CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
S TEFANIE
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I CRIED THE ENTIRE drive home. I tried to rein in the tears, but I couldn’t. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter every time I tried to calm myself down, but the tears just kept falling. My earlier conversation with my boss kept replaying in my head, too.
That little sit-down where he reminded me, not so kindly, that the influencer contract I’d signed wasn’t actually mine. It was a contract with the station. Not with me. So, I wasn’t allowed to sign any new deals with those companies for at least a year after leaving the station, per the contract agreement. I didn’t even want the damn deals.
I was offered brand ambassador/influencer deals all the time. That wasn’t the issue. What pissed me off was the way he’d looked at me when he’d said it, like I was beneath him. Like he wasn’t the one who’d hyped me up and convinced me to be the Weather Diva.
He bragged about me to everyone. He called himself my mentor and treated me like I was family. He’d often invited India and me to his house for dinner with his family, like we were friends, like we mattered to him.
And now? He was treating me like I was a stranger. No, worse than a stranger. And Hudson wasn’t any better. The encounter with him had left me shaken. The nerve of him. The gall. The fucking audacity!
He acted like I owed him something. Like my life was his to weigh in on. Like he owned me. Me and my daughter . I didn’t understand him. Seventeen years. No one pines over someone for seventeen years.
That wasn’t infatuation or love. That was more like an obsession. I think the only reason he wanted me was because he couldn’t have me. I’d once seen him lose his shit because an autographed baseball he wanted had been sold to someone else.
When he couldn’t get the person who’d purchased it to sell it to him, he flipped out. If he wanted something, he had to have it, no matter what. He saw me, he wanted me, and he’d been trying for years to get me.
Back then, I’d been the young, na?ve girl who’d lost her husband and had a new baby. I think he’d hoped to shape and mold me into who he wanted me to be. He’d expected me to fall into his arms and praise him for being my savior, my protector, my provider.
What he didn’t know was that I’d already learned my lesson from my husband. I’d been raised a pretty sheltered life. My father cherished my mother and treated her like a queen. And my mom submitted to him because that was what she believed women should do.
I saw how happy they were, and I told myself I wanted that, but a much larger version. I wanted a large family because being the only child sucked. When I met my husband, he seemed like the kind of man who would take care of me.
And yeah, I had my own dreams and ambitions, but I wanted to marry a provider like my dad. I found out too late that my husband was nothing like my dad. I found out that not every man was worth submitting to.
More importantly, I learned that I didn’t have to submit completely to a man to be happy. What worked for my parents wouldn’t necessarily work for me. It took going through one hell of a storm for me to realize that.
But even that wasn’t the reason I was still crying. I think it was the combination of everything that had me bawling. From India growing up and not needing me as much, to me trying a new career path, and my boss and Hudson trying to prevent me from moving on.
On top of that, I was missing my dad so much that it hurt to breathe. He always knew how to make things right. All it took was for him to look at me, see that I was sad, and then he’d open his arms and say, “Come give the pain to Dad. I’ll hold it for you until you can handle it.”
Of course, he couldn’t hold my pain for me. But his hugs were magical. They made me feel like everything would be alright. I could sure use one of those hugs right now. More tears fell from my eyes, blurring my vision as I drove. Hudson’s words came back to me, making me cry harder.
“You know your husband was planning on leaving you before he had his accident, don’t you?”
I’d worked so damn hard to bury the past. Yet, his words were making all the pain resurface. I hated my husband. Hated myself for being so naive. I was such a fucking fool back then. A damn fool who hadn’t known better.
Who’d trusted too quickly. Who thought love could fix anything. Who thought a happy marriage meant sacrificing a bit and giving my husband my all. And now, seventeen years later, I was still carrying the guilt of my choices.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was completely wrecked. My face was wet, my throat burned, and my head pounded. I didn’t even bother wiping my cheeks anymore. What was the point? The tears weren’t slowing down.
All I wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed. Maybe drink a glass of wine first, if I had the energy. I stopped near the mailbox, cut the engine, stepped out, and walked to the mailbox, yanking it open harder than necessary.
Inside were a few envelopes and a flyer. I got back into the car, dropped the mail onto the passenger seat, and pulled into the garage. The door closed behind me with a mechanical hum that felt louder than it should have.
I just sat there for a second, breathing. Trying not to cry again. I sat there until I felt strong enough to get out of the car. I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed my laptop bag and the mail from the passenger seat.
My hands were full as I pressed my code into the door and entered my house. I kicked the door shut behind me, locked it, and then activated my home security. My home was quiet. Too quiet.
I stood just inside the door for a second, letting the silence wrap around me. I missed Indi’s chatter. Her loud music. Her dancing in the hallway like the world was her stage. I missed her yelling from the other room for me to “Come look at this” every ten minutes.
More tears slid down my cheeks. I didn’t even wipe them away this time. I let them fall. I guess today was just going to be a teary day for me. Like rain, tears could be cleansing. I hoped that after a good cry, I would feel rejuvenated and ready to take on the world.
Right now, I was barely ready to take on bathing myself. Moving like a zombie, I walked to the kitchen, dropped the mail on the counter, and tossed my purse beside it, not caring if it fell over. I peeled off my jacket, stepped out of my heels, and unzipped my pants as I headed to my bedroom.
I didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t. If I stopped, I might break again. By the time I made it to the bathroom, I was already undressed. I stayed in the shower for a long time, letting the water run hotter than I usually did. Yes, my skin stung, but it felt good.
I scrubbed my body hard until I was almost red, like I was trying to scrub the memory of today off. When I got out, I took off my shower cap, dried off, slipped on panties and a satin gown, then found my slippers and slid them on before walking back into the kitchen.
It was too early to go to bed, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to watch TV or read or talk to anyone. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted to turn off my mind and my emotions for a little while.
After getting my wine out of the refrigerator, I opened the cabinet, grabbed a wine glass, and filled it to the top. Glass in hand, I started going through the mail. It was the same old, same old. The water bill. Some junk mail. And... what was this?
There was a gold envelope mixed in with my other mail, but this one didn’t have a stamp or return address. The only name on the envelope was mine, written in handwriting I didn’t recognize.
To The One Who Makes Me Smile – Stefanie Adams.
I stared at it. Just stared. I should’ve tossed it. My day had already been weird enough. I wasn’t trying to open a mystery envelope and end up with a face full of powder or something I’d have to explain to emergency services.
But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw my flowers sitting on my table. Still fresh. Still beautiful. Still smelling sweet. I smiled. Julian . Could Julian have sent this? I set my wine glass on the counter and picked up the envelope.
My heart beat faster as I slid my finger under the flap, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of white paper. His handwriting was surprisingly neat for a man. I read the first line and felt my lips lift in a grin.
Sweet Stefanie, I saw your post on social media. I’m glad you loved the flowers. Did they make you smile when you saw them? I hope so because seeing that you liked them made me smile. It was a much-needed smile, too, because my morning had gotten off to a bad start. But you changed my day around. Thank you.
Just like that, my mood shifted. I’d gone from boohooing to cheesing with just a few words from Julian Cattaneo. I grabbed my glass of wine and headed to my bedroom, where I kicked my slippers off.
I placed my glass on my end table and then slid under my covers with Julian’s letter in hand. I took another sip of wine, adjusted the pillow behind me to get comfortable, and continued reading.
You didn’t give me your number, so I can’t call you. I guess I have no choice but to resort to writing you letters because there are so many things I want to say to you. So, expect more letters from me in the coming weeks.
“Oh, really?” I whispered, getting excited by the idea of more letters.
I couldn’t recall the last time I was written a letter. Oh, yeah, I could. But it wasn’t a letter. It was a ticket because I’d parked in a no-parking zone. Luckily, I made it to the car before he finished writing, and he let me off with a warning. I resumed reading.
Do you miss me as much as I miss you? I know we only spent a few days together, but I can’t stop thinking about them. Just yesterday, I made breakfast and found myself wishing you were next to me so I could make you breakfast, too.
Ahhh. How sweet! I reached for my glass and took another sip of wine, reading the next line as I moved to put my glass down. Not wanting to look away from the paper, I kept moving my hand around, searching for the flat surface.
Will I get that chance again, sweet Stefanie? I sure as hell hope so. And after you eat breakfast, I’m going to eat you for breakfast. I want to stick my tongue so deep in your pussy that I taste your soul because I desperately need to taste every part of you, Stefanie Adams.
I nearly dropped the glass.
“Damn it, Julian,” I muttered, squeezing my thighs together.
Did his written words have my hands shaking? My fingers trembled a little as I set the glass back on the nightstand. I bit my lip and kept reading.
If you feed me your soul, I’ll feed you mine. I want to give you every part of me, even the parts I’m not proud of.
I stopped breathing for a second. That last line... it stuck with me. He wanted to give me the good and the bad parts of him... all of him. Could he accept my bad parts, the parts I wasn’t proud of? If he knew the gory details of those parts, would he regret meeting me?
I’m not perfect, Stefanie. But I can promise you this, you’ll never have to fear me, and I’ll never hurt you. You don’t have to believe me just yet. I’m going to prove it to you. I want to prove it to you because you’re worth it.
You’re worth all the good this world has to offer. You’re worth it, and you deserve it. You’re worth me putting in my all. You’re worth the challenge. You’re worth the time. You’re worth the flowers, the letters, and more. So, get ready to receive my all, Stefanie Adams.
Patiently waiting for you,
J.C.
“This man,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes for a completely different reason than before.
I slid deeper into my covers while holding his letter to my chest. This letter wasn’t some grand gesture or grand declaration of love. But it was just what I needed today.
Because you’re worth it.
That line kept floating through my head. I was worth it. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. I knew it already. Yet hearing it, well, reading it, felt good. It was what I needed to read today. I’m worth it!
“Thank you, Julian,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
I fell asleep with his letter resting against my chest, over my heart. When I woke up, for a second, I thought it was morning. But the digital clock on my nightstand read 10:03 p.m. I’d only been asleep for a few hours.
Now, I was wide awake and knew I wouldn’t be falling back to sleep any time soon, which was fine since I didn’t have work tomorrow. I reached for my phone and noticed a missed call from India. I called her back immediately. She answered on the fifth ring.
“Omg, Mom! Why didn’t you answer your phone? I thought you had died.”
“Dramatic much?” I said, laughing.
“Well, you didn’t answer, and I got worried.”
“I was sleeping.”
“That early?”
“Yes, that early. Why? Is something wrong?”
“No. I just wanted to call you and talk.”
“Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
“Positive,” she told me. “I just wanted to hear your voice. And when you didn’t answer, I called Grandma to talk with her.”
“What was my mother doing?”
“Listening to that Blues music she likes and baking cookies for the church bake sale. I told her I wished she could send me some of her sweet potato pie and cream cheese cookies. She told me that since she couldn’t, she’d send me some money to buy some sweets.”
I chuckled. “Look at you, charming money out of your grandmother.”
“I didn’t ask for it. I really didn’t. I even told her it was okay. But now she knows how to use the app to send money, so she sent it. Not my fault, ma.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I teased. “I’ll go visit her in a few days and make her dinner. If you got anything you want me to buy for her, let me know.”
“Cherries. She said she couldn’t find any fresh cherries in her neighborhood market, so she couldn’t make a cherry pie, and she had a taste for it.”
“I’ll take her some cherries.”
“I called Nana also,” India added casually.
Nana? I sat up straighter. Her father’s mom.
“Did you?” I asked, trying my best to keep the strain out of my voice. “What did she talk about?”
“Nothing much. She said she and Aunt Prue wanted to come see me. But they had to get permission from you first since I wasn’t eighteen yet.”
“Did she now?” I asked, knowing a hint of sarcasm slid through.
“Yeah. I told her you didn’t mind them coming to see me. But I told her that I was busy studying for finals and stuff right now. She said she’d come to visit next semester.”
When you’re eighteen. I sighed. It wasn’t that I didn’t want India to see her Nana or the people on her dad’s side of the family. It’s just that they could be problematic. Plus, they blamed me for their son’s death.
I know those words had been uttered in anger on the day of his car wreck, the same day India was born. But those words stuck with me. And they still treated me as if I should’ve been the one who died, not their son.
So, no, I didn’t like my daughter being around them when I wasn’t present. Yes, I was afraid of the things they might say to her when I wasn’t around. But I promised them that when she turned eighteen, I would no longer require that I be present when they came to see her.
India didn’t know any of this, of course. And they were never to mention anything about her father’s accident to her. I know she’d asked them before. But there was a story, and they were all sticking to it, like I’d ask, and they’d continue to stick to it if they wanted me to continue helping them out financially.
“Did you hear me, ma?” India asked.
“Sorry I couldn’t hear you, sweetie.”
“I see you got flowers. They were from Hudson, right?” she asked, being nosy.
Hell no! “No. They were from the florist. You know she and I are friends.”
I hated to lie, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t say, ‘No, they’re from your roommate's brother.’
“Oh. Well, dang. I’d hoped Hudson had gotten you flowers. Last time I was home, he asked me what kind of flowers you liked. I told him you loved peonies, and he brought you roses instead. He doesn’t listen.”
“No, he brought me what he wanted to buy me because what I like doesn’t matter to him,” I told her.
“But...”
“No, buts, Indie. Hudson and I are just co-workers. That’s it. Stop trying to play matchmaker.”
“But he likes you and...”
“Indi!” I said more forcefully.
She paused. The silence stretched, and I knew my tone had hurt her feelings.
A sigh drifted across the line before she whispered, “I’m going to study some before bed. I’ll call you later, Ma.”
I closed my eyes. I hated snapping at her, but she really had to let go of this idea that Hudson was the right man for me.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because you yelled at me?”
“I didn’t yell. But I was snappy. I’m sorry. But please let this thing about me and Hudson go. Indi, I really don’t like him that way. The guy I date should be someone I like and want in my life. Right?”
She hesitated before saying, “Right.”
“Thank you for wanting me to be happy, love. I promise I’m working hard in that department. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I thought Hudson was good because you have the news station in common, and he’s always been there and stuff. But if you really don’t like him, then you shouldn’t be with him. I’ll keep looking for a great guy for you.”
Please don’t!
“I love you, sweetie,” I whispered. “Goodnight.”
“Love you too. Goodnight.”
The call ended. I sighed deeply. I know she said she’d give up on this Hudson thing, but I knew she wouldn’t. Once my daughter made up her mind about something, it took a lot for her to change it. This one conversation wasn’t going to convince her that I didn’t like Hudson.
It was my fault. I’d let him into our lives as a friend while knowing he’d wanted more. I shouldn’t have done that. And then I caved and tried to give him a chance, which only made our status murkier to India. That was on me.
I tossed my phone onto the bed, and it landed on something that made a soft crinkle. I looked down and saw the edge of Julian’s letter. I picked it up and smoothed it out, my fingers running over the handwriting.
I reread it. Every single word. And just like earlier, his letter brightened my mood. My smile was back, and once again, I had Julian Cattaneo to thank. I sighed and traced the letters J.C. Julian Cattaneo.
“Why are you making it so hard to forget you, J.C.?” I whispered.
Of course, I dreamed about him after I finally fell back to sleep. In my dreams, his age didn’t matter, my past didn’t matter, the fact that he was a Cattaneo and the brother of my daughter’s roommate didn’t matter. Only two things mattered in the dream.
Stefanie and Julian.