Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
B eatrix
“Knock, knock.” The sing-song voice could only belong to one person.
“PJ, since when do you ever knock?” My sister has always been a little pushy, probably a necessary survival skill as the youngest of five kids. And given that my office door is open, her formality is silly.
Julie appears next to her, holding an armful of flowers. “Since she highjacked your afternoon meeting with the landscape architect to talk about wedding flowers.”
I start to panic. “What do you mean? What happened to Perry? We had an appointment.” Protectively, I pull my desk planner closer.
“Relax. I moved the meeting to Thursday, so you can go home early today,” Julie says. “You need to get off your feet so they don’t swell. I know you want to fit into those cute booties tomorrow when you meet the couples who are considering the inn for their weddings next year.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s so smart,” I say, turning away because I feel tears spring from my eyes, and I will not weep in front of PJ. Julie’s seen my waterworks daily this week—at nearly four months pregnant, my hormones run my life and my bump is starting to show—but my sister still thinks I’m a little bit sane, and I don’t want to spoil the image.
PJ doesn’t seem to notice, too busy inspecting the flowers in Julie’s arms. Different sizes, colors, shapes, and holy hell, the smells. I almost gag at the overly floral medley. “I need help. Do any of these go together?” With her wide eyes, PJ looks like a little lost deer.
Julie lays the blooms on the wooden table and starts separating them by color. “For your bouquet?” I ask.
“Yes. And the décor around the altar. I really like the pinks and oranges.”
I’m about to tell her I don’t like the pinks and oranges, but Julie elbows me, anticipating my lack of filter. “Sure. We can put something together with these. Do you like the pale green leaves mixed in?” I pull a few more blooms and leaves to show her a sample arrangement. “This could be really pretty with deep gray linens and even some tiny lights on the altar.”
She nods and drops to the couch with the flowers in her lap, making me realize they’re not the primary reason for her visit. “Peej, what’s up?”
“I just wondered… How’d lunch go with Ren’s mom?”
“Good.” Maybe I answer too quickly because she raises an eyebrow.
“Are we lying?” She blinks at me in the patient way she did when we were kids and she wanted me to choose a board game for us to play.
“No.”
Julie huffs a laugh, and I glare at her. She rolls her eyes. “I’m just loving that you think you can fool the people who know you best.”
“Okay, you two. Stop ganging up on me. The lunch was fine. She’s a piece of work, but I already knew that. It was…fine.”
“I’ll be out here with the flowers when you’re ready to tell me I’m right, and details are welcome,” Julie sings, walking out the door and closing it behind her.
I look at my sister, grimly gripping her flowers. “What are you worried about?”
She shrugs. “Meeting the mom is always kind of a thing. I wanted to check on you.”
Her concern makes those tears threaten again. I’ve stopped feeling resentful when my emotions take over because I’m learning that pregnancy—and parenthood, I expect—is about relinquishing some control. Even though it doesn’t come easily, I know I can’t fight it. “I’m okay, thanks. I’m just in my head a lot, thinking about Ren, where life with him is leading.”
PJ plays with one of the leafy branches, arranging the leaves in her lap. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m more curious than defensive.
“This is Ren. I just remember how much he hurt you back then,” she says.
I start to tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but I can’t.
“You remember that?” I meet PJ’s patient gaze with one that hopefully hides my concerns.
“Yeah.”
PJ and I are four years apart, which would have made her sixteen when Ren and I broke up. When I was sixteen, I was at the height of self-centered high school angst. And maybe I stayed that way into college because I barely remember what PJ was doing back then. For me, it was all about moving forward, dating my hunky hockey player boyfriend. And once he dumped me, it was all about the future.
“How?”
She explains. “The younger ones always know what the older ones are doing. I idolized you, Trix. Don’t you remember how I used to dress just like you? You couldn’t stand it.”
As soon as she says it, the memories flood back. I came home for one winter break wearing one of Ren’s hockey jerseys over skinny jeans and navy blue Chucks. The next time I came back to Buttercup Hill, PJ had practically transformed her wardrobe into hockey jerseys she bought at a thrift shop, and she made a point of showing me her blue Chucks. Back then, I did not see imitation as flattery and told her to get a life.
She didn’t. She copied my miniskirts and vintage riding boots, my puffed-sleeved shirts, and my vintage tees with Sesame Street characters. I finally gave up and would just leave whatever clothes I wore home in her closet before I went back to school.
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch,” I tell her. “How do you even still stand being in the same family as me?’
“Seriously? Copying you made me the coolest kid in school. You had style, Trix. It may have annoyed you, but I didn’t care. It was like having my own personal stylist.”
The thought had never occurred to me. “You mean, you didn’t hate me for being so awful to you?”
“You weren’t awful to me. You were a normal older sister, and I idolized you despite your crabby moods.” She laughs. “And I’m pretty sure I did you one better on moodiness. Just ask Dad.”
As soon as she says it, she claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh. Crap.”
“I knew what you meant. And I wish we could ask him too.”
We sit quietly for a minute, and my mind drifts to what it used to be like when I could ask my dad things. It feels like it’s been years, mainly because he was always so consumed with work, even after our mom divorced him and moved away. I hated that they split up, but I was old enough to understand why. And secretly, I hoped that when it was just our dad left and the five of us, he’d feel a greater parental urge. Instead, he doubled down and worked even harder. Rather than becoming a more involved parent, he hired an extra nanny to shuttle us around and do whatever he assumed our mom used to do for us.
Needless to say, it was hardly the same thing.
Now we see our mom about once a year when she’s not traveling. Not the kind of mother I’ll ever be. I may not know much about motherhood, but I know that.
PJ is quiet also, seemingly lost in thought. I wonder how different her memories of those days are. She was just a kid when our mom left, and of all of us, she was our dad’s favorite. He spoiled PJ because she was little and cute. And loud. No one could ignore that kid.
“You probably miss him even more than me because you had more real time with him,” I say, thinking about the years when PJ was the last kid in the house.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t really have time with him. He was all about work.”
I’ve heard people describe our dad that way for years, and it always seemed like a him problem. “Workaholic.” “Works so much he doesn’t see his kids.” “Forgets to live life because he’s all about work.” People in town were never very quiet about their opinions, and even though I defended our dad when I could, I knew his reputation was well earned.
But now, for the first time, I hear those descriptions as though people are saying them about me.
“Do I seem like him?” I ask.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. PJ is my sister, but she has her own life, and I don’t imagine she spends a lot of time thinking about my work habits. I guess I think she’ll tell me what I want to hear, that we’re similar in the important ways but I’m not a workaholic .
“Yeah. In terms of work, yeah.”
“Oh.”
I feel the air slip out of my lungs like a long, slow balloon deflating into an empty shell.
A rueful smile spreads across her face, and she tries to cover it by taking a sip of wine. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”
“I mean, I did, sort of. But I kinda hoped I was wrong. Am I really that bad?”
The smile morphs into a frown and PJ smooths my hair.
“Oh my God, you’re smoothing my hair! It’s so much worse than I thought! I’m an emotionless workaholic like Dad used to be.”
A bark of laughter explodes from her.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. But you have the same drive as him, and look, it led him to do great things. He made Buttercup Hill into a legendary business. When you talk about your vision for the inn and the restaurants, you have the same passion he used to have. That’s what I meant. But you know where to draw the line. Especially lately. Since you’ve been with Ren, I see a difference.”
“Yeah? How?” I feel like a groundhog, gingerly creeping out of my hole and hoping to see my shadow.
“You’re…a little mellower. It’s a nice vibe. I guess that’s why I’m worried for you. I like this new you.” I nod, touched that she came in here on the pretext of flowers to check on me. “Okay, yeah. Since you asked, I guess I’m a little worried I trapped him into all of this. I mean, he’s a good guy. A standup guy. I think he wants to believe he loves me and that this time will be different, but…what if he’s confusing his emotions about fatherhood with his feelings for me?”
I perch on my desk, ankles crossed, facing her. Exhaling a long breath, I feel unburdened saying the words out loud. Maybe they’ll float away on the breeze and take my worries with them.
“He hurt you. Even if it was ten years ago, it can still sting a little. And you don’t want to open yourself up to that again. I get that.” She opens her mouth to say more but shakes her head instead. “Maybe that’s why it’s a little hard for me to trust him now. I know, I’m just being overprotective.”
The idea of my little sister protecting me hits me right in the feels, and I feel myself tearing up. I don’t want her to think I’ve come completely unhinged, so I manage to choke back the sob forming in my throat. I look at my lap and instruct the tears to go back from where they came. I swallow over the lump in my throat, inhale a shaky breath, and look at her.
“Thank you. I appreciate you looking out for me. But I think it’s different. He wants to be a dad, and at the end of the day, if he doesn’t want me, I’m okay with that.” But his mother’s words continue to ring in my ears—he’s a good man who understands commitment. Maybe I’m taking advantage of his goodness and trapping him.
PJ smiles again and gathers the flowers we chose to make a bouquet. “I love these. They’re perfect.” There’s no point in bringing her down by voicing my concerns about whether I’ve baby-trapped Ren into being with me.
“Okay, good. That’s all I need to hear. You’re a good judge of character, so if you’re happy, I’m happy. And I’ll try to be nice to him when I see him.”
“I’m not worried.”
“But if he hurts you at all, I’ll go full-on frosty.”
I reach over and hug her. “I appreciate that you’d kick his ass if the need arises.”
“It’d better not.”
“It won’t,” I tell her, knowing Ren is committed to being a dad. I just don’t know if he’s committed to being with me.