Chapter 20 Tate
CHAPTER TWENTY
TATE
New York was awe-inspiring. A literal dream.
Daija and I had a blast staying with Shane and Toby, and we both see ourselves moving there after graduation. Once we finish our Epic Events contract, of course. I have this crazy idea where the four of us go into business together, planning elite weddings in New York City. It could seriously work.
I’ve been ghosting Spencer since I got back. I know it’s shitty, but I can’t handle seeing him right now. Instead, my attention has been focused on work and getting back into that routine. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m ending the arrangement with him. For real this time.
“I think I’m going to let Jake take me out on Friday night,” Daija suddenly says while continuing to tap away on her keyboard. We’re in the office at Epic Events, organizing the agenda for an upcoming birthday party we’re hosting. “He’s been pretty persistent.”
“Hmmm.” I really don’t want to lecture her, but . . . “Are you sure you’re not leading him on?”
Daija stops typing, and I feel her eyes on me. “No. I’m not. Besides, you’re one to talk. Poor Spence is in love with you.”
My heart gallops at her words, but I play it cool. “Girl. He is not. He just likes my ass. Spencer and I have an agreement. Boundaries were set beforehand. It’s completely different. But you are right, though. You’re both adults. You can do what you want, and I hope y’all have fun.”
Daija purses her lips and gives me the side-eye, unconvinced by my nonchalance. “You’re in denial, babe.”
“Beach Bumz is having a bonfire on Friday. We could meet up after your date?” I propose, completely ignoring her, which she gracefully lets me get away with.
“As much as I’m still tired from New York, that sounds like too much fun to pass up.”
I smile at her before returning my attention to my computer screen. I’m looking forward to the bonfire, too. It’s one of my absolute favorite things about living at the beach. Warm or cold, a bonfire is always a good time.
The doorbell suddenly rings, and I hop up to answer it, knowing Sharon is expecting a delivery. Not to mention, I love flirting with the middle-aged UPS guy.
“Hey, Michael!” I greet him with a wide smile, opening the front door and letting him in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair,” he says, walking into the office with a vase of flowers in his hands instead of a stack of packages. Large sunflowers and baby-pink roses fill a detailed crystal vase. The arrangement is gorgeous.
“Ooo. Does Sharon have a secret admirer?” I ask jokingly, wiggling my eyebrows.
“No. These are for you. But I wouldn't dare ask the same question,” Michael says with warm cheeks and a delighted smile.
“Really?” I ask in surprise, carefully taking the vase from him and setting it on the reception desk so I can search for a card.
“Yes, sir. Have a good day,” Michael says with a charming wink before disappearing outside to his truck.
I grab the tiny card tucked between the flowers and open it, even though I have a good idea who they’re from.
A beautiful arrangement for a beautiful soul. Hope you had a nice trip. I can’t stop thinking about you. Your friend, Spencer.
Daija sneaks into the empty reception room, gasping when she sees the stunning pink and yellow bouquet. “Oh my gosh. Are those from whom I think they’re from?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“That boy is smitten, babe. I told you. Did you know that pink roses are a gentle way to show your admiration for someone? I would die if Jake got me baby-pink roses.”
“Girl. Not helping,” I deadpan, leaning forward to close my eyes and smell the bouquet again.
Ugh. Why does he have to be so damn thoughtful?
And kind.
And sexy.
Slipping my phone out of my back pocket, I open my texts and tap on Spencer’s name. I take a quick selfie with the flowers and send it.
Thank you. They’re beautiful.
He immediately texts back.
Not as beautiful as you.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the fact that I need to cut him loose and end our arrangement before things get worse. My phone buzzes with another message, and I’m almost afraid to open my eyes and look.
When can I see you again?
Blowing him off, I stall until the weekend.
Work has been hectic this week. How about Friday night?
Sounds good. You can come over to my house, and I’ll order dinner for us.
Spencer is too nice, and I relent too easily.
Okay. See ya.
My dick better fucking behave himself.
“So, are you going to see him?” Daija asks, leaning against the reception desk with her arms folded across her light-green cardigan.
“Friday night,” I say, fussing with the vase and centering it on top of the front desk. I’m going to take the flowers home after work, but for now, it’ll be nice for clients to see when they have an appointment.
“Did you invite him to the bonfire?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” Daija hums, and it’s full of unspoken opinions. I know her too well.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she responds defensively.
“Just spit it out, babe. I can tell you’ve got something to say. Since when do we hold back from each other?”
Daija takes a deep breath. “I won’t ever tell you what to do, Tate. But . . .”
“But what?”
“Don’t let your past hold you back from your future. Don’t be afraid to take a risk with your heart, because Spencer isn’t anything like Caleb, and it’s not fair for you to hold that against him.”
Damn. She sure didn’t pull any punches, and they landed straight in my gut, knocking the wind out of me. Daija’s not wrong, though.
“Let’s get back to our computers before Sharon catches us out here,” I mumble like a wimp, completely avoiding everything she just said to me.
“Tate . . .” Daija utters my name with regret, and I never want her to feel bad because of me.
I spin around on my heel. “No, babe. You’re right. You’re absolutely fucking right, but I’m not brave enough to lower my walls.”
“Not even for Spencer?”
I shake my head sadly. Especially for Spencer, because the possibility of disaster would be absolutely cataclysmic.
Nothing good ever lasts.
It’s Thursday night, and I’m enjoying one of my favorite hobbies—lying on the couch, doom-scrolling under a fuzzy blanket. Video after video of depressing current events mixed with cute cats, and the occasional dance trend or thirst trap fill my feed.
Speaking of thirst traps, I flip back to the previous video and nearly gasp.
Damn.
This man looks like Spencer in thirty years, and it’s got my brain short-circuiting.
Unwelcome thoughts of a possible future with him flood my mind.
I imagine Spencer’s dark stubble turning gray, and his kind eyes getting wrinkles in the corners.
Images of us growing old together and having tea on our front porch while our grandchildren run around the front yard flood my mind.
Could that really be possible?
Hope starts to bubble in my stomach, but I startle when the fantasy is interrupted by an incoming call, and I’m a little surprised to see that it’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom. Everything okay?” I ask with concern, immediately sitting up. We spoke when I got home from New York just a few days ago, and I told her all about my trip, so it’s kind of weird that she’s calling again so soon.
“Hi, honey bunny,” Mom says through the speaker, her voice tight. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
Oh no. That’s not a good sign.
“Did someone die? Just give me a yes or no. Please,” I blurt out dramatically, my heart rate elevated.
“No!” she insists. “My goodness, Tate.”
I breathe out in relief. “Then what’s going on?” I jump up and start to pace in front of the TV, running a hand through my curls.
“There’s really no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to lay it all out there, okay?” Mom says calmly, but I’m getting impatient.
My pulse is racing, and I’m starting to feel lightheaded. “Just tell me!” I nearly shout.
“Your dad and I are separating.”
Silence.
My ears start to ring, and my vision tunnels.
“We’re getting a divorce, honey.”
What?
I brace myself against the living room wall before I faint, taking a deep breath and staggering back to the couch. The second my legs touch the fabric, I collapse, plopping down on my ass.
“Tate?” Mom asks hesitantly when I still don’t respond.
“Why?” I choke out, incapable of more than a one-word response due to the enormous lump in my throat.
“Well, you’re grown and out of the house now. Only one year of college left. It just feels right for us to move on with our lives. We’re headed in different directions, honey.”
“What about the cruise?” I mumble, even though that really doesn’t matter right now.
My parents are getting divorced.
“Your dad cancelled on me before I left. It was one of my last straws. I’m going with Aunt Jenna now. I won’t live the rest of my life on hold because all he wants to do is sit at home and watch the Sci-Fi channel. I want to travel the world. I’m taking a solo trip to Spain in the fall.”
“Mom . . .” I don’t even know what to say.
This is all so sudden, and I’m completely caught off guard.
My parents were high school sweethearts.
If they can’t last, then who possibly can?
I’m afraid the answer is no one, and this is just further proof that I need to end things with Spencer before our friendship is ruined, too.
“It’s okay, honey. Really. I’m doing just fine. I’m renting an apartment close to the hospital. It has a really nice pool. You need to come see it.”
“Yeah, okay. And Dad? How’s he doing?” I say on autopilot.
“He’s staying in the house for now, but you’ll have to reach out if you want to keep a relationship with him.
I won’t be the go-between any longer. Sorry, honey.
And I’m not so sure he’ll call you. You know your father.
Stoic, stubborn, and never sharing his feelings.
” I can hear the resentment in her voice, and it’s honestly a little surprising.
I thought she was happy with him, but I guess people grow apart.
“Okay. I should do that,” I say in a daze, unsure of what I would even say to him. Hey, Dad. Sorry Mom left you. Hope you’re doing okay. It doesn’t feel right, and I don’t think his ego would appreciate it very much.
“Let’s get dinner soon. I miss you,” she says warmly.
“Yeah. Of course, Mom. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.” I need to get off the phone right now. Before she finds out how upset I actually am. Because the tears are coming. I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes.
“Love you, honey bunny.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I hang up, moving toward the stairs on autopilot while my vision blurs.
Daija comes bouncing down the stairs at the same time. “Who were you talking to?” she asks curiously before seeing my face.
“My mom,” I mumble, feeling myself disassociating in front of her.
“Oh my God! Babe, what’s wrong? What happened?” My best friend wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly while we both sink to the bottom step.
“My parents are getting a divorce,” I reply numbly.