Chapter 52 Eight Years in One Day #3
We wander through three more rooms, and I invent increasingly ridiculous interpretations for every piece. By the time we reach the exit, I’m convinced we’ve solved the mysteries of at least twelve masterpieces.
“Admit it,” Kade says as we step back into afternoon sunlight. “You had more fun making fun of art than you did pretending to understand it.”
“Maybe. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Along with all the others.”
“Along with all the others.”
YEAR THREE
“I can’t believe you called her,” I say, standing outside the small café in Tribeca, where my mother waits at a corner table.
“It was 2020 when things really went to shit with your mother,” he says, like he’s talking about the weather. “You had to move back home when the boutique closed during COVID.”
“I was going to quit anyway. I found out the owners were selling counterfeit designer pieces to unsuspecting customers. I have standards.”
He nods. “I know it was a hard time, but it was a period of growth for you. It’s when you decided to get your MBA and apply for the job at Monarch.
You turned losing that boutique job into the best thing that ever happened to your career.
Your mother never saw that—she just saw you as another failure to manage. Today that changes.”
Through the window, I can see Mom checking her watch, her posture perfect as always.
“She’s going to hate this. Hate that you ambushed her.”
“She came, didn’t she?”
He’s right. She could have said no when a stranger called claiming to be my husband and asking for one afternoon to help heal an eight-year rift. But she’s here.
“What if this makes things worse?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried.” He takes a breath.
“My parents and I weren’t speaking when they passed away.
Said they couldn’t support the idea that their son was a killer, and then they both died before we could reconcile.
” His jaw tightens. “Don’t be like me, Amanda.
Don’t let time steal the chance to fix things. ”
The raw pain in his voice has me looking up at him. “I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know—yet. But I want to fix that.” He opens the door. “Come on. Let’s not keep her waiting.”
“Amanda.” She stands when she sees me, her smile practiced. “You look… well.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“And you must be Kade.” She extends a manicured hand. “I have to say, your phone call was quite unexpected.”
“Mrs. Bennett. Thank you for coming.”
We sit and order coffee while tension settles over our table. I can feel my mother cataloging everything about Kade—his clothes, his posture, the way he pulls out my chair.
“So,” Mom says after our drinks arrive. “You mentioned you two were… reconciling? After all this time.”
“That’s right,” Kade says before I can spiral into defensive mode. “I made some mistakes. Big ones. I hurt Amanda when I should have protected her.”
“I see.” Mom’s tone could freeze champagne. “And what is it you do, Kade? When you’re not disappearing for eight years?”
“Security consulting.”
“How vague.”
“Mom,” I warn.
“What? I’m simply trying to understand how my daughter’s husband plans to support her. Eventually, you’ll need to move on from that dead-end job at Monarch.”
Heat floods my cheeks. Here we go. The digs about my choices, my job, my life that never measures up to her standards.
But Kade leans forward slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is calm steel.
“Amanda doesn’t need me to support her. She’s the most successful personal shopper in Manhattan. She’s built something remarkable from nothing but talent and determination.” He pauses. “I’m sure you’re proud of what she’s accomplished.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A challenge wrapped in politeness.
Mom blinks, clearly not expecting to be called out so smoothly.
“Of course I’m proud,” she says, but there’s something different in her voice now. Less automatic, more considered. “Amanda has always been… resourceful.”
“She’s brilliant,” Kade corrects gently. “And kind. And brave enough to chase her dreams even when people told her they weren’t practical.”
I stare at him, warmth spreading through my chest. No one has ever defended me to my mother before. No one has ever made her see me the way he does.
“You really think highly of her,” Mom says, and for the first time in years, she sounds genuinely curious instead of skeptical.
“I think she hung the moon.”
I feel my hand instinctively reach up to touch the small crescent moon earrings I’m wearing, the silver cool against my fingertips.
The conversation shifts after that. Not a complete transformation—Mom is still Mom, still measuring everything using her particular ruler.
But something softens around the edges. She asks about my clients, actually listens when I talk about Monarch.
She even laughs when I tell her about the time a celebrity client insisted I find her a dress that matched her dog.
“You always were creative,” she admits. “Even as a little girl. Remember those fashion shows you used to put on with Rebecca’s dolls?”
“You said they were impractical.”
“I said a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have.” She glances at Kade, then back to me. “Maybe I was wrong about some of them.”
It’s not a complete reconciliation. We’re still two very different people who see the world through different lenses. But when we hug goodbye, it feels less like obligation and more like possibility.
“Thank you,” I tell Kade as we watch her taxi disappear into traffic.
“For what?”
“For seeing me the way you do. For trying to make her see it, too.” I pause. “And for trusting me with your story. About your parents.”
“That’s what marriage is supposed to be, right? Trusting each other with the hard stuff.”
“Yeah. It is.”
He takes my hand, threading our fingers together.
YEAR TWO
Central Park buzzes with people spread across blankets for the outdoor concert. The symphony sets up on the Great Lawn while vendors sell overpriced water and hot dogs.
“I came here with Izzy,” I tell him as we find a spot on the grass. “She brought a picnic basket full of her mom’s leftovers.”
“And you brought wine hidden in water bottles.”
“We weren’t breaking any rules. We were creatively interpreting them.”
The music starts just as the sun begins to set. Beethoven’s Ninth fills the air as the sky turns pink and gold above the trees. I close my eyes and let the music wash over me.
“This was the night you decided to take piano lessons,” Kade says softly.
“I quit after two weeks.”
“I know. Your teacher said you had potential but no patience.”
Beethoven swells around us, and the sky deepens to purple above the trees. Kade shifts closer on the blanket until his shoulder brushes mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“Remembering the things I forgot about myself.”
He turns to face me, and suddenly we’re closer than we’ve been all day.
“I remember everything about you,” he says softly.