Chapter 37
I take in the small art studio as Cassidy clips a mic pack on me. Kit was gone this morning when I woke up, but he left a little gold envelope taped to the coffee maker. Inside was a note saying to meet him here for a date after work. He chose it, the note said, because the producers wanted to film us doing something we used to enjoy, the first time we dated.
As it is, I’m ready to rip him a new one for sending assistants and cameras to my loft like he owned the place. I called him three times to have this out before we were on camera tonight, and he ignored every single one.
So here I am, in an art studio in Midtown, wedged between a hip coffee shop and some sort of cottage-core boutique. Kit isn’t here yet. It’s fine. He has a longer drive in this shitty traffic. He’ll be here soon.
A man in gauchos and Birkenstocks floats toward us. And when I say float, I mean he clearly just finished meditating and manifesting world peace or something, because his facial features are so serene and his graying long hair flows behind him.
“Welcome,” he says with a smile. His voice is gentle. “I’m Dash, the owner of Inner Self Art Studio.”
I shake his hand and fumble through a greeting.
“Are we ready to create from within today?” he asks, cupping my hand in both of his. He leans forward eagerly, like my answer matters.
I look over my shoulder toward Cassidy. “Shouldn’t we wait for Kit?”
Cassidy looks at her watch, her mouth smoothing into a thin line. Then she shakes her head. “We only have the studio for a couple of hours. Let’s get started, and he can catch up when he gets here.”
Dash waves a tiny remote, and pulsating, lax music with no lyrics throbs through some hidden speakers. He turns to me with a smile.
My phone rings in my purse. Dash winces. I’m totally ruining his vibe, but I feel it in my bones. Something is wrong.
I gasp when I see who’s calling. “Kit,” I say his name with a relieved sigh. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Emory.” He sounds exhausted, his voice heavy and hoarse.
“Are you okay?” I look over my shoulder at Cassidy, who’s frowning.
“I’m okay.” Kit sighs. “I’m okay. But Andie, my mom, she … she fell.”
“Oh no.”
“The doctors say she only broke her hip, but—”
“I’m coming.” I throw my purse over my shoulder and turn to walk out the door we just entered.
“No.” Kit says loudly. Firmly. “Don’t.”
I stop in my tracks. My voice breaks. “What?”
“Andie,” he says like he’s explaining it to a child, “you need to stay and film or your chance at that money is shot. Remember what the executive producer said?”
“Yes, but I—”
“We’ll be okay.” He swallows. “I’m here and I’m taking care of her. I’ll stay the night, so I won’t be home.”
“Kit,” I plead.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?”
He hangs up before I can argue. He won’t even let me tell him that the show doesn’t matter if he needs me. I stare at the phone in my hand, stunned by his coldness.
“Is everything okay?” Cassidy asks gently.
“No.” I begin tugging on my mic cord, unwinding it from my blouse. “I have to go.”
Cassidy rushes over and grabs my hands in hers. “Andie, this is our last chance to film before we hit the mandatory separation period.”
I sniff and shift on my feet. “That’s nice, but I don’t care.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Kit needs me right now.” My voice rises an octave. “I can’t be here when he needs me.”
She frowns.
Dash steps closer with a hum. “Now let’s all just take a deep breath.”
I glare at him. “A deep breath won’t change the fact that Kit’s mom is in the hospital and she’s already sick and … I need to go.”
Steve turns off the camera and rests a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder. “It’s an emergency. Jeremy will have to deal.”
I give her a pleading look. She sighs and helps me undo the mic. As I walk out the door, she yells after me, “Let us know how everyone’s doing, okay?”
I give her a thumbs-up and run to my car.
The hospital is a fluorescent-lit maze, and my tunnel vision looking for Kit isn’t helping me find Maureen any faster. I take a deep breath and pause in the hallway. I squint at the signs on the wall telling me which unit is which way, and they all feel indecipherable—a jumble of letters and numbers that mean nothing to me.
“Can I help you?” A nurse carrying her dinner from the cafeteria stops when she sees me struggling.
I press a hand to my forehead. “I’m looking for Maureen Watson.”
“Do you know which unit she’s in?”
“I’m not sure.” My shoulders slump.
“How do you know Ms. Watson?”
I swallow. “I’m her … daughter-in-law. My husband called me to tell me she was here after she broke her hip and—”
The nurse pulls out her phone and begins texting.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice breaking. “I’m not normally like this. I’ll just … figure it out.”
The nurse shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. Follow me.”
I can’t keep up with her brisk pace as she winds around the hallways to a set of double doors. She uses her badge to open them and walks me to the unit desk. “I found Mrs. Watson’s daughter-in-law in the hallway. I’m sure she’d feel a lot better if she could be with her for a bit.”
The young man smiles gently at me. “Of course. She just ordered her dinner, and I’m sure she’d love some company. I have some sandwiches and sodas in the fridge if you’d like to eat too?”
I nod, tears welling hot in my eyes. “That would be perfect, thank you.”
The man walks me down the hallway and knocks on the doorframe to a patient room. “Mrs. Watson? I have someone here who would like to see you.”
She looks at me and her face breaks into a smile. “Andie. I’m so glad you came.”
I timidly walk into the room, looking in the corners for Kit.
“He’s not here.” Maureen shifts up to sitting in her bed with a wince. “He went to grab some things from home.”
“Oh.” I force a smile. He did say he was going to spend the night. “Good, I guess.”
“Take a seat and tell me what you’ve been up to.”
With shaking hands, I pull one of the vinyl chairs over to her bedside. “We were about to start filming when Kit called, or I’d have been here sooner.”
“You’re right on time.” Maureen nods her chin toward the door, where someone in a black chef coat is bringing in a tray to set on the table beside her bed. The man who helped me earlier returns with a sandwich and soda for me. Never in my life have I been so grateful for PB&J and a Coke.
Maureen and I chat over our food about how my plans for Fashion Week are coming, and I ask her about the book she’s reading. I’m laughing at how the hero thought he could get rid of the heroine by telling her to shoot him if she didn’t like what he had to say—then she did—when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Andie. I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“Of course she came.” Maureen waves off the suggestion that I wouldn’t have come. Maybe she can talk some sense into her son.
I flash Kit a smile, hoping if he sees that Maureen is fine with this, he should be too. “We’ve just been having dinner and catching up. I’ve got some sandwich left if you’re hungry.”
He sets his messenger bag down on a chair in the corner of the room. “I’m not hungry.”
“Is that coffee going to be enough for the night?” I eye the paper cup in his hand.
“I’ll be fine.” He sets the coffee down too. “Andie, can I talk to you for a minute? Privately.”
“Oh.” I put down my sandwich on the table I’m sharing with Maureen. “I’ll be back.”
She waves us out the door. “Take your time.”
Once we’re both in the hallway, Kit drags his hands through his hair. “What are you doing here?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Your mom is in the hospital. Of course I’m here.”
“I told you not to come.” The words grit out lower and angrier than I expect. He balls his hands into fists at his sides.
I frown, unsure why he’s this angry. “You sound upset.”
“I am upset.” He shifts on his feet. “Did you at least stay to film?”
“No.” My brows draw together. I echo what Steve said to get Cassidy to let me go. “This is an emergency. There’s no way I could film instead of being here with you.”
“Dammit, Andie.” He drags his hands down his face and turns away. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath before he faces me again. “We could be in breach of contract for this.”
I nod. “I know.”
“Then why did you come here?” he demands, his voice stretched thin with desperation.
“Gee, I don’t know, Kit.” I throw my arms out in frustration. How unbelievably dense is this man? “Maybe because you needed me. Maybe because I care about your mom, too.”
“I told you I had it handled.” He says it through his teeth. Now I’m angry too.
“Right.” I pace on the linoleum, heat rising in my cheeks. “You handle everything. You hire a home nurse for your mom, and you offer Jamie money to help me because I can’t afford to pay him.”
“You need the help,” he insists, hands on his hips. “I can pay him. It’s a win-win.”
“It’s not a win-win.” I whirl around to glare at him. “Aside from the fact that I explicitly told you I didn’t want your help with my business, did it occur to you what you’re doing to us?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Us?”
“Me and your mom.” I wave an arm back at Maureen’s room.
“What am I doing, Andie?” His voice is loud enough that a couple of heads turn toward us as we argue. That’s nothing new. We’ve had an audience with the camera crew for long enough to be numb to it. “Please, enlighten me.”
“You’re setting yourself up to run away again.” I set my jaw to stop the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “You say you’re making sure we’re taken care of here while you’re away. But really, you can’t face being here when things get hard and scary. I’m not going to let you do that this time.”
“You won’t let me?” He takes a step closer to me, his arms crossed over his chest.
“No.” I lift my chin to look him in the eyes. “You say you’re here and staying and that it all feels real, but I know you’re ready to take that position in Italy.”
“I’m not leaving you. Come with me.”
Lie. I shake my head. “You know I can’t do that. My business—my life—is here in Atlanta. Don’t you see? Your mom and I don’t need to be taken care of. We take care of ourselves just fine. We want you to be here. With us.”
“Don’t pretend you know what my mom needs from me,” he growls.
“Fine.” I sigh, my shoulders slouching. He’s trying to loom over me when I wish he’d just hold me. When did we stop being on the same team? “I want you to be here with me.”
“I’m right here.” He says it with enough vitriol that something in me curls up to protect itself.
I swallow, fighting back. Jamie and Leslie had the tough conversations and came out okay. I can be brave here too. “I knew that walking away from filming today was a risk. But you and your mom are more important than the show. And you still told me not to come. You’re keeping me at an arm’s length even now.”
He scoffs. “Don’t act like this is somehow altruistic of you.”
“Goddammit, Kit.” I press my hand to my forehead. “I’m trying to show you I love you.”
“You’re not even in this for love!”
I reel back with a wince. Wounded. I suck in a breath of air, but all I can feel is the fear that he’s walking away, threatening to suffocate me.
“You’re not even in this at all,” I fire back. More heads turn our direction. “You’re not married to me, you’re married to your damn job. You’re going to leave, no matter what I do. No matter what I tell you I need.”
“Did you suddenly change your mind about decision day?” he asks, pinning me with his glare.
I hold it, searching for his heart in there, anywhere. I don’t know how else I can explain that I’m stuck. If we still choose to divorce, I can get the money I need. It might already be moot since I walked away from filming today, because I already decided that Kit mattered more to me than the damn money. But even if we choose to stay married, he’s going to leave. I’ve told him I need him here, and he’s not even entertaining that as an option. It’s a full-soul ache that I can’t escape.
“I don’t know.” I wipe a tear off my cheek and take another step back. “Tell your mom I had to go.” I turn on my heel and walk toward the exit before the signs become too blurry for me to find my way again.