Chapter 38 Hattie
HATTIE
This week has chewed me up and spit me out. Heston and I haven’t had another sleepover since last weekend, when Lucky went missing. Life intruded, as it always does. I’ve come to expect nothing less.
The clinic has been slammed, the ranch has been limping through the tail end of winter chores, and every night I’ve fallen into bed smelling the stubborn, lingering scents of rubber gloves and cheap coffee instead of Heston’s sheets.
His parents needed help on their homestead after his dad tweaked a muscle in his back on Wednesday, so he’s been at their place in New Mexico for the last three days.
Before that, I’d picked up extra hours when one of our techs was out on unexpected leave. All we’ve had is a series of sleepy late-night phone calls and half-finished text threads. Just enough to miss him, but not nearly enough to feel like we’ve finally found our way back to each other completely.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, he and my dad apparently turned into co-conspirators.
Dad texted me a clipped, “Marcus is handled. Don’t worry about him anymore,” message, and Heston mentioned in that casual way of his that “a guy” had made a visit to Marcus’s office.
I didn’t push for details from either of them.
If the threat against my dad and our family’s ranch is truly boxed in now, once and for all, I don’t want to jinx it.
I couldn’t care less anymore about my ex-fiancé’s ridiculous schemes, anyway. He heard me give him a piece of my mind, and now that Heston and I have started to work things out, I don’t want to waste a second of my time worrying about Marcus.
With Heston and my dad not being at each other’s throats anymore, I feel weightless for the first time in forever.
It’s as if a raging wildfire, determined to burn down every ounce of my joy, has finally been put out, and not a single thing in this world could ever bring me down enough to let it reignite.
Despite enjoying seven blissful days without that old, nagging burn, one tiny sting reared its head this morning when I glanced at the calendar.
It’s not that I hate birthdays. My family has always been the type to go all out for them. I just hate mine specifically. If the people in my life would let me, I’d breeze right past this day and the one right after it, pretending they were just like any other.
I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the wall in my bedroom. My phone rests in my lap while the reality of being sent home from work before noon to take the rest of the day off and celebrate sets in.
Both Heston and my dad know better than to make a big deal of it.
Neither of them has even mentioned it to me this week, or even this morning.
I suspect Heston might have let it slip to the girls, though.
They showed up last night in pajamas with stacks of fuzzy blankets and enough junk food to fill three vending machines.
It was a much-needed movie night after working my butt off this week, and I appreciated that they didn’t admit out loud they were doing it because they found out I was turning twenty-seven today.
The reminder makes my eyes burn.
I’ll never forget joking with Jay about how we’d never get our own parties because my birthday fell only one day before his.
We pretended to feel cheated by it, but secretly, we thought it was pretty damn cool to have our special days back-to-back.
Now that he’s gone, all I can think about is how I get older and older as the years go by, while he remains forever eighteen.
He was so excited about that last birthday he had, too.
I called him that day and asked him which gas station I should take him to so that he could buy a lottery ticket and some Camel Crushes.
He was much too smart and soft-hearted to suddenly take up smoking.
He thought it was pretty rad that he could legally buy a pack, though.
We laughed about it for at least an hour.
It doesn’t seem fair to enjoy these two days. No matter how long he’s been gone, I just . . . can’t.
My phone rings, and I glance down at the screen.
Aunt Jana again. I’d already left her text this morning unanswered, so I fully expected her to give me a call at some point before the day was over.
She means well, and I wish we were close enough for me to tell her the truth about not wanting a birthday party.
I do what I can to fix my voice into sounding less solemn. “Hey, Aunt Jana.”
“Happy Birthday!”
“Thank you,” I say, giving in with a small smile.
“Can I talk you into some cake and a few presents this afternoon?” she asks brightly. “I promise, it’s nothing over the top. Just a little something we threw together, so you know how much we love you.”
We? I highly doubt she’d talk my dad into such a thing.
He learned a long time ago not to push the birthday party agenda on me.
He holds back as much as he can and usually delivers a massive bouquet of flowers with a new pair of custom boots a week later, along with a note that says some version of, “Sorry for being late again. One of these days, I’ll remember to send presents on time.
Love you.” It never fails to make me laugh, and I couldn’t possibly love him any more for playing it off like he got his dates mixed up.
I’m much more likely to accept gifts when I’ve had a week to not feel sad about it.
“Who’s we?”
“The family,” she answers vaguely. “Just swing by around three, okay? I already told the guests that no singing is allowed, and we’ll keep it super low-key. Promise.”
I purse my lips. “Is my dad coming?”
“Oh, he’ll be there, I’m sure.” She laughs.
“I didn’t plan on telling him until the last minute, so he couldn’t talk me out of doing it.
” I let out a sigh, and she lets the silence stretch for a minute before continuing in a softer voice.
“If it’s a horrible idea, and you want to stay home, you can tell me.
I understand. I just wanted you to feel some extra love, that’s all. You’re worth celebrating.”
“I guess I can stop by for a little while,” I concede.
Aunt Jana squeals on the other end of the phone. “Fantastic! Hey, I know how many killer dresses you have hiding in the back of that closet of yours. Throw one on, and let yourself have a little fun for a change, huh?”
I roll my eyes, but still smile at how sweet and convincing she can be. “I’ll see what I can do.”
By three-thirty, I’m blowing out a breath and reluctantly pulling into Aunt Jana’s event venue down the road from Dad’s ranch.
The white gravel drive is lined with lanterns and flowers, which is the opposite of the “low-key” vibes I was promised.
The number of trucks and cars parked outside is minimal, though, so I let the over-the-top decor slide.
My hands smooth over the ends of my hair. Maybe she was right when she told me to get dressed up and have some fun for a change. My job might be messy, but I haven’t forgotten the power of a blowout or a cute outfit. It feels good not to walk around with a messy bun and dirty jeans on.
I bunch the side of my floral skirt in my fist as my boots click up the concrete steps.
The denim vest I chose to pair it with is adorable, but it’s probably better-suited for a summer night on the town, if I’m honest. Heston had texted me on my way here and said that he was finally on the road back to Westridge, though.
If I’m finally going to see him again tonight after pretending to enjoy my impromptu birthday party, I want to look hot while doing it.
When I step inside, it smells like pineapple upside-down cake and barbecue.
Voices float around the space, and my stomach sinks a little at the sound.
I haven’t agreed to a party on this god-forsaken day in years, and I’m still not sure I’ve fully warmed up to the idea.
Before going in search of a stiff drink, I send a quick message to Dad and ask him how long it’ll take him to come bail me out of here.
He reacts to my text with a laughing emoji, and it’s enough to make me smile for the time being.
The text he sends right after says he’s almost here.
I tuck the phone into my purse just as a girl I recognize as having worked receptions for Aunt Jana in the past approaches me. “Can I place your things in the coat room?”
Wanting to let her do her job, I gladly hand over my bag and watch her turn away with a smile to put it safely with the other guests’ belongings. I hate having to awkwardly carry my stuff around when I’m going through a food line or sipping on a cocktail, anyway.
Jana meets me in the entryway with a head full of bouncy curls and a wide smile framed by shimmery, nude lip gloss. “There she is,” she says, squeezing my shoulders. “The birthday girl! I hope it’s not too much.”
I eye the floral centerpieces on the tables, the strings of lights overhead, and the buffet of food off to the side of the room. “It’s okay,” I lie. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
She leans close to my ear in an excited whisper. “He is going to kill me for spoiling the surprise, but I’m glad I told you that it was an actual party. You look freaking stunning.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, pulling back enough to give her a confused look.
“Marcus,” she whispers. “This was all his idea, can you believe it? I wasn’t sure we’d pull it off, but that man is a charming genius.”
Sure. When there’s an audience.
Her smile fades as she clocks how shocked I am.
It dawns on me that I haven’t even spoken to her more than a few times since the engagement, and even then, we mostly shared small talk.
She has no idea that I pulled the plug with Marcus or the shit show we’ve been dealing with because of him.
I take a step back and look around nervously.
“Miss Hattie?” A lady wearing a sleek, black suit, whom I don’t recognize, places a hand on my elbow. “This way, please.”
I glance back at Jana, expecting her to explain further. She beams and nudges me toward the woman with an encouraging nod.
“You’re going to die when you see what he did,” she says.
The walk past the tables is disorienting.
The small crowd of people smiles at me like we’re in on something together.
I don’t recognize a handful of them. The lady gently leads me along, her hand still on my arm, and I blink rapidly as my line of sight passes over a small table with what looks like a guest book and a fancy pen.
In a panic, I spin my head toward Aunt Jana. Her lips part as she squints at my expression. I shake my head, and the last thing I see before being pulled into a room is her bringing her phone to her ear.
The woman at my elbow steps behind me as I enter the room that is normally used as the bridal suite. Multiple full-length mirrors line the wall, and the vanity lighting is intensely bright. The door clicks closed.
Marcus stands in a pressed white shirt and dark slacks next to a small, round table that comes up to his waist. My eyes land on the ivory paper in his hands.
The fact that he’s here, on my birthday of all days, and thought it was a good idea to put this party together behind my back, is further evidence that we’re the worst match imaginable.
He doesn’t know a thing about the real me or what I struggle with.
I can’t believe I ever entertained the idea of being in a relationship with someone like him.
“Before you start,” he says, “you might want to hear me out.”
“I’d rather not.” I reach into my pocket for my phone, only to realize that I don’t have one because I’m wearing a skirt instead of my typical jeans.
Delightful. “There’s nothing you can say to me that will change my mind.
I really wish you’d get the hint, pack up your bags, and go cause trouble somewhere else.
Better yet, I think you need some professional help, Marcus.
The fact that you’re still trying to make this stupid plan work is certifiably insane. ”
“Do you really have to be so difficult all the time?” He sighs. “My god.”
“Difficult?” The word scrapes out of me.
“You got punched in the face for pushing your boundaries with me, and you’ve been told multiple times to cut the crap.
Now, you’ve used my aunt to lure me here for a party I don’t want, and then had a stranger drag me to a room in the back.
Please explain how I’m the difficult one here. ”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Always straight to the drama. This was supposed to be a romantic gesture. There are many benefits for you in this arrangement if you’d just take the blinders off and see reason.”
“Do you even hear yourself? A man who is incapable of listening to me and also thinks a forced marriage is his ticket to financial freedom is quite literally the least romantic thing I have ever heard.”
He holds up the paper in his hands, and the shiny, embossed ivory catches in the mirror lights. “Stop arguing. We are not leaving this room before you sign this.”
“Or what?” I cross my arms and let out a little huff.
“Continue fighting this and embarrassing me, and you’ll find out.”
I roll my eyes and spin to open the door. He catches my elbow just in time, and it makes my pulse pound in my ears. He’s too quick and determined for me to pull away from him as he pushes me down into a chair. I land in the seat with an annoyed grunt and slanted eyes.
Today is already one of my least favorite days of the entire year, and on top of that, I’m losing my patience by the second, letting life throw me around every chance it gets.
“Stop pushing me,” I seethe. “Anyone desperate enough to pull this kind of crap needs a psych evaluation. I suggest you get one, and let me out of this room before I decide to embarrass you even more. There are plenty of people out in that reception area, and I can guarantee more than one of them would be holding up their phones and pressing record if I burst through the door and make a scene.”
“You’re not going to risk it.” He pulls the cap off a silver pen and scribbles something on a dotted line at the bottom of the paper before shoving it into my hands. “Sign or I’ll take everything.”
My fingers curl around the pen. “You’re sloppy. Everyone knows what you’re up to, and it’s too late for you to take anything. You can’t.”
“You’re ruining everything!” He pulls at the hair on the sides of his head and groans so aggressively that my skin prickles. “Don’t underestimate me. One way or another, I’m not getting out of this with nothing. I’ll burn your ranch to the ground and the rest of your life with it, if I have to.”