37. Alessandra
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
alessandra
Humans hate making mistakes.
Thousands of centuries of being wrong and we’re still incapable of accepting it.
Thanks to my ancestors, I’m flawed.
Fortunately , my mistake won’t go down in the history books, but it still festers in my head.
After coffee with Martin , I began spiraling.
I locked myself away in the office, stewing in my thoughts, and when Booth appeared, eager to help, I lashed out.
He isn’t unfamiliar to my bite, but I saw the flash of pain when I threw his fears in his face, hoping to deflect from my own.
I realized my mistake as soon as he punished me with that kiss.
It seared through me, hot enough to weld us together.
When he tore our lips apart, I felt the connection pull taut, on the precipice of snapping.
Hide all you want, Alessandra .
But I see you. All of you.
And it doesn’t scare me.
Why? After I was so awful to him?
When he disappeared, I wanted to chase after him to apologize.
But my stubborn nature, so strongly ingrained, cemented my feet to the floorboards.
I’ve never felt so exposed as I have with Booth .
It terrifies me. What scares me the most is how badly I wanted to shed the armor, let him comfort and take care of me again, like he did at The Nook .
He was who I wanted to turn to when the stress of everything became too much.
Rather than embrace what my heart screamed for, I neglected it.
Booth might not have left angry, but now that he’s had two days to mull it over, he’s probably grateful.
It’s for the best. Better now than later when we’re in way over our heads.
My obstinance keeps me from reaching out, and like a coward, I’ve worked from home and evaded the restaurant like the plague.
My fridge is barren and I’ve resorted to takeout for tonight.
That or starve.
I’m about to check for an update on my pizza order when the buzzer sounds and my stomach grumbles in celebration.
“I’ll be right down,” I say quickly, and release the intercom button before the delivery driver can reply.
I slide on my slippers, open my door, and jog down the stairs to collect my food.
“I’m sorry, do you have change for a fifty?” Without looking up, I rummage in my purse for something smaller.
“ Actually , just keep the change.”
“Oh, darling, look, she’s tipping us.”
That is not the voice of a teenage pizza delivery boy.
My neck cracks with how quickly it snaps up.
I blink, convinced I’m hallucinating, because why else would my parents be standing outside my apartment?
It’s late, the streets dark.
Perhaps a trick of the shadows?
It’s only when my mother taps my chin with her slender finger that I accept this is reality.
“ Alessandra , do not gape like a fish. It is very unflattering,” she scolds, though there’s warmth in her chocolate brown eyes .
I look at my dad, his gray eyebrows knitted in fatherly concern.
He drags a small suitcase in front of him and smiles softly.
“ We’d check into a hotel, but we thought maybe our lovely daughter could put us up for a few nights.”
I’m overcome with emotions and after weeks of holding them in, the dam breaks.
Tears spring from my eyes and a muffled sob escapes me as my dad wraps me in a bear hug.
“What are you doing here?” My voice cracks.
“One of your friends called us,” my dad murmurs into my hair.
“My friend?”
He nods against the top of my head.
“ Your special friend, I believe.”
And now I want to cry for an entirely different reason.
“A charming young man.” My mom lets out a low whistle.
“ A chef too.”
Booth.
Booth, who overlooks my spite and prickly personality.
Booth, who shows up time and time again.
Booth, who has somehow invaded my heart and brain.
They’re usually at odds with one another, but for once, they agree on one thing.
Booth Sadler is the man I don’t deserve but want anyway.
Once upstairs, my parents listen attentively as I update them on everything that’s happened since meeting with Martin .
Shame sticks to my voice like tar as I tell them how I acted in the bakery and the unfair things I said to Booth —leaving out our friends-with-benefits agreement .
They don’t judge or berate me for my behavior, though I deserve it.
When the food arrives, my appetite flees.
My parents are happy to steal a few slices of my veggie pizza while I digest the fact that A : they’re in Sutton Bay , and B : Booth called them.
A glass of water appears in front of me.
I take it from my dad with a weak smile.
He settles himself on my right, while my mother strokes my hair lovingly on my left.
Sandwiched between two people who don’t need to ask how I’m feeling.
With them, there’s no hiding.
Hide all you want, Alessandra .
“I’d like to meet Martin ,” my dad announces, and my mom hums her agreement.
“And this Booth ,” she adds.
Perfect. They would want to befriend the two people I’m actively avoiding.
The cold liquid caresses my throat as I take a long sip.
“ Martin isn’t the most sociable of people. And Booth is…busy.”
“He didn’t sound busy when he rang your father two days ago.” My mom levels me with a look, calling me out on my bullshit.
“What did he say exactly?” I ask hesitantly.
Dad glances at my mom before answering.
“ He was worried about you and wasn’t sure how to help. He assured us you were well, but that the last week would be a lot for any person, even someone as strong as you.”
I look at him in disbelief.
“ He did not say that?”
My dad nods, beaming proudly.
“ It was more along the lines of, ‘ Sir , your daughter is the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met. I hope I’m not overstepping, but I think a visit from you and your wife is exactly what she needs right now.’ Does that sound accurate, Lydia ?”
The room spins .
“Yes, darling. And he invited us for dinner at Our Place .” My mother has hearts in her eyes.
I’m still in shock as I imagine Booth flirting with my mom.
He’d say all the right things, making her blush and calling her my older sister.
He’d charm the socks of my dad with his work ethic and strong leadership skills.
It’s too much.
“Did he say anything else?”
They both lean forward, trying to catch my gaze as I avoid eye contact.
“Should he have?” my mom presses.
“No. Just curious.”
There’s no fooling them.
“ Is he your boyfriend?”
My head swings around to gawk at my mom.
“ No , Mother . He’s a friend. An employee of the restaurant.” One I occasionally get naked with.
“Hmm.” She inspects her nails.
“ I’ve never known an employee to speak so ardently about their boss. Wouldn’t you agree, Daniel ?”
“Yes, my love,” Dad replies.
What on earth is happening?
“Okay, enough of that.” I vault from my seat.
“ Let me make up the bed for you.”
“And where will you sleep?” my mom quizzes as she follows me into the bedroom.
“On the sofa.”
She perches herself on the edge of the mattress.
Her eyes follow me as I gather fresh bedsheets.
At sixty-two, she’s still the epitome of Mediterranean beauty.
Wavy , mocha-colored hair, piercing brown eyes, and olive skin.
My dad’s family is Irish , with fair skin, fair hair, and green eyes.
Because of my dark hair, it’s easy to assume I favor her.
The diamond engagement ring she’s worn for the last forty years glistens as she pats the bed.
“ Come sit. ”
“Let me finish this, Mama .” I give her my back and close my eyes.
Not ready for a one-on-one conversation.
“Now, Alessandra . We need to talk.” Her serious tone has the same effect it did when I was younger.
I play the obedient daughter and join her.
She snatches my hand up and kisses the back, her nude lipstick smudging across my knuckles.
“I love your brothers unconditionally, but in my dreams, I saw a third child. I’ve always believed dreams to be our future, should we play our cards right. After I had Alexis , and they told me I couldn’t have any more children, I was heartbroken. I asked your father every night, ‘ What did I do? Why am I being punished?’” Her expression turns thankful.
“ Your father was wonderful during those dark days, reassuring me I did nothing wrong. And do you know what happened five years later?”
My vision blurs.
I know what happened, but she tells me anyway.
“My beautiful, fierce, inspiring daughter was born. And our family was complete.” The fine lines around her eyes deepen as she smiles nostalgically.
“ You might not be my blood, but you are my heart.”
I mirror her smile as my chest aches.
“ I’ve never doubted that. I think I ended up with the family I was supposed to.”
Her fingers caress my cheek as she regards me carefully.
“ But you doubt your heart? You keep it locked away and only share it with a select few.”
Dropping my gaze, I trace the polished gold bands adorning her finger.
“Look at me, thisavré mou,” she whispers.
When I do, her eyes sparkle with sadness and my lip stings as I try to stave off the tears.
“That heart of yours deserves to be loved. Stop thinking it doesn’t. Nothing that happened when you were born or when you met your birth mother is any reflection of the woman you are. This Martin is trying. And from what you have told us, he is a lot like you. Guarded and wary of opening up. Please do not hide the marvelous years you’ve gifted me as your mother from the people who want to know you.”
In the company of my mom, I don’t have to be strong.
She does it for me. I fall into her arms and let go.
Anger , sadness, regret, gratitude.
Each tear represents a different emotion.
Every heave of my chest as I sob in her embrace alleviates the crushing pressure I’ve been walking around with.
“What about Harvey ?” I whisper brokenly.
She smooths my mess of curls off my wet cheeks.
“ One day at a time. Give Martin a chance. If not for me, for yourself.”
I hiccup, then nod.
“ Okay .”
A pointed nail prods me in the chest. “ And who knows…maybe you have room in your heart for someone else. Perhaps a chef?”
I’ve got to hand it to her.
The woman is smooth.
“We really are friends.” I roll my eyes when she pouts.
“ Or were. I said some horrible things to him… It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s here and I leave for New York soon.”
“Long distance can work. Look at your father and me.” She pinches my cheek when I deadpan.
“ Leave the sheets. We can do it. You have other things to do.”
I’m yanked to my feet.
“ I do?”
With surprising strength, my mom leads me toward the front door before shoving my coat and scarf in my hands.
She’s lost it.
“Say goodbye to your daughter, Daniel ,” she shouts through the apartment.
“Goodbye, Daughter ,” my dad hollers, not questioning his wife’s motives.
“Are you kicking me out?” I ask, baffled.
“For the night. I think you owe someone an apology.”
I curse the rickety planks as I creep up the front steps.
I’m swaddled from head to toe like a woolly mammoth thanks to my mom.
It was already late when my parents arrived.
It’s only now, standing on his doorstep, I check the time.
11:37 p.m.
No lights on.
Not a peep from inside.
A hooded figure outside the window.
If I were the owner of this house, I’d call the cops on myself.
What am I doing?
He’s going to take one look at me and slam the door in my face.
With careful footsteps, I abandon my mission.
I make it four steps.
The rattling of the door handle has me freezing like a deer in headlights.
Then a gravelly voice rolls into the pitch-black evening.
“ I’ve been listening to you march across my porch for the last ten minutes. I’m tired. Are you coming or going, Silver ?”
I slowly pivot on my heel and face him.
“ I’m not sure.”
Booth flicks on the porch light, illuminating his handsome face.
His hair sticks up in all directions and he rubs a hand over his bare stomach.
Heavy with sleep, his eyes track over my body.
“ Did your folks show?”
Pitter-patter goes my pathetic heart.
“ Yeah . Yeah , they did. Thank you for calling them.”
“What’s it going to be? It’s cold,” he mutters gruffly.
The scratchy scarf around my neck is too tight suddenly.
I quickly unravel it and let out a breath before saying, “ I came to apologize. ”
There isn’t a trace of emotion on his usually jovial face.
“ I don’t want your apology.”
“Oh. Yeah , of course.” I retreat another step.
“ Go back to sleep. Sorry for disturbing you.”
He palms the door, opening it wider.
“ I don’t want your apology because there’s nothing to apologize for. What I want is you in my bed. I’ll be angry at you for taking two days to come here in the morning.”
Before I can respond, the dark room behind him swallows his silhouette.
I hesitate for a nanosecond before my legs guide me up the steps and over the threshold.
“Lock up, would you?” he calls from the bed, where he’s sprawled out like Adonis , the moonlight painting him in a blueish hue.
I don’t question what’s happening.
The sound of the lock turning is barely audible over the blood pounding in my ears.
I shed my clothes, leaving a trail of wool and cotton behind me until I’m left in only my bra and panties.
The cool bedsheets soothe my heated skin.
A canyon separates us, reminding me of that first evening at the cabin.
Only this time, I want the distance eradicated.
A hair’s width is too far.
Rising to my hands and knees, I crawl across the mattress before climbing into his lap, slowly lowering myself.
Every muscle, tendon, and nerve ending unwinds as I wrap my arms around his torso, cheek pressed to his chest.
Heavy arms surround me, better than any blanket.
Strong legs lock me in place.
“That’s better.” His voice loses its tension.
“ That’s much better.”
The steadfast beating of his heart quells my nerves, and I say what I’ve wanted to tell him since he walked out of the office.
“You didn’t deserve the horrible things I said. You might not want my apology, but you deserve one. So , I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“ I find it hard to trust. Even before this journey to find my birth family, I’ve been wary of others. When I realized I’d grown reliant on you, I freaked out. This isn’t your burden to carry, yet you’ve somehow shouldered the weight since I told you about my past. Would I have gotten this far without your help?”
His breath stutters.
“ If you don’t want my help, I can step back.”
I prop my chin on his chest. “ Doing things alone has always been easier. I was so deep in my head about trusting you that I hadn’t realized I already did. Inexplicably .” My index finger follows the outline of his bottom lip.
“ I’m not reliant on you; I’m stronger with you.”
“Nah, Silver . It’s all you. Your strength is your own.” He bends forward, locking our gazes.
“ I’m not going anywhere if you need a break, though. I’m here because I want to be. Okay ?”
A small smile lifts my cheeks.
“ Okay .”
He sighs, fingers running over my back in soothing motions.
“ Your dad told me about Germany . It sounds exciting. Big opportunity.”
My breath catches.
He discusses it like you would the weather.
“If I only have you until the end of February , do me a favor?”
I pinch my eyes closed and nod, clutching him tighter.
“Give me all your days, hours, minutes until that date. If things don’t go as planned with Martin or Harvey , talk to me. Call your parents. Get mad and upset, but don’t do it alone. Let me in.” The cadence in his voice cracks me open.
My lip trembles, so I press them to his skin, hiding my emotions.
“ I can do that.”
“Don’t think about the goodbye. All we need is today; forget about tomorrow.” He presses a kiss to my crown, reaches into his bedside drawer, and produces a little plastic rose.
Like the petals on the tiny, red flower, my heart flourishes and blooms.
“Sleep now, beautiful.”
Today.
As I stare at the flower, I count how many todays we have left.
Thirty-eight.
And then they end.
I’ll deal with the misery of our farewell when the time comes.
For the next thirty-eight days I’m going to pretend tomorrow doesn’t exist.