CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
S TEFANIE
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I WAS GLAD TO BE BACK at work. However, my vacation solidified my idea about something I’d been dancing around for a while. It was my time with India that made me realize it was time for a change.
We’d stayed up late watching movies, eating popcorn from a large white bowl, our feet tucked under the same blanket. In the middle of a cheesy rom-com, she turned to me and asked, “Are you happy, Mom?”
The question made me realize that my baby was worried about me being alone, worried about how I’d fare now that she was growing up and venturing out on her own. It was time for her to start chasing her dreams, but she was feeling hesitant because she was worried about me.
Though that saddened me, it also helped me put things into perspective. India’s life wasn’t my life. My life wasn’t her life. Only she could live her life. Only I could live my life. And we’d clung to each other tightly these past seventeen years.
But it was time to slowly start letting go. Though I’d assured her that I was okay, her question lingered. I was happy, right? Or was I? Did I even know what being happy meant? That sounded like a dumb ass question to ask myself.
Everyone knew what being happy meant. However, the more I thought about it, the more it sunk in that I didn’t truly know what it meant to be happy. I’d spent so much of my life living for other people: my husband, my child, my career, and the higher-ups' expectations. I’d never truly lived for myself. What did it mean to live for myself?
I didn’t know exactly what that looked like yet, but I knew it was time to find out. While my daughter would always be my world, she was right about me needing to live for myself. And I’d already started working toward that goal, much to my boss’s disappointment.
I sat across from Courtney in the newsroom as she reviewed her script for her upcoming segment. She was eager and quick to learn, making the training process smoother than I had anticipated.
It helped that I’d already trained her before when she first started working here a few months ago. Soon, she would leave her position as a multimedia journalist and take over my segment, A Chance For .
In her eyes, I saw the excitement I used to have when I came into this building. Of course, I was still excited about all things weather-related. However, I was no longer eager to sit in front of the green screen here and be the face and brand I’d been made into.
The Weather Diva!
I had brand endorsement deals. I went on podcasts to talk about the importance of understanding climate change, I visited gardens and interviewed people about which plants and veggies could endure harsh weather conditions. I had become a brand, and everyone around me thought it was wonderful.
Instead of reviewing Doppler radars, instead of looking for debris signatures, and being the one who informed the NWS that a tornado warning should be issued, I was dressing up and smiling in interviews so that weather could appear more interesting to viewers and our ratings could go up.
What would happen when I got older and my body changed? When I was no longer the pretty package that could bring in viewers? Before it came to that, and before I got to a point where I hated this job, I wanted to leave.
I missed just being a meteorologist. Sometimes, it felt like I wasn’t taken seriously enough because of the brand deals. I couldn’t complain. I loved my job. But this diva was ready for a change.
And it was my daughter who’d convinced me to make this change. She’d convinced me to start focusing on what made me happy. Since this place was no longer one of my happy places, it was time to let it go and search for a new happy place.
“Are you absolutely sure about leaving the station in a couple of months?” Courtney asked, furrowing her brow. “When I started here, I promise my goal wasn’t to take over your segment.”
I smiled at her genuinely. “I know, girl. You’ve been great. But yes, I’m sure. I love this place, and I love the team. But I’ve been here since I graduated. It’s time for something new.”
I had thought long and hard about this decision. Joining the news station right after college had been a significant chapter in my life, but I was ready to close this book and start a new one.
Writing had always been my quiet dream. For years now, I’d wanted to tell stories about women like me, women finding love again after losing a spouse or learning to trust again after heartbreak.
Women who’d lived their lives for everyone else and finally decided to live for themselves. I’d wanted to craft stories about women who were navigating love after divorce. Women who were empty nesters and who were trying to dip their foot into the dating pool again.
Women who’d lived their lives for others and who were now ready to live for themselves. I wanted to write those kinds of romance stories or maybe women’s fiction. I was kind of nervous about trying something new, nervous about what others would say and think.
But it was my India who told me that only I could live for me. I had tried to put on a happy front when she’d asked me that loaded question: Are you happy? But she’d seen straight through me.
That night on the couch, she’d grabbed my hand and said, “Mom, please stop trying to please everyone and just focus on yourself and your happiness. I can’t be happy if you’re not happy. So be happy. And I’ll be happy. Then, we’ll both be happy. And if we’re happy, who cares what anyone else thinks?”
I’d cried, of course. And asked her how she got so wise.
She smiled and said, “Because I have a wise mother.”
She was right. My happiness couldn’t come from anyone else. Not anymore. No one else could live for me. No one else should be the sole source of my happiness. My happiness had to flow from me.
And the first step toward that happiness was figuring out who I was when I wasn’t being everything to everyone else. Who was Stefanie Adams when she wasn’t focused on her career, her daughter, her parents, or her husband? I needed to find out.
“Can I ask you something, Stefanie?” Courtney said, twirling one of her braids around her finger.
I looked up from our segment notes. “Sure?”
She hesitated before asking, “Do you plan on dating after you leave the station?” She winced immediately. “Sorry, that was probably too personal. I just...I heard you weren’t seeing anyone. I thought maybe you might want to, once you have more time. My brother Carlos owns a barbecue restaurant on the strip. He’s successful, kind, good-looking and...”
“Whoa.” I chuckled, holding up a hand. “Information overload, Courtney. I’m not offended, but no, I have no intention of dating anyone anytime soon. My plan for now is to spend the summer with my daughter. Once she heads back to school, I might travel a little and keep up my blog. I’ll also continue doing my informative clips about the weather because I’ll need that stream of income to fund my travels. But dating isn’t on my list of things to do right now."
I didn’t mention my new career path. I wasn't ready to share my aspirations of becoming a romance writer. The fear of not being taken seriously held me back. There were many people who looked down on romance writers, claiming they just wrote word porn, nothing substantial.
“Well, if you ever decide to get back in the dating game, let me know. My brother is a great catch,” Courtney told me, pushing her long boho braids over her shoulder.
Before I could come up with a polite response, our security guard approached, cradling a vase full of lush, pink peonies. The blooms were full, vibrant, and practically glowing under the studio lights. They were gorgeous.
I figured they were for Courtney. Whoever had sent these to her definitely had taste. I stamped down the jealous feeling that tried to rise within me. I was not jealous of her flowers. They were well-deserved, and I was happy for her.
Perhaps her boyfriend had sent her flowers because this was her first official day going on air with me on my show, the show she’d soon be taking over after I left.
“Those are gorgeous,” Courtney cooed as the guard approached.
"Ms. Adams, you've got flowers," he announced, extending the arrangement toward me.
Hold up! "For me?" I asked, surprised.
He nodded. Unable to suppress my smile, I accepted the bouquet. Only one person came to mind: my daughter. She knew of my love for peonies and often gifted them to me on special occasions. But today wasn't my birthday, nor was it Mother’s Day, so why had she sent me flowers?
"Who's the lucky guy?" the guard teased as I inhaled the sweet fragrance.
Before I could respond, Hudson Howard, our sports anchor and someone India had been encouraging me to consider dating, stepped over.
"Has our India sent you flowers again?" he asked, his voice deep.
His eyes roamed over me in a way that made me wary of him, especially after our last date a few months ago. The date where he pretty much told me I wasn’t getting any younger, and if I didn’t settle down soon, I probably wouldn’t be able to find someone to settle down with. Red flag!
Since then, I haven’t gone out with him again. I gave him excuse after excuse until, finally, I had to tell him that he wasn’t my type. He’d laughed that off, claiming he was every woman’s type. Red flag!
Sure, he was handsome with dark eyes and a body that he worked hard to keep in shape. He came from a wealthy family that was well-known in the area. But none of that mattered to me. He lacked sustenance.
The only thing we talked about on our dates was him and his ambitions. He never once asked me what I liked or what I thought about anything. He was self-centered, and I truly believed he only wanted me because of the mini-fame I had in the area.
“Let’s find out why our India sent you flowers today,” Hudson said as he plucked the card from the bouquet and read it.
I tapped down my irritation, not willing to let it show in front of Courtney. But once we were alone, I was going to let Hudson’s ass have it. His expression shifted from curiosity to displeasure, his jaw tightening.
"Or maybe they’re not from our India," he muttered.
Huh? “What?” I asked.
Looking upset, Hudson handed me the card. "Seems there might be a 'lucky guy' after all."
A lucky guy? Had India really not sent these? I took the card and read the note: I can't stop thinking about you.
There was no name scrawled at the bottom. But there was only one person who’d write something like that. Julian! These had to be from him.
"Look, she's blushing," Courtney observed with a grin.
“No, I’m not,” I whispered, trying my best not to smile. Julian had sent me flowers. Why? And how did he know these were my favorite?
"When did you start dating someone?" Hudson pressed, his hands shoved into his pockets.
Ignoring him, I addressed the others. "Alright, everyone, there’s nothing to see here. Let's get back to work. I’m going to go put these in the breakroom for now."
Courtney and the guard dispersed, leaving me alone with Hudson, whose glare bore into me.
"I thought you said you weren't ready for a relationship," he said, his tone edged with frustration.
"I'm not," I replied firmly.
He stepped closer. “Then why is some guy sending you flowers with a note like that?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
He didn’t flinch. “If it involves you, it is my business.”
I lifted my chin. “Excuse me?”
“Haven’t I been patient with you, Stefanie?” he asked. “Haven’t I been there for you all these years, even after your husband passed, even after everything he put you through with the whole...”
“Stop it,” I hissed, anger rising.
How dare he try to bring that up? He went silent, but only for a second.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just don’t understand why you keep pushing me away. You know I’ll be good to you and India.”
“Listen, Hudson...”
“No, you listen, Stefanie. You’re a divorced woman, you’ve got a teenage daughter, yet you’re retiring from your career while it’s at its peak with no plans for what you’ll do after you leave here. Either you’ve lost your mind, or someone is steering you down the wrong path. Seeing these flowers,” he said, flicking one of the petals. “I think it’s the latter.”
My mouth dropped open as he continued.
“You need someone like me. Someone who can support you because you sure as hell won’t be able to last long after you leave here. You have a daughter in college, for crying out loud. Now isn’t the time to leave your job, to leave me. And now you’re getting flowers from some stranger. Is this a midlife crisis or something?”
My anger wasn’t boiling hot. It was ice cold. A chill crept over me as I stepped closer to him, closing the gap between us.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done to make you think you can talk to me like that,” I whispered. “But this shit won’t happen again, Hudson. I am not yours. Never have been, never will be. It doesn’t matter how close you get to my daughter or how much you speak up for me around here. You and I are colleagues, and that’s it. So the next time you feel the need to say some shit like this to me, don’t. Or I will report you for harassment. Stay away from me. This is my second time asking you to do that. I won’t ask again.”
With that said, I turned and walked off. I didn’t look back to see if he was watching me. I knew he was. I could feel his eyes on me. I know India thought he was a great guy and that he treated me well.
But she was too young to understand that you had to look past the smiles, gifts, and flirtation. You had to look deeper, not into their heart. That was some bullshit I believed when I was married.
My marriage taught me that you had to look not at their heart, but at their darkest desires. If I had done that while I was married, it would’ve saved me a lot of heartache. Instead, I’d believed in the flattery, in the kind smiles, the gifts, the sweet embraces.
That was all just a front that hid his darker instincts. The same could be said for Hudson. On the surface, he was a great guy. But once you peeled back a few layers, you quickly realized that he didn’t respect women at all.
I stared at the flowers I was carrying. I wondered what I’d find when I peeled back a few layers of Julian Cattaneo’s charming facade. Would I find dark desires that would make me wish I’d never met him? Or would I find....
I paused, halting that thought, refusing to let it play out further. I couldn’t go down that path. What I found wouldn’t matter. Julian was too young. I already had enough going on. I couldn’t add dating a young man to my plate.
Look how Hudson just blew up on me for wanting to leave the station while having a daughter in college with no solid plan about what I wanted to do next. If he learned that I was interested in a guy much too young for me, he would truly think I was going through a midlife crisis, mind you, thirty-nine was not midlife. Idiot!
Neither was forty, which I would be soon. I placed the flowers on the table in the breakroom and stared down at them. Peonies. How did he know? He couldn’t have known. Yet, he’d still got it right. I reread the card. If I smiled any harder, my jaws would ache.
“I won’t let you sway me, Julian Cattaneo,” I whispered to the flowers. “But I do wish I could tell you thank you. I’ll consider these a sign that I’m making the right decision to let go of this job and my past and to embrace a new dream, a new goal, a new path. Thank you, Julian.”
I leaned down and smelled the flowers. Memories of my time with him flashed through my mind. But it wasn’t the filthy sex that I thought of. It was him asking me about the things I liked, the things that made me happy.
I’d talked. He’d listened. He’d asked questions, seemingly genuinely interested in me. But I couldn’t be swayed just by that. That was the most basic thing a man should do. Just because I rarely had men do it for me didn’t mean it was some grand gesture.
I glanced down at my watch. It was almost time for me to get my makeup touched up and start my segment with Courtney. With one last glance at those flowers, I turned and left the breakroom.
But memories of my time with Julian kept drifting through my mind for the rest of the day. They even followed me home, tormenting me in my dreams. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling needy, wanting something only he could provide. Ugh!
Getting him out of my head was going to be harder than I expected.