57. Three Weeks Later - Liv
Three Weeks Later - Liv
“You’re gonna want to see this,” Theo said.
I turned my head to look at him, my heart thumping overtime as it always did when I realized that this gorgeous, brilliant guy was actually mine.
He was sprawled out on my living room couch, his dark hair falling into his eyes as usual and his laptop propped against his knees.
I’d been sitting across the room, doing case notes for my clients, but as my gaze flickered over Theo’s face, pausing on the hazel eyes that had drawn me in the moment I met him, it occurred to me that we’d both done quite enough work for one day.
His mouth quirked up. “Don’t look at me like that. I have something to show you. Besides, with Chloe at Tessa’s, we’ve got nothing but time.”
Hearing him say her name, I softened. Since Theo and I had come back from New York, we’d rarely been apart.
And contrary to his belief that he’d be a crappy role model for my daughter, he’d been nothing but solicitous and thoughtful where she was concerned.
He’d even gone shopping with us tonight to pick up snacks for Chloe’s sleepover with Tessa’s twins, which Gray wouldn’t have done if he’d had a gun to his head.
I could just hear him now: Doesn’t Tessa have food in her own refrigerator?
How much sugar do those girls need, anyway?
Go if you want, but I’m staying right here.
She doesn’t need two parents to pick out Twizzlers.
Over the past few weeks, Theo had navigated my complicated family with grace, showing up for Chloe and even being polite to my ex.
I’d tried to run interference between them at first, but Theo had assured me there was no need, then gone on to prove it.
The last time Gray had dropped Chloe off, his tattooed flavor-of-the-month in tow, the four of us had even managed to have a beer together without bloodshed.
“Be happy,” Gray had whispered in my ear when he hugged me goodbye.
And for once, I’d taken his words at face value.
The more time I spent with Theo, in a healthy romantic relationship, the clearer something became: I’d always thought Gray and my father—the wayward artist and the uptight financier—had nothing in common, but that wasn’t true.
They both expected the world to bend for them rather than the other way around.
Both of them had always dismissed my needs and blamed me for anything that went wrong between us.
In turn, I’d contorted myself into whatever shape I thought might appeal to them, trying desperately to fix things.
But it was impossible to heal someone else, or to fix a relationship when I was the only one trying.
I was a therapist; you’d think I would’ve recognized that my father was a narcissist, then gone out of my way to avoid repeating the pattern with my choice of husband.
But that was the way of things. The more familiar something was, the harder it was for us to tell it was dysfunctional.
We replicated home, even when home hurt, and made excuses for the ones we loved, hoping one day they’d see how hard we were trying and repay the favor.
Theo, by contrast, was willing to accept blame for his flaws, perhaps to a fault.
More importantly, he was willing to do the work it took to deal with his issues, and he always, always put me first. If I cried, he didn’t tell me I was being hysterical and manipulative.
He stopped whatever he was doing and wanted to know what was wrong.
If I had to work late, he helped Chloe with her school projects and rubbed my feet when I got home, rather than blaming me for neglecting him and my daughter.
I didn’t take his emotional temperature before I spoke, or spin a scenario to make it acceptable to him.
I just told him what I thought, and instead of twisting it back on me, he listened.
He wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. And together, we were making it—us—work.
Choosing Theo meant choosing myself. And for once, that didn’t make me feel selfish. It made me feel valued and real.
In the meantime, my parents hadn’t spoken to me since the truth came out.
I’d called my mom, trying to thaw the ice, but saying our conversation hadn’t gone well would be an understatement.
My mom had snapped at me that knowing the truth made no difference—that there was nothing to be gained.
Yes, Susi and Lily had found each other, but was that worth all the disruption I’d caused?
My father had locked himself in his study and refused to come out; she’d resorted to leaving meals outside his door.
If he had a heart attack from the stress, I would only have myself to blame.
And if the media got hold of this, what would happen then?
I’d assured her that I had no intention of going to the press. That no one in Theo’s family did, either. All we wanted was to heal the rift between our families, to unite sisters that had been separated long ago. This wasn’t about revenge—it was about reconciliation.
But my mother hadn’t bought it. Even the news that Theo’s mom had dropped the lawsuit hadn’t made my parents budge. For all I knew, they still intended to disinherit me, even though Grandma Ella had been Lily all along.
I’d been right to pursue this, I’d told myself, trying to dismiss my flare of guilt as my mother had disconnected our call with a stern warning not to reach out again until she was ready.
Saying my dad would have a coronary from the stress was an empty threat.
This was just an adjustment period; that was all.
They’d come around—they had to. They were shallow, status-conscious human beings, not cartoon villains. They needed time.
I was sure they were struggling to make peace with the fact that half of our family was descended from the Dresslers.
The us-against-them world the Carters had constructed, the one I’d lived in all my life, had been a myth.
No matter what happened between me and Theo, our families were bound together, down to the strands of their DNA.
My dad was related to the people he’d spent so many years impugning.
As Theo would say, it had to be a mind-fuck.
At least Krista had apologized to me for the way she’d acted and was considering the genetic testing I’d mentioned.
Uncle Jamison was off gallivanting in a remote corner of Malaysia, with his thirty-seventh wife, so his reaction was yet to be seen.
We’d even called Diane Hayes, keeping her in the loop about what we’d learned, making her promise not to say a word to Ethan Polk, for fear he’d use it in his newest book.
I was happier than I could ever remember, except for the hole in my life where my parents should be. But there wasn’t much I could do about that, until they were ready to reach out.
Across the room, my boyfriend cleared his throat. “Ground control to Major Tom.” Amusement laced his tone. “Still alive over there?”
I blinked, coming back to the here-and-now—the crackle of the fire, the simmering, earthy aroma of the pot roast that was the only thing Theo knew how to cook with any degree of success, the glow of the lights on the Christmas tree the three of us had picked out together.
“Yes. Sorry. Just spaced for a minute. What did you find?”
I figured it would be a present for Chloe—he’d been driving me bananas, trying to find the perfect thing for her.
No matter how many times I told him that gifts weren’t the way to her heart, that she liked him for himself and all he had to do was show up, he couldn’t quite believe it yet.
But instead, he patted the couch next to him, then turned his screen to face me.
I sank onto the cushion, eyes widening as I took in the email from the genetic genealogist we’d hired to try to track down what had happened to the real Ella Carter. Well, technically Theo had hired them. Now that I was on the verge of being disinherited, I didn’t have money to spare.
“Holy cannoli,” I murmured, my fingers going to the sapphire pendant around my neck out of habit as I read the message. “He found her.”
“Yeah.” Theo’s voice was tight with excitement. “Or at least, he thinks he did. It was tough, with Ella being an only child and everything. But he didn’t get paid a small fucking fortune to give up.”
I scanned the email, my brows furrowing in puzzlement.
Somehow, Ella Carter had made her way to a farm in Kansas, where she’d grown up as Mabel Beth Mullins.
Apparently, her daughter Bonnie still lived there.
The genealogist’s email was full of details about mitochondrial DNA, the rabbit holes he’d gone down, all the reasons he was certain.
It was fascinating, from a scientific perspective, and I was sure Tessa would have a field day with it.
But that wasn’t what kept snagging my attention.
A farm in Kansas. Kansas. Why did that ring a bell?
My fingers gripped Theo’s knee, tightening as I pictured the two of us in the Gramercy Park apartment, sorting through old records. Immunization papers. Tax forms. And…paperwork on a farm in Kansas, signed by my father and Uncle Jamison.
A terrible, awful suspicion began to take shape in my mind. I didn’t want to believe it. But what other explanation could there be?
“Liv? You okay?” Theo pried my fingers loose from his knee, dark eyebrows rising.
I shook my head as nausea swirled in my stomach. “Can you print that out for me? There’s something I have to do.”
An eerie sense of déjà vu consumed me as I drove down the winding streets of Forest Hills toward my parents’ house, to confront them once more.
Weeks before, I’d gotten off a plane, drunk on Chardonnay and righteousness, and careened into their house unannounced to drop the bomb about what I’d really been up to.
Now, here I was again. Except this time, I was stone-cold sober, Theo was with me, and the shoe was on the other foot.
I’d called Krista while Theo printed out the email, asking her to take a picture of the document about the farm and text it to me.
She’d been mad all over again that I’d gone through her stuff, then bewildered as to why I’d want a picture of a random piece of paper.
Even mad, though, she was my cousin, the closest thing to a sister either of us had.
And when I asked, she delivered, no questions asked.
I didn’t share my theory with her, since right now, that was all it was. If and when my father confirmed it, though, that would be a different story.
I’d waited for her text with my heart pounding, thinking that surely I’d imagined it.
Maybe the farm was in Nebraska, or Iowa, or somewhere else in the Midwest. But no.
There it was—years ago, Dad and Jamison had paid off the mortgage of a farm in Kansas.
A farm in the very small town where, according to the genealogist, Ella had ended up.
I couldn’t think of any scenario in which this portended something good.
The overhanging limbs of the live oaks dripped with holiday lights as I slowed to a stop beneath them, their festive aura at odds with the dread that bloomed inside me.
Across the street, a newcomer to my parents’ neighborhood had bucked tradition and installed one of those laser projectors that beamed multicolored snowflakes onto their colonial’s facade.
Theo cleared his throat, gesturing at it.
“Wow. Tasteful. Your mom must be shitting bricks.”
My mother. God. Was she in on this, whatever this was? And if so, how could she live with herself?
I glanced at my parents’ house, with its custom-made wreath and red-ribboned garlands. Tiny lights festooned the magnolia outside my father’s study, and through the living room window, a Christmas tree glimmered. It looked gorgeous. Perfect. Except on the inside, all was rot.
Theo reached across the drink holder and took my hand, wincing at its clamminess. “Are you sure you want me here? I’ll probably just make things worse.”
At that, I gave a sarcastic laugh. “Worse? Come on. Also, no. They’re as much your family as mine, which makes it your business. Besides, you and I are a package deal, and the sooner they realize that, the better.”
His lips tilted in a smile—a real one, not the crooked smirk guaranteed to melt my underwear right off.
He didn’t say anything, but then again, he didn’t have to.
I knew how much it meant that I accepted him unconditionally, and demanded that everyone else in my life do the same.
One day, he would believe it to his core; until then, I was happy to keep reminding him.
“Okay,” he said, squeezing my hand before dropping it. “If you’re sure.”
“A hundred percent. Come on, let’s go.” Girding myself, I stepped out of the car and together, Theo and I went up the walkway.
When my mother answered the door, her eyes widened with surprise—and relief. With a pang, I realized she thought I’d come to offer an olive branch. To apologize for causing so much tumult.
Oh, how wrong she was.
“Liv!” she said. “What are you doing here?” Her gaze slid sideways, to Theo, and her lips pursed in distaste. “With him?”
Oh, for the love. “Theo and I are together now. You know that. Now, can you please let us in? I have something important to discuss, and trust me, you want me far away from the neighbors when I do.”
For a moment, I thought she was going to refuse.
But then she heaved a sigh and stood aside, letting us pass.
I strode through the foyer, down the hallway, and toward my father’s study, Theo at my side and my mother trailing behind us.
The door was closed, as usual. It was my dad’s sacrosanct retreat, his Richard Gilmore-level domain.
“What are you do—” my mother hissed as I turned the knob and pushed it open.
I inhaled, taking in the familiar scents of leather and cigar smoke. My father sat behind his desk, a tumbler of bourbon in one hand and a small, leather-bound book in the other. Charles Carter’s journal.
An expression that might’ve been guilt flashed in his eyes before he closed the book and put it down. “Olivia,” he said, lips tightening in disapproval. “And Mr. Dressler. To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”
It shouldn’t have hurt me. But after spending these past weeks with Theo, whose eyes lit up every time I came into a room, the disdain with which my dad greeted my appearance tightened around my chest like a band, squeezing out all the air.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening,” I said, striving to make my voice as emotionless as his. “I just figured we should talk about this.”
Pulling the printout of the genealogist’s email out of my purse, I dropped it atop Charles’s journal and braced for detonation.