Chapter 24
Tom
His parents had done New Year’s for a decade—white hydrangeas, white table linens, white walls. He used to think it was tasteful.
Tonight, all Tom could see was the absence of joy.
He stood with a glass of something expensive, watching Mia pin a paper crown to Jake’s head. His brother laughed, leaning into it. The crown slipped sideways. Jake and Mia were bright splashes of color against all the white.
“Thomas.” His mother’s manicured hand touched his arm. “Have you spoken to the Kents tonight? They’re thinking of a renovation. They said they’ll call you next week.”
The Kents. Of course. His parents orbited that couple like hopeful satellites. Not friends—aspirations.
This is who his parents wanted to talk about with him. Not a single word about the person who should’ve been on Tom’s arm.
“I ran into Evelyn Kent at the Winter Arts Gala.” His mother leaned in a touch. “They’re very particular. Old money. You’ll want to make a good impression.”
Richard hummed thoughtfully. “Nothing faddish. Remember, understatement lasts.”
Understatement lasts. One of his father’s maxims. One Tom had built a career on.
Tom said, “Sure,” the way he always did.
He had told himself for years that he liked neutrals.
But did he really? What was his taste, really?
Tom's college portfolio had been full of bold choices. Confident choices.
Why had that changed?
He'd been embarrassed by his father’s criticisms. Afraid his father would think less of him. Afraid clients wouldn't take him seriously. Afraid of standing out in the wrong way, of being judged as garish or trying too hard or—God—cringe.
He’d known what he should like and he’d just followed that like a script. He'd cut himself down until he fit his father’s style.
And then he'd turned around and tried to do the same thing to Lauren—tried to cut her down.
She hadn’t let him. She was stronger than that.
Across the room, Jake let Mia drag him onto the makeshift dance floor. They were grinning, unselfconscious. Judith’s mouth tightened. Richard’s eyebrow lifted.
Lauren would have danced.
She would have been all elbows and laughter, pulling Tom along, fearless about being seen.
She wasn’t tacky. She wasn’t too much.
She was alive.
She was full and vivid and generous and uncensored. Everything his parents taught him to be ashamed of.
And he had sided with them.
A jolt—sharp, humiliating, electrifying—like someone had ripped open the shutters of a dark room he’d been sitting in for years.
He’d wanted her to shrink so she’d fit next to him in their world.
But he was the one who needed to grow.
The thought hit him so hard he had to look away from the dance floor.
His hand tightened around the glass.
He loved her.
Not the edited version his parents would approve of. Not the muted version he’d once tried to mold.
He loved her as she was.
“When the Kents call, steer them away from statement fixtures. They always date.”
He pictured Lauren’s joyful Christmas crafts. He pictured her face when he’d told her to tone it down next year.
Around them, the song ended on a dramatic chord. Mia laughed. Jake spun her, ridiculous crown askew.
Tom wished he was dancing with his wife right now.
But he couldn’t. Because he’d pushed her away. Out of fear, out of shame.
His chest tightened, breath catching. Warmth drained from his fingers, a cold rush sweeping through him like the start of a fall.
Judith’s voice broke through. “Darling, are you all right? You seem distracted.”
Lauren wasn’t the problem. Lauren had never been the problem. It was him.
New Year’s Eve was a fitting moment for this resolution. He was going to do better. He was going to be the man she deserved. A man worthy of his wife. Someone who didn’t make her feel small, not ever again.
Tom drained his champagne. “I’ve got a call to make.”
Tom stepped outside into the cold.
Snow fell in fat, lazy flakes, catching streetlight and turning the whole street soft-edged and quiet. The party noise muffled behind him—laughter, music.
He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking—from cold or nerves, he couldn't tell.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
She wasn't going to answer. Why would she? It was New Year's Eve and he'd destroyed Christmas and she was probably—
"Tom?"
Her voice hit him like a physical thing. He closed his eyes.
"Hi," he said. His breath clouded white between them, even though she was miles away. "I'm sorry. I know it's late. I just—I needed to hear your voice."
Silence on her end.
The snow kept falling. Inside, voices rose in unison, counting down.
"I love you," he said. “And maybe I don’t deserve you, but I don’t care. I’m going to fight for you.”
"Tom."
Through the door he heard the eruption of midnight. But out here it was just snow and silence and his wife's breathing on the other end of the line.
"Happy New Year, Lauren," he said softly. "I love you."
A long pause. Then, barely a whisper: "Happy New Year."
Tom stood in the snow long after she'd hung up, watching his breath cloud and fade in the cold air.