Chapter 12 #2
“I’ll talk to Stella about giving you the commission for her portrait. She’ll make a call to every contact she has and get you where you want to go. Let me have it: what’s the dream, Adler?”
I whisper, “The Museum of Modern Art in New York.”
“Done.” He’s dead serious.
“You can’t be serious.” My brain is screaming this is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard in my life.
At the same time, my gut tells me on top of getting a second chance at abstracts, this could be the most fun I’ve had in years.
My late husband was hot in a frat boy way.
We’d been total opposites, and I had felt like the luckiest woman alive when he had picked me out of the millions of girls who’d wished they could’ve called him theirs.
He had also been selfish about the way he used his time and was always on the hunt for his next adrenaline rush.
Our travels took us all over the world, but those adventures revolved around the windiest river to kite surf, the highest rock face to free climb, the clearest ocean to free dive.
Aside from Emma, the longer we were together, the more we realized our shared interests were very few.
I’d told myself it was fine. We balanced one another out.
Elliott could be the parent to give Emma a healthy sense of risk and trying new things while I would be the parent to tether her back to the Earth while making safety seem chic.
My role didn’t change after Elliott’s death and often it feels I’ve taken even fewer risks in all areas of my life because I am the only parent Emma has left.
Taking Belle’s dare at the bachelorette party ignited a dormant worry I’ve carried for far too long.
If I don’t ever let loose and do something wild, life is going to pass me by and I won’t have actually lived any of it.
The man who’s been wearing a path on my kitchen floor is nothing short of an enigma.
Yes, I’ve done a deep dive on him and we’re friend-adjacent, but he’s broody and confident and knows he’s Idaho’s most eligible bachelor.
With his timeless rugged looks, he’s GQ-ready no matter if he’s in his P.E.
attire or wearing the tux I saw him in for his spread in People magazine.
At the same time, he’s also asking me for help. “Okay.”
“Okay?” His green eyes search mine and a hopeful smile spreads across his whole face. It’s breathtaking. “Does that mean you’re in?”
I shrug one shoulder. “We have to talk about Emma.”
“What about her?”
“She has to be okay with this. This is her house and if you’re going to live here, I have to get her approval.
I also need to make sure she understands without a shadow of a doubt that this marriage is pretend.
I’m concerned about her becoming attached to you and when we end our deal, she’ll be hurt. ”
“Absolutely. You can talk to her or I can be there with you and we’ll explain everything to her together. If she’s not on board, I’ll drop it.”
I pace again, rubbing my temples, considering it from every angle. He’s thought this out pretty well, I’ll give him that. “You’re willing to go through all of this without a guarantee that you’ll end up with what you want?”
He takes a long drag of his soda and waits until I’m facing him again before answering. “I am one hundred percent willing, but only if you are.”
Max has turned a corner since grabbing my hand as we left the bar. I’ve noticed an extra pep in his step the longer he discusses his plan. He seems to believe this is going to get both of us back where we want to be, even if this is a really big, life-changing ask.
My truths run through my head on a loop: I want to get a painting at the MoMA.
I’m tired of playing everything safe. I’m not above admitting lately I’ve realized I’m a little lonely.
Even if Max is just a fake husband, it’ll be nice to have somebody to spend carefully curated time with.
Emma already knows him and approves of him as a person, which removes this single mom’s biggest stress when it comes to a new man in our lives.
It’s settled. I am all in.
My eyes don’t leave his green ones as I lift one side of my mouth slowly, then the other, and say, “Let’s do this.”
My car is parked in the driveway when I wake up on Thanksgiving morning.
Max stayed late, hammering out a contract on my laptop that we both agreed to.
As business people, we wanted to make sure all our t’s were crossed and i’s were dotted, though in the light of day, I’m not sure that document would hold up in an actual court of law.
We got slap happy the later the night got and looking at my copy lying on my coffee table in the living room, I note the clause “Both parties will only drink Pepsi products while ‘married.’” Real legal stuff happened here.
I wrap myself in a knit blanket, turn on the fireplace, and tap out a quick thank-you text to Max for returning my car.
Max: You’re welcome. I turkey-trotted home—Did you know we only live a few blocks apart? That is, for now. Dun dun dun.
Much in the same way Emma can’t imagine her teachers having a life outside of school, I decide I can’t picture Max calling anywhere besides Garnet Charter School his home.
Kind of weird to think we could’ve crossed paths while out on a bike ride in the neighborhood.
I wonder if he hikes the foothills or if he’s snowshoed at Bogus Basin.
Then I’m curious: does he grocery shop at the local grocery store, Winco, or is he a Costco guy?
Is he a night owl or a morning person? Most importantly, is he a guy who remembers to put the toilet seat down?
So many things I don’t know about him, and in a few hours he’s moving in.
For Emma’s sense of well-being and for the ease of all my art supplies, I’m glad we decided Max would move in here.
The spare bedroom rarely gets used, and he’s a lot less maintenance than the Adler girls.
He’s been added to the chore chart and I look forward to getting a break from vacuuming, gathering the garbage, and taking the can to the street. Also, lightbulb duty.
The MLB preseason starts at the end of February, with the preseason games starting in March, so the plan is to hopefully have him signed to a team by then.
Meanwhile, to get my name back out there, I’ll be entering something into the Southwest Arts Festival in Indio, California, where Stella used to be on the board, at the end of January.
By mid-summer, Max will sell his house here, the two of us will ‘split,’ and I’ll hit up the gallery circuit until I am established fully again.
I shower and am drying my hair when a key jiggles in the front lock and the door opens. “Honey! I’m home!” His rich voice calls from the front room. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
I find him in the living room, two large suitcases parked by the armchair and a backpack tossed carelessly nearby. “Violation of privacy!”
“What are you talking about?” he rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who gave me a key.”
“Yeah, to use if I’m not home.” I hope he can read the duh on my face.
“You’re funny,” he tells me, grabbing a suitcase and heading toward the hall. “Which one is mine?”
I scoot around him and take him to the first room on the right. “This is your room. I’ve moved Emma’s bathroom stuff into mine and put fresh towels in there.”
“The fluffy ones?” he asks, like they’re a special treat. “From the night of the carnival?”
“Yes.”
“I knew I’d like it here.” He rolls the suitcase into the room and heads back into the living room for the rest of his stuff. “How did Emma take the news?”
Even though Max left way later than I expected him to, I texted Pam as promised and both of the nosy Nellies were still up.
I talked to Emma privately first. She looked exhausted, forcing herself to stay awake, so I quickly explained everything to her.
She didn’t hesitate a second with the idea of Max moving in and the two of us getting married.
I reiterated so many times how it was all for pretend—yes, a lie—and drove home how Max would move on by the summer, but she kept telling me it would be fun.
She yawned her happiness and went to bed, while Pam kept me up another hour asking for every last detail, so I told the story again.
“I know someday you’ll fall in love again and move on.
Both Bruce and I have said for years we’re surprised you haven’t yet, dear.
This seems a very elaborate way to salvage careers when you’re both doing fine, but if this is anything like the movies I love, it’ll end in a real wedding,” she’d told me matter-of-fact.
“I only hope that when that day comes, you’ll feel comfortable inviting us.
” I promised her they’d be first on the guest list and then lay awake all night, trying to picture a world where Maxford Hutchings would marry me for real.
“You did call Emma back last night, right?” Max checks in.
“Emma is on board,” is all I say.
He passes me in the hall and walks back into his room to drop the remaining suitcase and backpack. “What was your plan for today? Were you going to your sister’s? Your . . . parents’?”
A chuckle escapes me, and he arches an innocent brow. “I’m just thinking how ridiculous this all is. I haven’t even told you my parents are on a cruise around the Panama Canal for three weeks, so they’ll be in for a surprise when they disembark in L.A. and get Wi-Fi again, won’t they?”
“Please let me be present for that conversation.” He sits on the bed with a bounce, checking out the mattress. With my reluctant nod of approval, he says, “And your sister?”
“In Oregon with her new in-laws for the holiday.”
“They all left you alone?”
“Please. I asked them to,” I say with fervor. “Do you know how rare it is I have any extended time alone?”
“Is that a hint?”
I don’t answer with anything more than a coy smile.
He dismisses my sass. “Well, what were you going to do today? I don’t smell a turkey in the oven.”
“Before you hitched your wagon to mine, I’d planned to hike to the top of Table Rock this morning and then grab a prepackaged meal from Whole Foods.”
“Sacrilege.” He’s incredulous.
“Why? How could my holiday plans possibly offend you?”
“They don’t, but I’m afraid to tell you, we’ve been summoned by Stella.”
“This feels like a punishment or a trap.”
A wicked smile climbs his face. “You’re a fast learner, Nola. Stella is always calculating. Welcome to the Hutchings family. She’s set up reservations for the noon seating.”
They’ve decorated the assisted living center for the holiday.
Lots of real pumpkins—orange, warted, striped—and tasteful, simple wooden turkeys.
I adjust my navy wrap dress and silently appreciate Max up and down, dressed in a gray blazer, checkered button-up, and black chinos.
We walk in at eleven thirty, and instead of going to the dining hall, Max veers left toward the residents’ rooms.
“Stella requested we start with mocktails in her room. Her signature drink is a fizzy lemonade, but she’ll also offer something holiday-themed, I’m sure.”
“Will Opal be there?” I ask.
“No, she went to Principal Bennett’s for the day.”
“And you didn’t invite your grandmother to your place?”
“She begged me not to. She knows I can’t cook.” He slows his step and drops his voice. “I also think she worries she’ll . . . slip and would rather have one of those moments here, where there’s a team to help her through it.”
“That makes sense.”
He turns on his heel and casually says, “Also, I may have forgotten to mention my sister has been in town, so you’ll be meeting her too.”
“Madelyn?” This surprise-attack meal is suddenly worth it.
He laughs. “Sorry to disappoint but no. Violet.”
“Does she expect me to call her Doctor Hutchings?” I furrow my brows.
This question delights him, a loud laugh escaping his lips. “I will pay you three hundred dollars to do that.”
“What? It’s a valid question. Your family is a little . . .”
“Little what, Adler?” He bumps my shoulder with his.
Music—loud music—saves me from having to answer that. Max straightens up, gives an exaggerated blink, and says, “Brace yourself,” before opening the door to Stella’s room. “She’s got Roy Orbison on.”
I don’t have a lot of experience with assisted living homes, but the space we walk into is larger than I expected it to be.
There’s a small kitchenette and sitting room, beyond which sits a door I assume leads to her bedroom.
And there, in the middle of the room, is a floral arch. Under which stands a preacher.
“Welcome!” Stella sways to the beat of the song, wearing a bright teal kaftan and that jewelry set from Tiffany’s & Co.
In her hand is a crystal goblet of a light yellow beverage and a lemon wedge.
The contents threaten to slosh over the sides with each step she takes around the room.
“I hear congratulations are in order. When I saw your good news, I didn’t quite believe it, because of all my grandchildren, I have always held tight to my heart that you’d never, ever get married without me present, Maxford.
With your sisters here to celebrate the holiday, I thought it’d be lovely if you two had another ceremony in front of me today so I can be a part of it. ”