Chapter 32
32
Natalie
“I brought you a piece of pie, Natalie,” my mom says lightly as if she’ll wake me. Isn’t that the point of her bringing the pie? And why pie?
I glance toward the door. “It’s nine in the morning. On Thanksgiving. Shouldn’t we be eating that after dinner many hours from now?”
“We’re too tired from the tryptophan to enjoy it.” She takes a bite of my pie before setting it next to her when she sits down on the mattress. “And you seem like you could use some pie.”
“Again, it’s nine in the morning.” I rub my eyes to clear away the sleep. “I haven’t even seen you before now.”
“Pie makes everything better.” Not letting the hour or that she’s sitting on my bed eating pie for breakfast like a crazy person deter her, she continues, “I was thinking about the holiday and how grateful I am for John’s recovery. Also, it’s been so nice to have my kids back under my roof again. I feel spoiled.”
The dreary winter day is all that filters into the dark room, not providing much light. I’m too tired to overthink everything as I have for the past week. I also once heard that confessions of the heart are allowed at early hours and can’t be held against you, so I whisper, “I’m grateful for Dad’s recovery, but otherwise, I’m struggling.” My dad made so much sense last week, but until I understand if Nick betrayed me, I don’t think I can forgive him, and that has weighed me down.
I could have called him, video-chatted online, or sent a carrier pigeon. There are a million ways to communicate, but words feel empty without action. I need to see him face-to-face, the same request he made of me, to read his eyes and watch his body language.
She rubs my leg. “I’m sorry, honey. I wish I could make it better.”
“I know you would if you could, but this will pass. I know it will, but why does it have to hurt so much until it does?”
“Love works like that.”
Propping myself up on my hand, I ask, “Love? You say that as if you’ve known the loss I’ve felt all along.”
“No, I just finally figured it out. I’m sorry for not recognizing it sooner.”
“I haven’t been forthcoming because I felt caught.”
“Losing someone important to you is a terrible situation to be in.” She looks down, shaking her head. “Before you said he was your boyfriend at the hospital, I didn’t even know you were dating someone. What kind of mother doesn’t know who her daughter is dating? I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy with work?—”
“You don’t have to apologize. You’re my greatest role model. Your success and how you stay so stylish even with a busy schedule. Honestly, I never felt I could live up to that.”
Her smile is kind as she admires me, reaching to sweep loose strands of hair behind my ear, but she stops and doesn’t do it, letting them fall back down against my cheek. “You’re perfect the way you are, Natalie. I needed the strength of a partner to pursue my real dreams. You did it all on your own despite relationship obstacles and not using a dime of your trust fund.”
I roll my eyes. “Technically, I couldn’t. I can’t touch that until I’m twenty-five, remember?” Sitting up straighter, I add, “I’m glad I couldn’t, though. I’m proud of what I’ve created, and STJ is growing by leaps and bounds. We’re covering our expenses and starting to make money.”
“You’re a mogul in the making.” She takes another bite of the pie.
Flopping back to the mattress, I ask, “I thought that piece was for me?”
“Maybe, it’s me and not you. I’m the one who needed the pie.” I see a small smile, even in the dim light. She sets the fork back down and wipes it off with the napkin. Caught up in the menial task, she keeps her eyes lowered to it. “I owe Nick Christiansen an apology for treating him the way I did. It will be a tough pill to swallow, considering I’m not sure how innocent he is, but your dad seems to think things will work out how they’re supposed to.” When her eyes reach mine again, she adds, “Last night we finalized the deal to get your loan back. Your dad and I are your sole investors now.”
“Really?” I sit up so abruptly that the fork clatters from the plate. “All ties are cut from the Christiansens?” As much as that makes me happy when it comes to business, I feel the sever to my heart over losing the last connection, even if it was a tenuous one at best.
“Yes, and now that we have cash from the sale of Manhattan Financial, we have set up a fund for you and Jackson. As for you and Nick, I met him momentarily during the contract stage, and your father has only said nice things. But Jackson has changed my mind.”
Ugh. That limo ride was torture. I can only imagine what my prank-loving weasel of a brother has to say about him. “What did he say?”
She smiles. “That he’s one of the good guys. That’s high praise coming from him.” Pausing, she searches the room as if she’ll find the words she wants to use hidden in the décor. “I want to leave you with a little food for thought.”
“More?” I tease. “You already brought pie.”
Her laughter can be boisterous at times or quiet like now, but it’s hers alone. I hope mine makes others smile the way she makes me grin. “Don’t judge my pie-loving ways. As for love, Natalie, our hearts, our intuition, our souls know the truth. But the pain, the pain you’re in now will make the love that much sweeter when you find the right one for you.”
I study her eyes, her words music to my ears, but I’m afraid to let them sink in. “What are you saying?”
“Dad told me he talked to you.” Even though Dad and I have talked a lot over the last week and shared nightly family meals together, he hasn’t brought up Nick or the sale of Manhattan Financial to the Christiansens since last week. He believes in me and has given me time and space to work through my next course of action. She reaches over and covers my hand with hers and gives it a squeeze. “I was in so much pain myself. I thought I was going to lose your dad. I don’t even know who I am without him, and I never want to find out.”
I reach over and hug her. “I know, Mom. I’m glad he’s recovering. I don’t want to ever lose either of you.”
“What I knew was that he’d been on the phone arguing, fighting with the CWM lawyers.” I sit back, and our gazes connect again. “I wrongly assumed Nick was one of them.” Wrongly.
I’ve done a lot of assuming, and it makes me wonder if it’s wrongly as well. But hearing her offer the hope that maybe I can find my way through this darkness gives me a new perspective. She’s able to acknowledge her errors. I think it’s time for me to do the same. “The healing begins when the truth is heard. Do you think it’s time to talk to him?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Patting my leg, she then gets up and goes to the door. “Well, if nothing else comes of it but answers, then you’ll get closure, and that’s something we all wish for in these types of situations.”
She’s not wrong. “Thanks, Mom.” For the pie. The support. The love.
Stopping as if something just occurred to her, she asks, “Before I get caught up in cooking, what do you think you’ll do?”
“The pie? Eat it. Have you ever known me to pass up dessert, even at nine in the morning?”
Laughing, she says, “No, what are you going to do about Nick?”
“Ah.” Lying back down, I stare up at the ceiling. The sun has started to peek through the gray day, shedding more light on everything—the room, my life, and the decisions I need to make. Tilting toward her, I finally reply, “I promised Dad I’d stay for Thanksgiving.”
“He shouldn’t have guilted you that way, but I’m not upset you’re here.” She winks.
“How crazy do I sound if I admit that I’ve been waiting for a sign?”
That draws her back into the room. She remains distanced at the door, but her interest appears piqued by the raised brows. “If you get a sign, how do you know it’s a sign or just a coincidence?”
I recognize the skepticism in her voice. “I used to feel the same, but now I believe everything happens for a reason. We just have to learn to read the signs.”
“You always were my silver lining girl. It’s a great trait to have. But don’t let life pass you by while you’re waiting. There’s nothing wrong with forcing the hand of fate sometimes. I sat at that coffee shop for two weeks, waiting for your dad to return.”
My mouth falls open as I see a devious glint enter her eyes. “What? There goes my whole childhood. If you lied about that, what other lies have I been told?” I’m teasing . . . partially.
“I once modeled nude for an artist being compared to Jackson Pollack. He even shared the same first name.”
“A painter?”
She nods. But suddenly pieces are falling into place . . . “Wait. Is my brother?—”
“Natalie!” She scoffs. “No. I just liked the name.”
Thank God. Images of the famous painter’s work populate my mind. “Did he splatter paint on canvas because I didn’t know Pollack painted figures, much less, nudes? I thought he only painted those splatters.”
“I didn’t say I was posing for a painting.”
My gag reflex kicks in, but I keep the volume internally. “Oh God, Mom. No. I do not need to hear this.” I push the pie away, definitely not eating that. “Also, don’t share any more of your lies. I’m good. Some things need to go to the grave with you. That Pollack story being one of them.”
“Well, it inspired me to wait for your father. He was worth every minute I sat in that uncomfortable chair, hoping to see him again.”
“Did he ever find out you did that?”
“Yes, we once confessed. That’s when I found out he had been stopping by the bakery every morning at eight because that’s where he had once seen me.”
Throwing my arms open wide, I groan. “Why was everything so romantic back then?”
“Romance was in the air, but we definitely made it happen.”
I pop upright. “You always said that you stopped modeling eight months after you met Dad to work with him, but how long did you date before getting married, and why do I not know this?”
“Thought you didn’t want to know any more of my secrets?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, use my words against me.”
By how she’s giggling, she’s enjoying this a little too much. Or she has a sugar rush from the pie. Either way, I’m glad we’re connecting like this again. She says, “It’s not something I advertise because everyone has an opinion on it, but we went down to the courthouse ten months before our actual ceremony and got married.” She nudges my leg. “That was the most romantic day of my life. Just us committing our lives to each other. I’ve not regretted it once since the day John and I met.”
My heart pings to life, the gushy stuff reminding me of lying in bed at the bungalow with Nick when he asked me if I wanted to get married. “And no one knew prior?”
“No,” she replies, appearing pleased by her admission with a smile that reveals her secret. “My parents would have lost their ever-loving minds. Everyone celebrates the date of the big to-do we had at the Plaza. We celebrate our special day, just the two of us.”
Trying to math through this, I finally just ask, “How long did you date before you eloped?”
She opens the door wider but stays. “Nine weeks to the day.” Her finger crosses her lips. “But don’t tell anyone. That’s our little secret.” Giving me a wink, she adds, “Let me know if you’d like me to book a flight for you.” Am I that transparent? Probably.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
I’m given a reassuring smile before she closes the door behind her.
Sprawled across the middle of the bed, I’m still grinning. It’s weird to think of my parents as younger and to find out they’re stalkers for each other. I might die from the sweetness.
With all that was said on my mind, especially about her and Dad eloping so soon after they met, I pull the covers around me and snuggle with my thoughts. Nick would use that story to his favor. Any evidence to support his case is free game.
Taking up so much of the bed reminds me how Nick always lets me hog the middle, and he’s content to settle around me. He was good like that.
Was?
Do I want to get caught up in wallowing? Or take action?
I roll over and see the pie. I promised I would stay for Thanksgiving, so I guess everything needs to wait a day.
I shove a big bite of pie in my mouth and then push up to get dressed. I rummage through the last few clean items in my suitcase but only find one sad pair of stretched-out, unflattering lavender running pants stuffed in the pocket of the insert. I yank them out, and a piece of paper flutters to the floor.
Bending down, I pick up the circular piece of paper and turn it over. It’s an illustrated chocolate chip cookie with a bite taken out of it. “What the heck is this?”
Printed at the top reads: From the desk of Cookie Christiansen. My smile is instant. This is kind of kooky. I laugh at my pun, but with no idea what her note could possibly say, my gaze dips to her handwritten cursive. “Destiny will always find a way through a misunderstanding. Love, Cookie.”
I flip it over several times, looking for more hints to what that means, but then I wonder how this even got in here. Was it meant for me, or did it somehow get caught in my belongings? She did ship this suitcase and my laptop bag to me, but would she—I inhale a hard breath when I realize what this really is.
I take off. Running downstairs, I call out, “Mom!”
“In here.” I spin several times in the main entry, trying to figure out where that came from before she adds, “In the kitchen,” and start running again. Flailing my arms in the air, I hold the note, and exclaim, “This is a sign.”
“What is?” Her eyes narrow on the note in my hand. “That is?”
Throwing my arms around her, I say, “I’m booking a ticket to LA.”
She hugs me. “You are?”
Out of breath from all the excitement, I lean against the island where she was cutting carrots. “You inspired me, but don’t tell Dad. He gave me great advice as well.”
Soft laughter echoes through the kitchen area. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
“I talk a lot of nonsense,” my dad says, coming in from the back patio. He stomps his boots on the mat. “What did I say?”
“You told me that no one can end my dreams but me. Not even heartbreak. You’re right.”
He nods in approval. “Sometimes I dole out a good one.”
The love for her husband shines in my mom’s eyes. I want that. Again. She says, “Excellent advice indeed.” She turns to me, and there’s no less love found. “You’re going to LA?”
But that sinking feeling fills my belly again. “I’ll go tomorrow. I promised?—”
“Bull-cocky. You’ll go when you damn well want to. You’re a grown woman with whom I’ve had the pleasure of spending the last month. You go. Be bold and live your life to the fullest, my brilliant Natalie.”
Leaning against the island, I say, “There’s so much to unpack there, starting with the term bull-cocky, but there’s no time.” I run to hug him, closing my eyes and whispering, “Thank you.”
He gives me a warm, fatherly hug, and when we part, he says, “Off you go. You need to see a man about a deal that I have a feeling he didn’t make.”
“I do.” There’s that phrase. It’s all coming back to me now. “I love you both, and Happy Thanksgiving.”
I run upstairs to pack, picking up the dirty clothes on the closet floor and tossing them in the suitcase before grabbing my toiletries. Grasping my phone from the bed beside the pie, I indulge and take a big bite before calling my bestie.
“Just in case you were wondering,” Tatum answers as if we’ve been talking for hours. “I’m never giving this panda outfit back, Nat. It’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn. I want to be buried in it at this point.”
“It’s yours, but I need a favor before the funeral.”
“Anything.”