure your brother would love to see you. ”
“Okay,” I say. For once, I feel the need to have my family around me. And then maybe tomorrow, I’ll think seriously about where I go from here.