Chapter 11 #2
“For the record,” I squeaked out weakly, “I’m not saying other business models aren’t also valid.”
Struggling against a wince, I turned, putting a few feet between us, hoping the snow and the wind would cool the flush in my cheeks.
He’d won. He’d won and I’d lost and he was right and I was wrong. I hated that I was wrong.
I turned back to say something—maybe an accusation about him baiting me—but he’d closed the gap. Before I could even initiate a thought, he had me backed up against the wall of the stairwell exterior, and pointed up.
I looked at where he indicated. Mistletoe, fastened by what looked like a strip of electrical tape, dangled directly overhead.
Exhaling silently, I glared at him. He smiled, a devilish, delighted thing.
Leaning in, hands cupping my jaw, his thumbs grazing the hollows of my cheek bones, Alaric placed a tender, lingering kiss to my forehead.
I wish I could say it was over before I’d had a chance to react, but it was a slow, reverent press of lips to skin. And it made me shiver, despite the fact that I was definitely no longer cold.
* * *
How’re you doing? Still hanging in there?”
I heard Alaric’s voice from my left, low and even, reminiscent of how someone might address a person standing near the open window of a tall building.
I know, I know, I’m being dramatic. I supposed I wasn’t used to someone treating me carefully. Or caring for me. It was nice, but also felt awkward. Like wearing an ill-fitting sports bra.
The car’s interior was silent except for the hush of its tires and the soft whir of heated air. Streetlights slashed through the windows at intervals, banding the leather seats in milky rectangles and shadow.
How was I doing? My body felt like a dead phone, not even the emergency power reserve left, the little bar of charge long since drained.
My legs ached from standing and my head from thinking.
Mostly, I felt heavy. So heavy, I didn’t know how I’d manage to get out of this seat when we reached our next destination.
I forced my eyelids open, though I was sure he could tell I’d nearly dozed off. “Can I please just go home? I’m . . . tired.”
He didn’t answer right away, which left plenty of time for me to think about all the ways I’d failed to be a fun or even minimally acceptable party guest tonight.
After the scene with Elizabeth and our conversation on the rooftop, I’d tried to snap back, but the rest of the evening felt like it belonged to someone else.
I’d danced two or three slow numbers with Alaric, which made it look like I was participating, but I was mostly thinking about Ms. Campbell and the nature of memories that turn into eulogies overnight.
By the time Alaric suggested we head out, I was grateful to leave.
I said a quick goodbye to Mr. Fezziwig, who’d already drunk himself into a state of cheerful oblivion, then let Alaric guide me out of the party and down the stairs to the car.
I’d barely registered anything since. The world felt greased and frictionless.
Now, as we rode in the hired car, I tried to summon the version of myself who’d once thrived at Campbell & Fezziwig, the quick-talking, quick-learning, moderately likeable Alison Weston. I missed that woman sometimes.
I could visit Igor’s Pizza Parlor, but I would never be content merely working as Mr. G’s favorite employee.
I could stop by my old preschool, but I’d never be a child again.
I could attend the Christmas party at Campbell & Fezziwig’s, but I’d never fit in there.
I was too different. I’d let the world change me too much.
Plus, Campbell & Fezziwig’s had also changed. Irrevocably.
Ms. Campbell’s death was a good reminder: one might be able to visit the shadows of the past, but there’s no such thing as truly going back.
Beside me, Alaric cleared his throat, obviously a prelude to something. I braced myself for whatever participation requirements he was poised to unleash
“We have one more stop before flying home.”
Peeking at him and ready to protest, he cut me off with a placating gesture. “Nothing complicated. Just dessert.”
“Fine. Where? Where are we going?”
He checked his phone, then looked up, his eyes finding mine in the blue-dark interior of the car. “It’s a surprise, but I hope you’ll like it. Honestly, this one, I’m not so certain about.” He looked out the window and nodded at something approaching. “Here it is.”
The driver turned onto a side street, then stopped at the curb in front of a small restaurant with butter-yellow walls visible through the wide exterior, front-facing windows, and a sign in hand-painted script: Marley & Rye.
The sight of those names froze the blood in my veins, and I felt my whole body go cold.
A thin, incredulous laugh slipped out of me, one completely devoid of humor. I let my head roll back against the seat and stared at the ceiling, then shut my eyes so tightly that fireworks bloomed in the darkness behind them.
“You ready?” he asked, but I sensed uncertainty.
I didn’t move. “You’re unbelievable.”
“The carrot cake is supposed to be the best in the city.”
I opened my eyes and glared at him. “I’m not going in there.”
Meeting my glare, he released a little sigh, like this was the exact outcome he’d predicted but had hoped to avoid. “The contract stipulates that you have to participate.”
A fuse lit in my chest. “Do you comprehend what you’re asking me to do right now? Do you understand?”
With a deft, silent motion, he pressed the button to raise the divider between the back seat and the driver. The glass slid up and locked, sealing us in.
When he spoke next, his voice was low and quiet. “I understand that Janet Marley was your best friend and business partner for ten years, all through college and post-grad, and you two haven’t spoken in the six since you left Boston for Chicago.”
I closed my eyes again. “And do you know why we haven’t spoken?”
He shook his head. “Not really, but when I called, she was very interested in making amends.”
The laugh came again, this time sharper. “Well, I’m not.”
He watched me, probably waiting for me to crack. W
hen I didn’t, he said, “Tell me why.”
I folded my arms tight across my chest, imitating a fortress.
After a protracted silence, he said, “Let me tell you what I know. According to the information provided to me, it has something to do with a deal that fell through? An investment for her husband’s restaurant?”
I glanced at him again, snorting inelegantly. “Is that what your crackpot investigative team told you? That we fell out because of an investment?”
“Is that not true?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
“I’m not going in there. You can put my IOU on the Welcher’s Wall. I don’t care. I’m done.”
Licking his lips, he considered me again. “How about this. If you tell me what happened with Marley, no matter what it is, we’ll leave. No judgment. I promise, whatever your reason for cutting her out, I won’t put your IOU on the Welcher’s Wall.”
I weighed his offer. The memory of that wall back at Igor’s caused a vivid ache in my chest.
“Fine. I’ll tell you. But you have to take me home first.”
He shook his head. “We still have to fly back to Alenbach tonight. It’ll be awhile before we get home.” He softened his voice to add, “How about you tell me on the plane?”
On the plane, we’d be in proximity to an audience of at least two people—pilot and attendant. I didn’t want that. I didn’t even want to tell Alaric my story. This sealed car was as close as I was going to get to privacy.
“No.” My voice arrived like a dry scrape. “I’ll tell you now.”
“Okay. So, what’s the story? What happened with Marley?”
Contemplating my own knuckles, I gathered a deep inhale. “I’m not telling you the whole story, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is how it ends.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Alaric nod, but he said nothing, likely not wishing to give me any reason to change my mind.
Exhaling through my nose, forced the words up from where I’d buried the memory.
“She slept with my fiancé. Remember the chef? They’d been sleeping together for over a year before I discovered the truth, and didn’t want me to find out until the restaurant deal was done.
But I found out. I called off the deal. Not only that, but I maneuvered behind the scenes to completely cut her out of the business and left her penniless.
” I tilted my head back and forth in a mock considering motion.
“But I did give her my fiancé, so I guess we’re even. He married her instead of me.”
The silence that followed was so complete, I could hear the double heartbeat of my pulse between my ears. Turning after a time, I watched Alaric’s face for a reaction, but there was only stunned blankness.
“What did she say?” I pressed, unable to stop from giving voice to my morbid curiosity. “That our friendship ended because I refused to invest money after I’d made a verbal promise?”
He nodded, still speechless. “Something like that. And that she wished you the best.”
“‘The best’?” I mocked, scoffing. “Anything else?”
“She said something about money and greed being a chain that good people strangle themselves with, dead weight, and that you did her a favor by relieving her of the burden before it was too late. She said. . .” he licked his lips again, swallowed, then finally continued, “She said you were a good person, and that she genuinely missed you and hoped you could be friends again.”
I felt my lips curve, a smile with no joy in it.
“For the record, I think that’s a load of bullshit meant to endear her to you, and to manipulate me into meeting with her now.
She was always good at telling people what they most wanted to hear.
She’s an incredibly liar, whereas I’ve never excelled in that practice. ”
Like before, Alaric said nothing. Just watched and waited for me to continue.
So I did. “But, to be fair, I backed out of the investment after giving a verbal agreement, that is true. I’d never done it before, and don’t see a circumstance where I will again.
I’m much, much more careful with promises now.
Everything is in writing, nothing is verbal.
However, I still feel justified in rescinding the promise back then since the restaurant in question belonged to my ex-fiancé. ”
Alaric filled in, “Her current husband.”
“That’s right. I’d given my verbal agreement a few days before catching them fucking each other in my bed.
” Unbidden, the physical memory of my heart splitting in two at the sight fractured my chest. I pressed my hand over the spot and rubbed, closing my eyes.
“So, no, I didn’t make the investment in his business.
And that restaurant”—I gestured out the window with my chin, my eyes opening— “that’s theirs.
He’s the chef and she’s the GM. And if she thinks I’ll ever take pity on her and give her back half of Wingspan, she doesn’t know me very well. ”
A beat, then Alaric croaked, “Makes sense.”
I breathed out short, sharp laugh. “Any other questions?”
He shook his head.
I turned my face back to the city beyond the window. Neither of us said anything for the remainder of the drive to the airport.