Chapter 20
"Landslide," Fleetwood Mac
Victoria
He snagged another black and white cookie before we carried our glasses onto his wrap-around porch and he turned on a small heater.
I took a long sip of the Cabernet, remembering sitting beside him in the tasting room and looking out over the vineyard.
The wine heated my cheeks and the evening sky gave me the confidence to ask quietly, “Do you miss it?”
I swirled the glass delicately as if releasing the aromas would loosen the heaviness in my chest.
“Yeah, of course, I miss San Francisco. It’s probably mild enough there tonight for a run, whereas here my outdoor workout is shoveling snow,” he grumbled.
“But it’s not like we were enjoying it, Victoria.
We never went to shows, we ordered takeout more than going to restaurants, we only saw the Bay through our office windows.
Everything was focused on work,” he sighed, refilling his glass as one of his elderly neighbors walked a golden retriever down the sidewalk.
He held up the empty bottle. “This trip, four years ago? This was the last time we left the city together that wasn’t on business. ”
I racked my brain for another vacation … but the only trip that came to mind was that wedding in New York. The one where he dumped me.
“You were in a rush to get back to the office,” he said before his smile turned playful. “You were so pissed at me that day.”
It took me a minute to recall before I defended, “You waited until the last second to check out!”
“That breakfast was delicious.”
“It took forever to drive back. You took the Bay Bridge for some stupid reason,” I said, weirdly nostalgic about the traffic. “So we didn’t even have the Golden Gate view to enjoy while we sat in the car for hours.”
“You tortured me with your mopey bitch playlist, but refused to sing.”
“Too annoyed. You didn’t earn the right to my voice.”
His smirk fell with a sigh. “Geez, we fought so much.”
I cocked my head in surprise.
“You don’t remember? If we weren’t working, we were fighting. What to eat, when to leave for work, how to fold socks—”
“Balling them up is not folding,” I said, not for the first time.
He grinned at my familiar scolding. “Things between us got so much better when I moved out.”
“I probably just slept better without your snoring. Poor Grace,” I teased, relieved she was the one dealing with his imperfections.
“She made me get a CPAP for my sleep apnea.” His blue eyes lightened like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. “She helped me dream again.”
He reached for the corkscrew, opening another bottle.
“I got so focused on making partner, I lost sight of my dream. When I applied to law school, I wanted what my dad had: a small business that gave him the flexibility to be at my baseball games and Nick’s plays.
I wanted a house that felt like a home, my family nearby, and my own family.
Now I have the woman I love and our daughter safely asleep inside, with plans to foster more kids. My dream was always about my family.”
His unspoken words hung heavy—and I know that’s not what you want.
“Even choosing Stanford was about being closer to Nick. That’s why I kept sending him the job postings for summer theater near us. And why I hated when he moved to New York City, then landed The Twelve. His decisions were right for his career, but I …” Alexander’s voice cracked.
I stiffened, barely masking my discomfort. “When did you get so in touch with your feelings, anyway?”
“Falling in love with a social worker has that effect,” he said, making my gut clench. “Made me an optimist too, believe it or not.”
“Rookie mistake,” I scoffed, staring out at a copse of evergreen trees in his yard, looking like they'd been there for centuries.
“Why'd you go to law school, anyway?” he asked, pushing on a bruise he didn’t recognize. “You were already in business school.”
“I’ve told you this,” I snapped, remembering those generic ‘why do you want to be a lawyer’ icebreakers during orientation.
“Did you?” his head tilted, eyes curious but voice bitter. “Or did you just expect me to figure it out?”
I tightened my hold on the stem of my wine glass, feeling a chill run up my spine that had nothing to do with the late winter air.
“I wanted to protect myself,” my voice came out stern, pushing through the lump in my throat. “After Spencer.”
His expression softened. He tugged on his lower lip, a movement that meant he was composing his thoughts. He surprised me when he murmured, “I’m sorry. I could have handled that better.”
My laughter was so strained, it sounded like a seal barking. “You think?”
He shook his head. “To be fair, you could have prepared me better.”
“Wouldn't have mattered. You met my family, then you dumped me.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Don’t try to rewrite history,” I said, twisting in my chair to point an accusation. “You didn’t even unpack your suitcase.”
“Ok, that is what happened. But that's not why I broke up with you. Hell, the first time I met Grace’s family, her brother was so awful I broke his nose.”
I swallowed around a lump in my throat. If it wasn’t about what Beverly told him at Spencer’s wedding … “Why, then?”
“Because you didn’t talk to me. You brought me to your ex’s wedding without telling me what happened between you two. When I tried to ask, you iced me out. You sat next to me silent for the whole plane ride.”
My whole body shivered. He hadn’t dumped me because of Spencer—he’d dumped me because I hadn’t told him about Spencer. I thought I’d been protecting him, but my protection had pushed him away.
His voice rasped with long-buried pain. “The closer I got to you, the more defenses you put up. I never felt like I got the real you.”
I roiled at the allegation for which I had no defense prepared. I wrapped my arms around my biceps to keep myself from unraveling. “You know me better than anybody.”
“I know that now. But then, I could only see what you didn’t tell me.”
My chest ached with weight so heavy I thought I might crack.
“When I moved out, I guess I thought—” he ran his hand over the nape of his neck, tilting his head towards the ceiling.
“I thought maybe some space would help you see you wanted more from …” he shifted his thumb in the air between us.
“When I realized you would never love me back, that you didn’t want what I wanted, I … I had to move on.”
“Why didn’t you move home then?” I whispered, forcing myself to turn my cool gaze to him.
“I hoped you’d come back, tell me you still wanted me …” he sighed at the heavy clouds. “I called Nick. He told me to read Richard’s memoir.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose, knowing what a self-important slog my grandfather’s autobiography was.
“Yeah, it was awful. Especially all his bullshit about legacy,” he agreed, and some of the tightness in my gut loosened. “I googled Spencer. I saw The New Yorker.”
I fought a wave of nausea. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Like what? A college kid trying to win her family’s impossible approval?”
I blinked too hard, too fast, fighting the prickle of tears. “So why didn’t you tell me then? That you knew why I left Sinclair Larsson?”
“That would have gone over well. ‘Hey Victoria, all those secrets you kept? Surprise! I found out anyway. You would have forced me out of your life.”
Fuck, he was right. If he had pushed me, I would have shut down.
“If anything, realizing how much you overcame … it made me admire you more.” His quiet voice trembled. “I just wish you'd told me.”
I dropped my head against the Adirondack chair's hard wood. My voice came out hoarse as I echoed his words. “I could have handled that better.”
“You think?” he said, his tone teasing.
I tightened my jaw, swallowing back words I wasn’t ready to voice.
“Even after we broke up, I still cared about you,” he said. “You weren’t my girlfriend anymore, but you’re still my best friend.”
“Your best friend?”
“Yeah, though I didn’t understand at the time,” he said, his face softer as he refilled our glasses yet again.
“Last December, Mallory told me Grace and Kate were her two best friends. I’d told her that by definition, ‘best’ is superlative and therefore you can’t have two bests of anything.
” He grinned when I lifted my glass in agreement.
“And that brat told me, ‘If there’s somebody who I would do anything to see happy, and I know they’d do the same for me, then that person is my best friend.
I’m lucky enough to have two.’ And I was jealous that she had two people who meant that much to her, when I … ”
He took another long sip, surveying his manicured yard. “I went back to San Francisco heartbroken. You showed up on my doorstep with ice cream—well, shitty frozen yogurt.”
“You housed my cookies and cream without complaint."
“You helped me mend my broken heart. When those assholes overlooked you even though you were the best goddamn lawyer there--and I'm man enough to admit that you're better than me--I grieved for your loss because I wanted your success almost as much as my own. And when I had this harebrained scheme to start a firm across the country, I didn’t want to do it with anybody but you. You’re my best friend, Victoria.”
As the sky blurred, I resented the wine for making my eyes water. The heat lamp warmed my legs, but I hugged my arms around my chest anyway.
He tilted his head back, giving me the privacy he knew I needed to process. I followed his gaze towards the night sky, startled at how many stars there were. I'd read about starry night skies, but my view had been tarnished by light pollution.
When I didn’t reply, he murmured, “Grace was pissed at me for asking you to move here, you know.”
“Working with the ex-girlfriend probably wasn’t her dream scenario."
“No, not like that. She thought it was unfair to ask you to move to Saratoga. Especially when Mallory bragged about your impressive resume … Grace was angry that I expected you to put your dreams on hold for mine.”
“I didn’t expect you to agree. This is a step down for you, you belong somewhere more important.”
“So why did you ask?” I said, feeling an odd combination of annoyed, impatient, and intrigued.
“I was scared to strike out on my own, and you were going to leave Hamilton & Houghton anyway. It was selfish, wanting you here. And I guess …” he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Maybe you needed somewhere safe to land while you figured out what comes next. And when it’s time for you to move on, I understand and I’ll support you. ”
He looked me straight on, not hiding behind our wine glasses, the warm glow of the heat lamp and street lights casting shadows over his face. “But I’m staying here. I love it here. And I think if you let yourself, you could love it too.”
Heat crept up my neck and into my wine-flushed cheeks as the full weight of his declaration crashed into me.
He was staying, no matter what.
If I left, if I moved to New York … I went alone.
I finished the glass of wine, staring at the chipped paint along his railing, not wanting to betray myself with a look that would be too telling.
“Victoria,” he said, drawing my attention. His eyes were tinged with anxiety. “I asked Grace to marry me, and she said yes.”
I tried to disguise my shuttering breath as a cough. “When?”
“Last weekend,” Alexander said with a satisfied smile.
“I didn’t want to have this conversation at the office, but I’ve been dying to tell you, to ask you …
” His leg bounced enough to make the porch shake.
My shoulders drew up, tense and tight, bracing for a blow I couldn’t avoid.
“We want to keep the bridal party small. Grace is asking her brothers, Mallory and Kate. And I’m asking the two people I trust most to stand up beside me: you and Nick. ”
I held my breath, cold air squeezing tight in my lungs, hoping the tension would pass if I waited it out. This was important to him, but I hadn’t anticipated this—not when he’d only known her a few months.
Not when he didn’t ask me after seven years.
His voice was strained. “I understand if you can’t—”
“Of course I will, you idiot,” I snapped.
He startled before his eyes met mine. My stomach twisted, but I ignored the fluttering as I forced a smile. And then, as he returned his own smile, mine softened in reaction.
He swooped me into a tight hug, my stomach lurching at the sudden movement. I felt stiff, but as he squeezed me in a warm embrace, my muscles loosened.
“Thank you,” he murmured into my ear. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He let me go shakily, then stepped into the house's foyer. I heard the echo of his whisper, “She said yes.”
I moved to the top of his stairs, gripping his porch's column, my fingernails carving into the wood to stop myself from running home ... though I didn't know where that was. My condo, Dad's Manhattan penthouse, our apartment in San Francisco?
The wind whispered through the snow-covered trees.
I faced the Adirondack mountains in the distance, imagining an avalanche of changes, moving more rapidly than I could adjust. Stevie Nicks' raspy voice echoed in my mind about building her life around somebody, then realizing that her fear of change was holding her back.
A landslide of emotion, uncovering the need to move on.
“I told you she would say yes,” Grace replied from inside. I released my hold on the pillar as they emerged from the house together, each carrying champagne flutes. She cinched a jacket around her slim frame, and I swallowed down my spite. She was fucking delightful, it was no wonder he chose her.
“He’s been a mess all week, waiting for the right time to ask you.” Grace nudged him with her hip. “I thought he would chicken out.”
Alexander handed me champagne, and my fingers clutched the crystal stem. He slid his free hand around her waist, lifting his glass. “To the two most important women in my life.”
“Cheers,” I said, my vision blurring as I blinked away the tears.