Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Gabe
Denise was supposed to stay overnight and I would finally have a chance to set things straight between us, to tell her there would be no diamond. To tell her I loved her and would be her friend forever, but no more than that.
“Don’t worry, Mia will be there,” she said. “I gave her my ticket. She can sub in for me.”
Was she teasing me? Did she suspect my mixed feelings, the attraction between me and Mia?
Turning on the faucet to fill the bathroom sink, I pulled a fresh disposable razor from the vanity drawer.
Maybe I shouldn’t bother shaving after all since Denise wouldn’t be joining me.
It had been a habit for so long because she didn’t like the stubble.
I dropped the razor back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
“Watch out what you wish for,” I said, testing her back.
“Cute.” She took a breath. “Look, I know you’re angry. But I’ll make it up to you. We’ll get through this.”
I had nothing to say because I knew we wouldn’t. And there was no way I wanted to have that discussion with her over the phone now. On game day morning.
“Talk to you later, hon.” She hung up.
Breathing deeply, I leaned against the vanity with my hands planted on the counter and stared in the mirror.
I’d have to make a trip to Atlanta tomorrow to see Denise.
It was the team’s day off because we were playing in the Sunday night game next week, week four.
I would talk to her face to face about the end of our relationship. Four and a half years.
As my racing heart slowed and my gut unclenched, I cleared my head, put Denise aside. That left Mia to deal with.
But first, I had a game to win.
We won the game and I was shamefully pleased that Mia came to the postgame dinner even though Tate wasn’t available.
They’d both been invited, but I’d expected her to skip dinner and go with him, to meet his parents.
Tate’s parents were visiting for the weekend—both of them, finally after two weeks since his injury.
Apparently, they weren’t leaving until tomorrow.
I’d made arrangements for a restaurant management firm to send help to his parent’s place, called in some favors, so they could come see him while he was injured, support him.
The people from Restaurant Impossible were glad to oblige even though it wasn’t their usual gig, but I didn’t know who else to call for advice.
Tate’s parents didn’t know who was helping out, but Tate’s brother, with whom I’d coordinated everything, would be there to work with them.
The crew said they’d give the place a facelift while they were at it.
They were going to turn it into a special show, maybe air it at Christmas.
It was a lot more than I’d bargained for, as I explained at dinner, holding everyone around the table to secrecy. It was just my family—and Mia. All very trustworthy.
“So it’ll be a surprise for Tate and his parents,” I finished.
My family thought it was a wonderful thing to do. I’d arranged for Tate’s brother to do a video call when his parents got back so I could be in on the reveal with Tate. I made him swear not to tell anyone it was me who set it up.
“Why not take credit?” my older sister Marie said. “You deserve it.”
“It’s not the point. I have more money than Santa Claus so I may as well act like him.”
“I think you’re a saint,” Mom said. Dad laughed, everyone else rolled their eyes.
Mia was strangely quiet. I wanted to know her opinion, if she thought it was too intrusive since she knew Tate as well as I did at this point.
We were in between the salad and pasta courses, so I rose and touched Mia’s shoulder with a nod to follow me.
Excusing myself, I left the table and went to the private hallway leading to the restrooms. Leaning against the wall around the corner, out of sight, I waited for her, certain she would follow.
A satisfying blip in my chest when I was right made me smile.
“I’m glad you came today. I know you could have gone with Tate and his family for dinner.”
She shrugged. So far so good.
“You’ve been a good friend to him. He’s mentioned that you’ve been cooking for him, helping him out.”
That got a charming blush from her, but she said nothing. Maybe I ought to put subtlety aside and flat-out ask her what her status was with Tate, but I rejected the idea. I could do better.
“Do you think Tate will be okay with the Restaurant Impossible deal?”
“He’d be crazy to be anything but grateful.” The corners of her mouth teased upward, as if she knew I was fishing for information. Of course she knew. She was far from stupid.
“That’s what I thought, but I hadn’t planned on the spectacle of a makeover and TV special.” I grinned, wanting to touch her perfect soft face, to draw her in so I could inhale her scent.
“I’m sorry Denise canceled today,” she said.
“I’m not.” I surprised myself with the pop of clarity and truth to that statement. I’d been so mixed for so long.
Her eyes went wide for a beat then I watched them glaze with lust. Without speaking, she swayed in my direction, not an unbalanced sway, but as if she were drawn to me.
I put my hands on her shoulders to hold her, not sure if I meant to bring her closer or keep her apart from me.
Not yet. But the flesh of her shoulders, barely covered by a strappy top, scalded me, sent my pulse racing, made my need to connect with her urgent.
In another burst of thoughtless honesty, I lowered my head and touched my lips to hers.
The sizzle was immediate and unmistakable.
Pressing my mouth to the moist heat of hers, deeper into the plushness, I lost myself for just one second.
Then with a surge of what felt like self-preservation, I lifted my mouth from hers and took a deep breath as I released her shoulders.
She brought her hand to her mouth as if checking to see that it hadn’t melted.
There was nothing I could say to her as my pulse roared in my head.
I couldn’t apologize because there wasn’t a sorry bone in my body.
After a few beats of intense silence, I walked away, went back to the private dining room cocooning my family, and took my seat.
Not as if there’d been no seismic shift in my emotional universe, but in spite of it. Because I needed to repair the cracks.
Controlling my breathing, calming my heart and the spike of excitement that Mia always seemed to stir, I forced myself to eat a forkful of homemade ziti. I took three forkfuls in a row so I wouldn’t be expected to talk, before Mia returned to the table.
Mia was about to take her seat when I saw my mother clutch at her chest and fall back against her chair.
She’d just been laughing at something Dad had said—probably something naughty.
It took a beat for alarm to register in me, to absorb what I was seeing.
I watched as my father caught her, then I jumped up from my seat.
“Mom!”
“Marie, Marie—what’s wrong?” Dad said. Everyone was out of their seats.
Mom was on the other side of the table from me and I sprinted around to her.
Mia raced with me and I grabbed her hand on the way and squeezed.
I calmed from the seizure-like panic to heart-racing adrenaline levels. Mia was a nurse. She could help.
Heart pounding out of my chest, we reached Mom’s side.
My father held her against him, cradling her.
She was awake, struggling to breathe, and I wondered if she’d choked.
Mia took over, loosening Dad’s grip on her.
Speaking calmly and clearly, she asked some questions.
Could she breathe? Did she have chest pains? Could she feel her left arm?
“I can breathe . . . my chest . . . tight.”
Mia nodded and unbuttoned Mom’s blouse. But then Mom’s eyes fluttered close and she passed out. I called nine-one-one for an ambulance though I wasn’t sure what was wrong. Blocking out the commotion, the sobs, the shouts around me, I gave the emergency operator Louie’s address.
In a tight voice, Mia said to me, “She’s had a heart attack.
I need to do CPR.” She instructed us to clear the table, which we accomplished quickly, then Dad and I lifted Mom onto the surface.
Mia went to work, leaning over her, pressing on her chest and then blowing into her mouth.
It seemed like forever, but when I checked my phone, it had only been three minutes until the ambulance arrived because we were down the street from a fire house.
The EMTs rushed in and took over. Dad went with them in the ambulance and I drove everyone else in my Escalade, racing wildly through the streets behind the ambulance, and traveling the relatively short distance to Mass General Hospital.
I couldn’t sit. Pacing around the small waiting area outside the emergency operating room, I kept my eyes on Mia.
Or tried to. She’d gone into professional mode and ducked in and out of Authorized Personnel Only doors intermittently, consulted with doctors and nurses, helped Dad with the paperwork, and reassured us all with her soothing voice.
Once, briefly, I’d clutched her hand and she squeezed back, meeting my eyes with depthless concern, kindness, and pain.
She was reflecting my own pain, I knew, feeling it for me.
She must have been because I could hardly feel a thing except my pounding heart, jumpy nerves, and dry-eyed numbness as my sisters took turns crying in my arms.
Later, finally emerging from the operating room door one more time, Mia came to us with a doctor at her side, the one who’d performed emergency surgery.