Chapter 9 Natalie #2
“That’s me, but I must know what Jack told you that let you identify me immediately. Did he make fun of my hair? Was that it?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I’ve only heard good things, but you two have a similar face.”
“Natalie must’ve been very excited to meet you,” Samantha says.
“She doesn’t usually interrupt amazing stories like this.
” She mock-glares. “As I was saying, we came around the corner, startled, and just then, an empty cat food bag tumbled across the ground behind us, and that was it. Even though our trainer had just stacked three picnic tables up on the back side of the barn, luckily small ones, our horses decided it would be better to jump over them than to slow down.”
Quinn’s jaw drops in a very satisfying way.
“I knew my insane horse would go flying over,” Sam says. “So I just hung on for dear life.”
“I was halfway prepared for mine to as well,” I say. “Even though I got left behind a bit, and boy did my back hurt.”
“But no one thought Cheese Whiz could make it,” Sam says.
“But he sailed right over it, landing even nicer than that spooky baby you were on, Sam. What was his name?” Vanessa tilts her head. “Hot Stuff?”
“Homestar Runner,” Sam says. “Named after some dumb cartoon.”
“That was it,” I agree. “Anyway, that’s when we decided that Cheese Whiz was wasted in the hunter ring. Vanessa convinced us all to try cross-country after that.”
“And?” Quinn raises her eyebrows, her lips slightly parted.
“Cheese Whiz was rubbish at dressage,” Vanessa says, “but he loved jumping outdoors. Never said no to anything, and no one who saw him would have guessed he was in his twenties. In the ring, yes, but out on the courses outside?” Vanessa shook her head, her eyes almost glossy.
“He shone out there, galloping along like a colt.”
“Not all horses, or humans, are great at the same things, and sometimes they surprise us,” I say.
“You have got to meet my parents,” Quinn says.
“We’re having a big family dinner next week.
You need to come!” She claps. “Oh, I love that idea. I’m going to text me mum right now.
Say you can make it?” She looks up. “Mum’s a great cook, I promise.
And what she can’t make, she buys from the best places.
” Her laughter’s as open and inviting as Jack’s.
I can’t imagine them coming from a woman anything like the one Vanessa described.
Could she have been mistaken somehow?
“Actually, I was coming with some bad news, because I have to interrupt.” I don’t want Vanessa to have to answer without time to think it over. “But we need to man the candy stations. It’s trick-or-treating time.”
Vanessa makes a big show of half-rolling her eyes, but it’s clear that she’s a little relieved, at least, it is to me.
We’re all three heading back up the stairs when I hear voices from the closet around the corner. I freeze, and then I creep slowly toward it. No one at a party should be hiding in a closet. I wonder what. . .
As I get closer, I realize they aren’t in the closet.
They’re outside it, standing in a place that’s somewhat sheltered from the rest of the house, but not really private.
After all, had we turned the other direction from the billiards room, we’d have walked right by them.
And now, going past the stairs, we’re next to them again.
It’s Clara.
And she’s not alone.
Trace is talking to her.
“It’s not just our music taste, though. Surely you noticed that I like you,” he’s saying.
A chill runs up my spine.
It was a hunch, but now it’s confirmed. And Vanessa’s right beside me, her wide eyes turning slowly toward mine.
What on earth am I supposed to do? If I burst in to interrupt, I might as well just take out a banner ad: Natalie Cleary, disapproving mother, dislikes best friend’s pothead son.
Ugh.
But I really, really don’t want him dating Clara.
She’s already my least reliable kid. I mean, she has perfect grades, and she’s not a bad kid in any way, but she’s also changed direction twenty times during high school alone.
She vacillates between delightful and angry, and I barely got her back to horses.
Before I can decide what to say, someone else interrupts.
“Trace! We talked about this.” It’s Bryce, who stormed toward them from the other side of the hall. “When I saw you were both gone. . .” He mutters under his breath. “You agreed with me. You can’t date her.”
“Why not?” Clara asks.
My heart sinks.
“Because, we all live here. Think about it,” Bryce says.
“If you date her and it goes great, then fine. You can get married and start popping out babies with Irish accents. . .in ten years when you’re old enough.
But what are the odds you’ll still like each other in a decade?
You’re only sixteen and seventeen. More likely, you’ll date, make out, break up, and then every single family gathering, every single Halloween party, Christmas party, and family dinner, you two will be glaring at each other over the table.
I’ll be stuck between you, developing a massive ulcer, and that’s the best case scenario. ”
“Oh, come on.” Clara inhales sharply. “What does that mean?”
“What if your mom gets mad at mine?” Bryce asks. “What if she blames Trace for trying to corrupt her honor-roll daughter?”
Clara’s scowling now, and I feel a little bad for peering at the whole thing from around the mostly-hidden corner. If there weren’t so much music coming from upstairs, I’m sure they’d have noticed we were here. As it is, I guess Bryce is keeping them distracted, too.
“What then?” Bryce plows ahead, making my arguments much better than I could have. “You two could be responsible for breaking up a friendship that started before you were even born. How would that feel?”
Trace and Clara are both frowning, and I feel like our work here is done. I point upstairs, and Sam and Vanessa nod. All of us creep up as slowly as we can, but one of the stairs creaks.
“Sorry!” Sam hisses. “This house is old.”
The teenagers are on us like Samantha on a mud-spattered saddle with saddle soap.
“Hey, how long have you been there?” Clara asks, in a disturbingly accusatory tone.
“Not long.” But Vanessa’s wince gives us away.
“Can we just pretend we didn’t hear it?” I ask. “It feels. . .easier.”
“We were looking for you guys because it’s time to start the trick-or-treating,” Sam says. “No one’s after the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Huh?” Trace asks.
“For like three hundred years, Spain would burn or kill anyone who was suspected of not being Catholic enough,” Clara says.
“See?” Bryce hisses. “That’s my point. You don’t even know the word inquisition. You two are a disaster.”
I suppress a chuckle. I really, really like Bryce. Why can’t he like Clara? Not one mention of pot, and he still managed to shut the whole thing down. He’s a genius.
As we hand out candy, I can’t help thinking about how I dodged a bizarre inter-family hookup, for now, and Vanessa narrowly avoided having to commit to visiting Jack’s family.
Both solutions were just temporary reprieves, but it was better than nothing.
Eventually both of us are going to have to face our uncomfortable situations, but now we have time to think.
I’m distracted for a minute getting the trick-or-treating started, but once things slow down, I google whether people still use chastity belts. When hands drop onto my shoulders, I spring at least a foot into the air, tossing the last remnants of my candy into the far reaches of the lawn.
“Whoa there, spooky.” It’s Cillian.
“I—I was not expecting you to show up.”
“The kids are all cutting the massive orange pumpkin cake Vanessa made—she’s quite the baker, huh?” He glances around. “I think they’re done with the candy.”
I drop to my knees, feeling around to try and find it all the same.
“It’s still not a great idea to leave it out here in the grass, I imagine.
In Houston, you could do it. The fire ants would eat the candy—and probably the paper, too—in under an hour.
But here? Your bugs in Ireland are useless.
They don’t destroy anything, and their bites send no one to the hospital.
We’re basically entirely safe here, hands splayed in the grass, poking around. No snakes either.”
Cillian’s making a token effort to look, but I can tell he’s not really trying. But he is smiling at me in a strange way.
I freeze. “What?”
His hand reaches out to trace the line of my cheekbone. “You are the prettiest woman I have ever met.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re going to need a better line than that. I own mirrors.”
He shakes his head, no mirth visible in the low light cast over us by the porch lights.
“I’m not kidding.” He’s still staring at me.
“You know, all my life, I thought beauty was something impartial. Something almost factual. You could look at someone, and they were either beautiful or they weren’t. ”
“It is,” I say. “Look at any advertisement. All the women and men look about the same. It’s all about symmetry.”
His hand cups my jaw. “But it’s not. The more I get to know you, the more beautiful you become.
Your jokes, your kindness, your hard work, your generosity, and even watching you care for and about your kids.
” He presses his thumb against my lip. “You get prettier with every single thing I learn about you.” He leans closer.
“And I want to do this more every time I see you.”
He doesn’t ask for permission.
He doesn’t wait for me to lean in or sigh.
He just takes the kiss he wants, and I melt against him. And maybe it’s because I haven’t kissed anyone at all, other than Mason, in twenty years, but holy bats and snails and rolling plastic bags, it’s amazing.
I’m kneeling in the grass, hiding in the shadow of the front porch of our house, and I don’t even care. As his arms wrap around me, I scootch closer, and his head angles down. My hands roam their way across his chest, his very firm, very sharply angled chest, and I can’t help sighing in pleasure.
“Mom?”
I freeze.
Cillian either didn’t hear the word, or he doesn’t care, because he’s still kissing me energetically. But the magic is definitely (mostly) gone. I jab his very hard, very ridged belly. “It’s my kid, Blaine.”
She’s holding out her trick-or-treat bag, and her mouth is dangling even more impressively than her bag. “Uh, I thought you might have some candy left.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see it. A purple Cadbury Dairy milk bar. I brace my hand flat against Cillian’s chest, ignoring his shocked and now somewhat guilty expression, and snatch it from off the ground. “Here,” I say brightly, dropping it in her bag.
“Looks like you should have had more candy,” Blaine says, frowning. “Because when you run out, you have to do a trick, right?” She glances at Cillian.
I laugh.
He does, too.
And when Blaine starts laughing, I realize she was making a joke. She’s definitely my funniest child. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Blaine pulls a handful of candy out of her bag and presses it into my hand. “Actually, I’m pretty proud of you. I’ll make sure no one else comes by.” Just like that, she jogs up the stairs, turning to wave before she disappears onto the porch.
“I’m an idiot,” Cillian says.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I say. “I mean, their dad and I split because he was cheating on me. I think they may be more ready for me to date than I thought.”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t ever been a big fan of kids, but your kid Blaine?” He chuckles. “She’s as awesome as her mom.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead, and then he stands, offering me a hand. “To be continued?”
His wink is very different than Blaine’s.