Chapter Twelve
LAYLA
Thirty minutes later, I knock on Owen’s bedroom door, excitement thrumming as I anticipate singing along to a Muppet Christmas Carol with my friend and his family. People who actually want to sing and not my students.
Owen opens the door wearing a Harvard t-shirt and pajama pants with dancing candy canes. Candy canes! Dancing! They have eyes, a huge smile, legs, and two hands that hold a wooden cane. How did I not know such a thing existed? I’m finding them online tonight and buying them ASAP. Which means they’ll sit in a digital shopping cart until I get paid next month. It will be worth the wait.
It’s impossible not to compare Owen and Spencer, though I wish my brain would stop it. Spencer wouldn’t get caught dead wearing something so ridiculous. Owen is adorable in his dorkiness. With the way my heart knocks around in my chest, I should turn around and go back to my room, but I’m incapable of moving. The view is too charming.
“Welcome,” Owen says.
He opens the door wider, and two things hit me at once. Marianne and Brady are wearing the same dancing candy cane pajama bottoms. This family’s adorableness is almost more than I can stand.
The second is the room is purple. Very purple. Everything has been purpled. From the walls, rug, bedspread, and pillow covers, to the dresser and upholstered couch. Even the lampshades on the bedside tables are purple.
“What?” is all I’m able to get out.
Owen understands what I’m not able to vocalize. He ducks his head and runs a hand through his thick hair.
“Yeah, I got to decorate the room my first summer here, and I went a little overboard. I blame it on my mom. She loves everything in white and grays. Color was a new experience for me.”
I meet Brady’s gaze, and we both laugh.
“I wanted to paint one wall in my bedroom blue,” Brady says. “She about died.”
Marianne shakes her head. “I’m not that bad.”
“Yes, you are,” Brady and Owen say at the same time, as if they scripted it.
“It was midnight blue! Who wants dark colors on their walls?” She gets no sympathy from her sons, and I’m trying not to laugh. She waves me over to the couch. “Don’t listen to them. They have no sense of interior design.” She points to the walls as proof.
There’s room enough for one more person on the couch next to me, and I hate myself for hoping Owen takes the spot.
I’m dating someone else, brain, so shut up! Owen is my FRIEND.
“It wasn’t so bad last time I was here,” Owen says, waving around the room. “Just the walls, floor, couch, and dresser were purple.”
“Right. Not so bad,” Brady deadpans.
Owen shakes his head. “Miles brought in everything else as a joke.”
Brady shakes his head. “He brought it in because he knows about your secret purple obsession and wanted you to feel at home.”
Owen looks at me for support.
I shrug. “I have to agree with Brady on this one. Would you even know where you are if everything wasn’t purple?”
He seems to accept that he’s lost this argument and picks up the TV remote. A smile teases his lips. “Let’s watch this movie.”
“Yeah,” Brady says. He points to Owen. “It’s late, and we don’t want the old man to fall asleep before the end.”
Owen puts his arms around Brady’s neck and pulls Brady’s head into his shoulder. Brady is a few inches taller and is forced to lean down at an odd angle.
“Let’s see who falls asleep first,” Owen says.
Then they say together, “Mom.”
“Hey!” Marianne says. “I’ll stay awake. It’s not even nine o’clock.”
They snicker before plopping on the end of the bed. The camaraderie between the Clarks opens up the yearning in my soul for family. This kind of family, not the workaholics down in the office below.
Brain, I’m serious. One more thought like this and I’m making you go to bed immediately.
Family is family, and I’m about to be officially engaged to Spencer. No use thinking about what-might-have-been.
“What’s in the bag?” Brady asks.
I don’t realize he’s talking to me until all three of them wait for my answer. I forgot I was carrying it. “Oh. I’m knitting hot pads that I’ll felt and sell in my online shop.”
Brady’s stare is blank. “Okay. Why?”
“Ignore him. Tell me about your store.” Marianne pats my arm and leans closer. “I’m a quilter, and I’ve thought about selling things online, but it feels overwhelming.”
I tell her a little about the platform while Owen cues up the movie. Unfortunately, he sits on the bed with Brady. I hope I hide my disappointment.
If I thought they were a fun bunch before, they get even more wild once the movie starts. Maybe it’s caused by the Sees chocolate box being passed around, but the two brothers are hyper.
They try to out-sing each other, but neither of them are in the correct key and they don’t care. I’m laughing too hard to do much singing myself. During Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim’s duet, they each take a part. When they’re not trying to out yell each other, they aren’t terrible, but it would help if they started on the right pitch.
Owen points to his mom. “Let it be noted that she is asleep, just as we predicted.”
Marianne is slumped against the couch arm, her head at an uncomfortable angle that will definitely leave a crick. Owen brings a pillow that he places under her neck. My heart melts at his thoughtfulness.
“She lasted longer than I expected,” Owen says.
“Should we wake her up so she can go to her own bed?” I ask.
“No. She’ll wake up during the credits and swear she never fell asleep.”
“She was just resting her eyes,” Brady explains.
Forty minutes later, when the credits roll, their predictions are once again correct.
“I was awake the whole time,” Marianne insists as she stretches her arms above her head. “My eyes were a little tired. I need to put some eyedrops in. That’s all.”
I can’t stop laughing as they tease each other. It’s hard for me to leave because I want to bask in the family togetherness for hours longer, but I should get to bed. As I stand, I realize I didn’t open my knitting bag. It’s been years since I’ve been so engrossed in the company I’m with that I haven’t worked on a knitting project while watching a movie.
Owen follows me into the hallway. “Let me walk you home.”
I stifle my laugh so I don’t wake anyone. “It’s ten steps away,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “You never know what might happen. It’s dangerous out there.”
We walk the ten steps, then stop in front of my door. I fixate on his chest. It’s such a nice chest, especially in this snug t-shirt and not the loose button-up from earlier today. It’s also better than looking into his cocoa-colored eyes.
“Still interested in a run tomorrow?” he asks softly. “I thought we could go to Long Sands Beach. ”
With the way I wish I could kiss Owen right now, I need to stay away from him. But sunrise on the beach. Running. The sound of the surf. I promised myself that I would have the best holiday break. Going on a run with Owen would definitely help me reach that goal.
Besides, after this week, I won’t see him often, if at all, and I want to soak up as much of his friendship as I can.
“What time?” I ask.
“Six-thirty? It’s about a fifteen-minute drive.”
“Okay. Good night, Owen.”
“Good night, Layla.”
Neither of us move. I chance a glance up, and find his focus on my lips. He seems closer than he was before. Is he leaning forward? I want to do the same and burrow into his warmth.
It takes more strength than it should to open my door and walk through.
“Layla, can I get your phone number?” he whispers. “For logistical purposes. It’s easier than pounding morse code on our shared wall.”
“Sure.” I recite my number, and he types it into his phone.
Only then do I force myself to shut the door on that beautiful chest. I go through my bedtime routine in a daze. My brain won’t stop comparing Owen and Spencer; the one I want to date and the one I need to marry. Why can’t it be the same person?
I ignore the flutter of guilt I feel about what I wanted to happen outside my door. Nothing did happen. Nothing will happen.
It makes me wonder if I should invite Spencer on our run tomorrow morning. I don’t bother. He’ll say no. At least I hope so, which is why I don’t ask.
For the second night in a row, I can’t sleep. It’s Owen’s fault. He’s planting doubts in my resolve to marry Spencer.
I know from past experience that when my brain is buzzing, lying in bed doesn’t help my thoughts slow. A change of scenery for a half hour does. A trip outside to the deck to enjoy the sound of ocean waves might do the trick. This time, I dress appropriately for the weather before venturing downstairs. I go through the breakfast room doors and make sure they’re unlocked before I shut myself outside. See, I’m teachable.
I walk to the railing. The light from the moon offers a view of the ocean. It’s quiet but for the sound of rolling waves. I snuggle deeper into my new wool coat and tug my knitted hat further down so it covers my ears.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?”
I jump at the voice behind me. My heart beats erratically in my chest as I turn and see Rheta on one of the patio chairs, her feet propped up on a second one.
“Sorry to startle you,” she says, but there is a laugh hidden in her voice. “It’s a beautiful night.”
Concern for her health is my first thought. “Should you be out here when you’re still recovering from the flu?”
“The cold air is good for me,” she says. “My husband hated the cold, but I thrive in weather like this. I come out here most nights. It helps me sleep. Would you like to sit with me for a few minutes before I turn in? ”
I’m afraid I might get an inquisition about my relationship with Spencer, but feel like I can’t turn her down without appearing rude. I sit on the edge of the deck chair beside her.
I wait for the questioning to start, but it doesn’t happen. We listen to the waves. A plane flies overhead. The cold nips at my nose and cheeks. We might stay out here silently for hours, if only because neither of us will find the words to say goodnight. My body relaxes in the silence.
“I love York,” Rheta says eventually. “Charles and I were married in Augusta, about ninety minutes from here. My parents gave us a house down the coast a few miles as a wedding gift, and I naively believed we’d live there permanently. Charles thought of York as a vacation town and never cared for the house, so he built this.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s where I felt most at home during our marriage. I hate New York and the noise and busyness of the city. Charles was kind enough to give me a few Christmases here when our children were young, and of course summers, but I always wanted to stay.”
With all the doubts Owen’s churned up inside of me, I have to know how she and her husband got along for sixty years. From what little Spencer told me the night he proposed, their relationship is a lot like ours: one based on circumstance, not love.
“Spencer told me you hardly knew your husband before you married. Was it an arranged marriage?”
“In a sense. We only met a few times before our vows, but I was smitten the moment I met Charles. If I hadn’t wanted to marry him, my father wouldn’t have forced me, though it was the match he wanted.”
“Were you happy?” Will I be happy married to Spencer ? It’s a question she can’t answer, but if anyone could give me a glimpse into my future, it would be Rheta.
She sighs. “Yes, and no. I had everything I could want in a material sense, but Charles was a force. I was young when we married, only twenty. My father was much the same, and I’d learned never to question either of them. I didn’t speak up for myself or my family like I should have. It made for a lonely life.”
It’s not much different from what I expected her to say, but not what I want to hear.
“I miss Charles, but now that he’s gone, I’m left with regrets over all the things I should have done differently. I tell myself the past is behind me and I can’t change what’s been. I’m trying to do better going forward. Not an easy feat for a woman my age.”
“It seems to me you’re succeeding. Everyone in York knows and loves you.”
A joyful smile spreads across her wrinkly cheeks. “It’s lovely to feel like I have a community. Dorian wants me to move to Utah so he can monitor me, but this is where I belong.”
“You have a wonderful family.” I feel I have to say so, but I don’t disagree with it. Just because half of them are workaholics doesn’t mean they aren’t wonderful.
She pats my hand. “Yes, I do. Though I worry they spend too much time at work, just like their father. The most important thing in life is family.”
“Agreed. ”
Its obvious family is Owen’s priority. He reminds me of Opa. Opa was one hundred percent involved with any zany idea Nana came up with, even the made-up German pickle tradition. His complaining about the pickle was half the fun every year. If he were alive, he would’ve been in Owen’s room singing his heart out to The Muppet Christmas Carol in his German accent I miss so much.
“That is why I’m glad Spencer has you,” Rheta continues. “You’re an excellent influence on him. I’m thrilled you’re here, and I hope you’ll stay much longer than one week as part of the family.”
Right.
Spencer.
NOT Owen.
I wish I could have both men smooshed into one. What a terrible thing to think, even just in my head. I fall against the chair back, accepting that I’m a horrible person and not sure what to do about it.
“Tell me about your family,” Rheta says. “Are they having a big Christmas celebration?”
Rheta has been honest and open with me. I want to give her the same in return.
“No. I only have my grandma still living. She has dementia and doesn’t remember me half the time. She doesn’t even know it’s Christmas.”
Being with Rheta makes me miss Nana even more than I already do.
Her expression sobers. “I’m sorry you’re going through that. Neither of your parents are still with you?”
“I never knew my dad. He left my mom when she was pregnant with me. When I was ten, my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. She hung on for a few years, but died when I was in middle school. Grandpa died six years ago. Heart attack. I’m the only one left.”
Those last few words hollow me out. I haven’t thought of my situation in that way before now: the only one left . What’s even more depressing is that once married to Spencer, I’ll still be the one that’s left. He’ll be off doing his work, and I’ll be at the house alone. Wealthy. Able to pay for Nana’s care. But still alone. How did Rheta say it? A lonely life.
“A heart attack is how my Charles left us,” Rheta said. “It’s difficult to lose those we love, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Rheta has a way of listening that loosens my tongue. She reminds me of Owen. The more I get to know her, the more I respect and admire her. This might be the only chance to warn her of Dorian’s plans.
“Your children aren’t happy with the changes you’ve made to your will. Ellory and Dorian want to take control of your estate.”
She brushes her hand in the air. “Oh, I know. They are talented lawyers, but I was married to an exceptional lawyer for sixty years. I’ve picked up a few things in my time, and my lawyer is just as smart as they are.” She leans her head back and looks at the moon. “I hope they don’t waste their time coming after me. I invited them here for Christmas so we could be a family. I realize it isn’t working out the way I hoped, but I don’t want to fight over money and land. Charles’ focus in life was accumulating as much as possible. Now he’s gone, and it does him no good.”
She sighs, long and deep. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, as if she’s inviting me into a secret. “This past month when I was sick with the flu, there were days I wanted to die because I felt so horrible. It put my life in perspective. I asked myself if I had missed out on living because I tried so hard to do what was expected of me. I didn’t like the answer I came to. I don’t want my children or grandchildren or even great-grandchildren to wonder the same thing the last hours of their lives. I hope to teach them to find joy in living in the now. Joy isn’t found in accumulating wealth. ”
A noble goal, but she is the one offering twenty million dollars to any grandchild who marries. I’m not sure her plan will have much of an influence on their views on money.
“They won’t get on board easily,” I say.
“No, you’re right, but I can hope this week will change their hearts. If not, they will be sorely disappointed when I die.” She puts her feet on the deck and stands. “Thank you for staying with me. Good night, Layla.”
“Good night, Rheta.”
She moves slowly to the end of the deck and to what I assume is the door to her bedroom. I stay a little longer before heading back inside. My conversation with Rheta has given me a few things to think about.
First, I won’t be a silent bystander in my marriage to Spencer. I will compromise, but he can’t expect me to follow silently while he decides what’s best for both of us and our children when they come along. I don’t want to regret my life.
Second, I will build a community wherever we end up. On those nights he stays at the office to work, I won’t stay home alone. I have friends and hobbies. I can lead a full life, with or without him.
Last, I love Rheta’s views on money. I don’t want to hoard it. Spencer said the night he proposed that what was his will be mine when we marry. I want to help people with what we have. I will be generous and bring Spencer along with me. I’ll teach him there’s more to life than accumulating wealth.
My marriage might not be the one I hoped for, but I can make it a good one.
Just before I turn out the light, I catch 11:11 on the digital clock on the bedside table. The wishing minute.
I wish to make a life filled with love and joy, like Rheta has, and I don’t want to wait until I’m eighty to do it.
When I finally fall asleep, it’s with a smile on my face.