Chapter 15
fifteen
After letting out an obnoxiously loud sigh, I take off my headphones and sink into the couch.
Today was filled with nonstop meetings, making it nearly impossible for me to get anything done, except answer a few messages from my team and add more things to my to-do list. I’d love to pretend my day is over, but I have multiple hours ahead of me to finish a creative brief a client needs by tomorrow, and I dread thinking about the state of my inbox.
Why in God’s name do people send so many emails?
There were days early in my career when I couldn’t wait to be in meetings and have a full inbox.
Now, I would do pretty much anything to get out of them.
The joys of a successful career: meetings and emails.
It’s going to be another long night. Who am I kidding? This has been my life for years, and it’s only become more hectic as I’ve climbed the corporate ladder. My mom’s recovery and wedding planning only exacerbate the situation.
I groan loudly, frustrated with my current predicament, unable to do anything about it in the near future.
Jake struts into the room with headphones on, bopping his head to what I can only assume is music.
Can’t imagine that type of reaction if he were listening to a true crime podcast. He tends to spend his days holed up in the guest bedroom or kitchen while I’m on calls, insisting on making himself scarce whenever I’m on video.
Most of his time is spent on calls with Jason—whom Jake lovingly refers to as his so-called boss and Satan in the same sentence—arguing about his upcoming schedule.
From what I can gather from the snippets of calls I’ve overheard the past few days, Jason wants him back at work, and Jake keeps politely telling him to “fuck off.” Talk about a ballsy move.
Jake takes off his headphones and sits on the navy recliner across from me. The one leftover relic from when my dad lived here. My mom trashed the rest of his things but kept the recliner for some reason.
“Are you actually done for the day? Or will you be burning the midnight oil once again?”
“Yes and yes. No more meetings. Too many emails to count. A client brief to tackle. You know…the usual,” I reply, plastering on a fake smile as I drape my arm across my face.
“Sounds like the perfect time to take a break,” he says, getting up and reaching for my hand. “You need to eat. I’m tired of ordering pizza. We’re going out. Not taking no for an answer. Let’s go, Kitty Kat.”
I allow him to pull me off the couch while glaring at him. “Haven’t I told you how much I hate that nickname? I’m not twelve.”
“I was calling you Kitty Kat when you were older than twelve. You don’t hate it. You find it endearing. Charming,” he says with a smirk.
“Hated it then. Hate it now.” I run my fingers over my pants, trying to straighten out the wrinkles.
“I don’t have time to go out for dinner.
Way too much to do. Can’t we just order takeout?
Doesn’t have to be pizza.” I bat my eyelashes like a lovesick schoolgirl.
My one secret weapon that would get Jake to do whatever I wanted.
Used only in case of emergency. Tonight might not technically be an emergency, but I’m curious to find out if it still works.
“The puppy-dog eyes aren’t going to work on me. You need a change of scenery. Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Just to your favorite restaurant in town. How does that sound?”
Damn it. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Teasing me with Mexican food, using my weakness for tacos against me. I tap my lower lip, pretending I’m thinking deeply about this rather than mentally ordering food in my mind and imagining having the taste of a margarita on my lips.
“Fine. I’ll go. You’re buying if I have to leave the comfort of my own home when I could be in PJs.”
“Deal.”
We head out to his truck, and I climb into my passenger seat.
“I could get used to someone driving me around. Perhaps I’ll ride in the back seat on the way home, so everyone thinks you’re my chauffeur.
” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and chuckles.
We spend the rest of the drive in silence, music playing in the background as he taps his thumb to the beat on the steering wheel while I engross myself in responding to emails.
Once inside the restaurant, I pretend to peruse the menu as if I don’t know what I’m going to order. I’m a creature of habit, getting the same meal every time. Look up risk-averse in the dictionary, and you’ll find my picture.
After he glances at the menu, Jake sets it on the table and looks at me. “Something has been driving me crazy recently. I can’t seem to reconcile it.”
“What’s that?” I ask, taking a sip of water that miraculously appeared on the table alongside chips and salsa.
“Why do you let your mom control you? You’re an adult. You don’t have to listen to her anymore.” His tone is firm as he peers into my eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, breaking away from his gaze to stare at my menu and avoid his question. Why does he have to poke at me? He hasn’t been around. Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
“You know exactly what I mean. You let her talk down to you about the wedding, your relationship, and your appearance. I’m sure there are countless other things I haven’t heard her chastise you about yet.
” He tugs at the strands of his sandy-blond hair, pushing it back and looking at the ceiling before locking eyes with me once again.
“Why do you allow it? You didn’t have a choice when we were kids, but you do now. ”
“You haven’t been around. You’re misinterpreting a couple of scenarios and acting like it’s a pattern. She’s had a rough couple of weeks and lashed out a few times. It happens. It’s not like she’s that way every day.”
“Stop lying to yourself and to me. You let her walk all over you. You’re doing it now by defending her.
” He blows out a deep breath and tilts his head.
“You have to stop being a people-pleaser. I see you do it with your mom. People at work. I’m sure you act the same way with Brian.
You need to put yourself first for once. ”
“Can we not talk about this? I want to enjoy my tacos and margarita and then go home and deal with my emails. That’s it.
Plus, I’m the furthest thing from a people-pleaser.
You don’t really know me anymore.” I cross my arms confidently with a slight smirk.
Two can play this game. If he wants to make comments about my life without having any idea what’s really going on, I’ll bring up the elephant in the room: He hasn’t spoken to me for fifteen years.
The server arrives, murmurs a quick hello, and asks to take our orders. “Fine. Do you want to split an order of fish tacos and pot roast tacos?” Jake asks, flipping through the menu.
“Sounds great,” I reply, handing over my menu. Although I wasn’t planning on these options, perhaps I should break out of my comfort zone and try something new.
Jake glances at the server. “Can you give us a minute, please?” The server nods and walks away. Jake concentrates all his attention on me. “Thanks for proving my point.”
“What are you talking about? Because I agreed to share dinner with you?” I furrow my brow in confusion. He might be losing his mind.
“Yes. You agreed to what I want, even though you don’t like fish.
In fact, I bet you order the same thing every time you come here.
Tell me I’m wrong.” The smugness on his face makes me want to reach across the table and punch him.
He can be so infuriating. “Admit the truth, or we can share two meals that you don’t want. Your choice.”
I’m tempted to force myself to eat fish and pot roast tacos to prove him wrong.
Prevent him from winning this argument because I don’t let everyone walk all over me.
I make my own decisions…don’t I? Suddenly, it feels like a dam breaking as examples from the past week flash through my mind when I’ve done what someone else wanted because it was easier than saying no.
Damn it!
“You’re right,” I mutter, resting my head in my hands.
“Can you repeat that? Did Kate admit I’m right?
Need to document this day and time because hell has officially frozen over.
” A grin radiates across his face, evoking a memory of the last time he smiled that big.
It was a late night out at the lake, the summer before college.
We talked for hours about our dreams, including the ones that took him away from everyone he knew and loved.
“Ugh. You’re impossible. Can you get the server?”
He nods, flagging down the waiter.
We spend the remainder of dinner reminiscing about our childhood and occasionally talking about his mom.
I’ve tried to tread lightly, letting him lead the way since the wound is raw.
He’s still tearing up whenever her name is mentioned, but there were a few smiles tonight when we talked about her, which feels like a step forward.
When we pull into my driveway, Jake jumps out quickly and runs around the truck to open my door.
“Let’s not go inside just yet. I want to show you something I found at my mom’s,” he says.
I’m momentarily startled because I didn’t know he’d mustered up the strength to go inside. He never mentioned it. Was that one of the things he’s been up to when I’m in meetings? I’ve been so immersed in my own work that I never noticed him even leaving the house.
He takes my hand and helps me down from the truck. Usually, I resist, but tonight, I’m grateful for his help because I have a slight buzz, thanks to the combination of lack of sleep and multiple margaritas.
We walk across the yard to his mom’s. I’m dying to know what he could’ve found. Judy was notorious for keeping everything, so the possibilities are endless.