Chapter 47 Language, Young Man
LANGUAGE, YOUNG MAN
BANKS
When the final shot is in the can that afternoon, the whole cast and crew whoops. Haven hugs Sam, Chris hugs Vega, Wanda hugs Tabitha, and on and on and on. I can’t hug Ripley because she’s off in the fields, busy tending to her lavender and her dog.
I watch Ripley as the cast and crew make plans for an impromptu party at Prohibition Spirit. Vega says she needs to stay at the farm and finish up some work, but she hands Sam her credit card, telling him that drinks are on her.
Haven appears beside me, asking in a low but hopeful voice, “You’re off tonight. Want to come?” She nods toward the faraway fields, where her sister works with Cyrus by her side. “We could…plot.”
Haven wiggles her brows, and I consider the offer as I stare at Ripley. I can’t stop wondering. Can’t stop asking what-ifs.
But it’s over with Ripley, and I don’t know what there is to plot with Haven, so I smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m having dinner with my family.”
“Have fun.”
She returns to the group, chatting with Chris, his hand on her arm, the two of them laughing. It seems so platonic to me, but I’m on the inside. From the outside, it could look like something else, and that’s why I’ve had a job for the last few weeks.
But the job ends when the cast and crew leave tomorrow. So the rumors about Haven and Chris aren’t really my problem for much longer.
I leave and hit the gym at The BookHouse. Afterward, I shower and head to meet my mom and sister at the tapas bar in town.
I’m more relieved to see them than I ever thought I’d be.
“Hey,” I say, and I can hear the gratitude in my voice as Mom pops up from the table and gives me a hug. Can she hear it too? I wrap my arms around her for longer than usual.
Emily gives me a curious look as she comes in for a hug as well. I take it, finding comfort in family.
When we let go, I pull out their chairs and sit once they’re settled.
“Okay, you’re a nice man and all,” Mom says, cutting to the chase, “but you’re not Mister Affectionate. What’s going on?”
I sigh, but I don’t want to burden her with my situation. “Just glad the job is finally over. It was…a complicated one.”
Emily eyes me suspiciously over the menu. “Lies. Tell me sweet little lies.”
“I assure you, the job was very, very complicated.”
She scoffs. “Complicated by you falling in love with your client.”
Mom slaps down the menu. “What happened? Who is she? Can I meet her?”
“I wish,” I mutter. “Let’s order.”
“We’ll order, then you’ll talk,” she says in the most mom-tone ever.
The server swings by, and once we’re alone again, Mom puts on her very concerned about my son face. “So, I ask again, what happened?”
Emily bats her lashes. “Yes, I really want to know too.”
I roll my eyes. “You always want to know.”
“I do, and it sounds like you finally have good tea. So spill it.”
I could act put upon, like I sometimes do with Emily for fun. But I’m frayed too thin, stretched to the bone. I have no fight left in me. “Emily’s right. I fell in love with a client, and it was distracting. I couldn’t focus on the job. I wound up on social media, of all fucking things.”
“Language,” Mom says.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Emily fills her in on the details. “There was a picture of him and Haven Addison’s sister going out the other night and looking madly in love.” Grabbing her phone, she shows Mom the image.
“Oh, I loved Haven in The Dating Games.” Mom studies the photo and adds, “Her sister’s quite pretty too.”
For the first time, I look at the picture and see something besides my damaged reputation and a lost client. I see the last few wonderful, amazing weeks. Warmth fills my cells. A dangerous smile tugs at my lips as images of Ripley flash before my eyes and words fight their way out.
“She’s beautiful and smart and fiery and caring and thoughtful,” I begin, and once I start, I can’t stop.
The valve has loosened. “She’s bold and kind, and she keeps me on my toes.
She loves to knock me down a peg or two or three, and she also tries to protect me.
When I first started the job, she tried to give me the slip. ”
Mom’s enrapt at this info. Emily too. I take them back to the first day on the job and how valiantly my woman tried to ditch me.
Soon, they’re laughing and asking for more. I tell them about the bike, and about Ripley’s friends showing up outside the salon and goading us.
I tell them about how we had to share the cottage.
I don’t tell them how we spent our nights, or how utterly, absolutely in sync we are after dark. That’s for Ripley and me.
Instead, I tell them her favorite lavender is Melissa. That I set bouquets of it in the cottage for her.
“I walked her dog and made her origami, and she showed me around Darling Springs, and I felt like…” I pause, giving some real thought to how I felt with the woman I fell for. The answer’s clear and beautiful. Like freedom and desire all at once. “Like I wasn’t chased by the past.”
Mom sighs happily.
Emily even drops her usual sarcasm. “That sounds really nice.” But then she clears her throat. “So why aren’t we meeting her tonight then?”
I groan, and it’s full of self-loathing. “Because I ruined it all.”
I tell them that part too, finishing the tale right as the food arrives.
“This looks delicious,” Mom says of the risotto, but she doesn’t pick up her fork to take a bite. Instead, she turns her gaze back to me, her eyes thoughtful. “It sounds like you are stuck in the past, though, Banks.”
I flinch. “Why do you say that?”
“So you fell for a client. I get that you want to be professional, but you’re not the first person to fall for a client or an employee, and you won’t be the last. But you’re beating yourself up because you still think it’s somehow your fault that your father lied about his second family. But it’s not.”
Way to be direct.
Ripley said the same thing the other week. Did I believe her? I tried, but maybe I didn’t fully accept it.
Emily’s gaze softens too. “It’s definitely not your fault, Banks. It’s Dad’s.”
“But…” I begin, but the objection dies. What am I even protesting? I’m not entirely sure.
Mom deals me a tough-love stare. “You think you don’t deserve nice things because you’ve held on to this belief that you have to protect me, and Emily, and any woman in your path at all costs since you think you could have protected me from him,” she says with a strength of character that comes from her own resilience, from the way she picked up the pieces and moved on.
“But you couldn’t. He did what he did, and he was the only one to blame. ”
Like Ripley said.
And dammit, it’s high time I believe it. Maybe belief is a choice. A line in the sand. A before and after.
Right now, I can choose to believe that I wasn’t responsible.
And I will.
I feel decades lighter. Something I held on to for years is loosening its grip on me. But what about my mistakes over the last few weeks? “I am to blame for my own actions though.”
Mom shrugs like that’s not a big deal. “Fine. Maybe you should have stepped away from the job sooner. But you didn’t.
Is it such a crime? And did you actually fail to protect Ripley when you worked with her?
As far as I can tell, not a hair on her or her sister’s head was harmed.
” She holds up her forefinger. “You lost one potential client, and that’s too bad.
But maybe the bigger question is this—is she worth it? ”
“Worth losing a client over?”
“Yes,” Emily says, seeming exasperated.
It takes nothing to answer from my whole heart. “Yes. She is.”
Mom smiles. “Then let go of the past and move into your future. You’re worth it, and it sure as hell sounds like she is.”
Emily’s eyes pop. “Mom! Language!”
Mom points her fork at me. “Well, someone was being stubborn, so I had no choice. Now stop being a perfectionist and start moving past your mistakes.”
“And start tonight,” Emily adds.
“I will.” As we formulate a plan, I dig into my pasta, and it’s the best meal I’ve had in ages.