Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
LEXI
Istare at the ceiling, listening to Mom getting ready for her day. She’s an early riser, and even though I’m still exhausted, the jet lag is real. I’ve been lying awake for two hours already, replaying everything that happened my last morning on Ne’emba Island.
I haven’t told Mom yet. When I arrived late yesterday afternoon, I was done. Flying from one outpost in the world to the next, changing flights four times, isn’t something I would recommend.
“Lexi!” Mom had said when she opened the door.
She ushered me into the apartment—as it was freaking snowing outside, which happens in Alaska—and gave me the longest hug.
God knows I needed that hug, and when she wanted to pull away, I clung to her and burst into tears.
When she said something about me and being in a pickle, I cried even harder.
“This sounds like more than a mere pickle,” she’d finally added.
“I don’t want to be called a pickle or be in one ever again,” I’d sobbed between hiccups, and that was the end of it.
We didn’t talk any more, but she’d made me sweet tea while I took a warm shower and then gave me some soft fleece pjs to sleep in.
I don’t have any winter clothing with me—I never planned a detour to Anchorage, but once I flew into Heathrow and memories of Tristan putting that ring on my finger hit me, I couldn’t go back to Miami and Evan’s place.
Not with the pile of questions he’d ask and everything Tristan still in his house.
And Tessa’s in LA wasn’t appealing either.
I didn’t want to go anywhere but home—and right now home is wherever Mom is.
When Mom passed me one of her menopause sleeping pills with instructions to “just take half” as it would “help with the jet lag,” I didn’t protest. I was out by seven last night, but now…I can’t avoid this reality any longer.
I get up, pull on one of the shawls Mom seems to accumulate during her travels, and head out to face the music.
Her two-bedroom apartment is open-concept, and as soon as I step into the living area, the scent of brewing coffee hits me.
Mom looks up from the kitchen counter. “Hey. You’re feeling better?”
I nod and bite my lip. This is going to suck.
“Want some coffee?”
“Please.” I scuffle over to the counter and settle on a barstool. “Sorry to descend on you like this.”
Mom isn’t exactly private, but I’d be stupid to think she doesn’t have her own life here.
For all I know, I could’ve knocked on her door while she had a friend over.
A boyfriend. Not that I’ve ever met anybody.
Not that I’ve ever asked. I mean, how do you dig into your Mom’s love life without it being awkward, especially since she never says anything in the first place.
Mom gets busy with the coffee and also pops some bread in the toaster. She sets out a jar of Nutella. She knows me so well. And she’s waiting, very patiently, for me to open up.
I take a deep breath and huff it out on a long Soooo… “Ne’emba Island and Beaumont didn’t work out.”
“Ah, sweetie…” Mom shakes her head. “Why?”
“I quit.” I might have to put that in writing at some point…
“Why?”
I bite the bullet. “Because I lied about being engaged to get the job, and I couldn’t do that anymore.”
“Engaged?” Her eyes are wide as she puts the coffee pot back on its stand. “To whom?”
I’m going to have to explain everything from the start, but Mom will need to fill in the gaps.
I plan to leave many. “Tristan went with me with Ne’emba Island.
The jobs were for a couple, so we faked an engagement to get the gig.
He needed somewhere fabulous to finish his TV series, and I…
I wanted to get out of the country and away from this whole Mia Reed mess…
” I trail off, remembering I have an NDA.
“By the Mia Reed mess you mean the video.”
“You know about that?” I ask, not encouraged by the look on Mom’s face.
“Evan filled me in once I made the connection between those trending videos and you. I’m your mom, Lexi; I’d know my daughter’s face anywhere.” She reaches over and pats me on the hand. “St Chalamet never deserved you.”
“I couldn’t tell you. I’m not supposed to talk about it at all.”
“I know. But that’s water under the bridge now. What’s this thing with Tristan?”
God. She’s going to drag it out of me. “I’m sorry. I should have told you over Christmas… Only I couldn’t.”
“Lexi, I don’t think I understand.”
Yep. She’s using that tone. “I lied, Mom, to Beaumont during my interview. About being engaged to Tristan Martinelli in order to get the job. We went together to Ne’emba and, and, a-and…” I can’t finish. I’m so choked up I can hardly breathe.
“Oh lordy-lord,” Mom says as she circles the counter and puts her arm around my shoulders. “How could you lie about being engaged? To Tristan, of all people?”
“It’s easier than you think,” I say between sobs.
“Especially when you’re far from home and nobody knows you.
” Except that Jem felt something was off and started digging so deep she managed to find out about Dad…
It hardly matters now. “But then the office assistant accused us of setting up a drug trafficking ring!”
“What?” Mom’s arm drops, and she sinks down on the stool next to me. “Where’s Tristan now?”
“Still on Ne’emba. I spoke to the resort owner, and he didn’t buy into the drug-trafficking story, thank God, but I couldn’t stay.
” The moment the police handcuffed Tristan hit too close to home, and that was the domino that toppled the rest. “I just hope they’ll give Tristan a chance to finish what he’s started. ”
“Oh my goodness, Lexi,” Mom says. “What about you?”
I pull my sleeves over my palms and wipe my tears. “I don’t know. Maybe Motel Sixty-Nine by the dive bar down the road is looking for a night manager?”
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s hand draws slow, soothing circles on my back. “This too shall pass.”
Yes. Mia Reed will grow old and ugly. Deep fake will rule the internet as AI takes over.
This work crisis will fade. I will find something else.
Somewhere. Somehow. At least this Ne’emba Island disaster struck while I’m still financially supported by St Chalamet.
Even if I could go back and work at Beaumont Hotels, I’m not sure I could look Nathan Beaumont in the eye.
And I’m certainly not interested in groveling.
But the world is big and wide, and I might have to take a pay cut, but I’ll find a job eventually.
Summer and tourist season are coming, and I haven’t tried Alaska yet.
The thing that shall not pass—not today, not tomorrow, probably never—is the feelings I have for Tristan. At the thought, a heaving sob rips through me, and Mom hugs me close.
“What really happened, sweetheart?” she asks softly. “With Tristan?”
“I was so stupid. I-I…” The words are stuck.
“As an engaged couple, you had to share a place, didn’t you?” she asks. “A room or a studio or something?”
A cottage. The most romantic place in the world. “A bed! There were mosquitoes, and we had to be behind the net as they feasted at night, so we ended up…”
“Sleeping together?” Mom asks. “But not in a platonic way.”
“Mm-hmm.” There. The truth is out. My face is still pressed to my palms and my cheeks burn.
“You always loved Tristan,” Mom says softly. “And if ever there was a boy who needed love, it was him.” She shifts in her chair, and it scrapes over the floor. “Sometimes the timing isn’t right, sweetheart. And sometimes timing is everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Time will tell.” Mom stands, and I look up at her. A faint smile plays on her lips. “Sometimes things happen for a reason.”
No more wisdom, please. “Mom, I lied, and look where it got me.”
“Hmm…” She moves to the other side of the counter and pushes the toaster’s lever down.
“Life isn’t black and white, Lexi. It’s a shape-shifting splash of all the colors, showing you only what you want to see in the moment.
” She leans over with her arms on the counter.
“Maybe now you’ll understand why Dad did what he did.
Desperation makes people do weird things—wrong things.
I don’t agree with what you did, or say your problems justified your actions in any way, but if you can find it in yourself to forgive Dad after all these years, it will be great.
I’ve forgiven him, and…” She clears her throat, and that little smile is back. “We’ve been seeing each other.”
Wait. “What?”
Mom laughs. “We started by chatting online. We’re sort of dating, and he was here for two weeks while you were at Ne’emba.”
Holy Mother of God and all the saints in a row. My pulse races. My mouth is dry. This is coming from left field, and nobody peeped a word to me. “How? Why?”
“When you know, you know. I’ve always loved Dad, and he’s done his time. He’s sorted himself out with a new business, restoring furniture. He’s doing great, and well…life is for living. I don’t want to grow old with anybody else.”
“Does Evan know?”
“We’ve been speaking about it.” Mom drops her gaze for a second and hitches her shoulders.
“Evan doesn’t have the baggage you have.
It helps that he was older when that whole mess happened.
I didn’t want to say anything… Not until—” She breaks off and looks up at me. “Not until the timing was right.”
I might have lost the love of my life, but Mom reconnecting with hers sends joy through my veins. I can see she’s happy, truly happy—for the first time in a very long time. “I’m so glad for you. For you both.”
“Thank you.” The toast pops, and she puts it on a plate for me. “What are your plans for today?”
Cry all the tears I have? Mope. Sleep. Scroll my phone watching videos featuring me as the face of mock horror and then sink into the Earth’s core? “I don’t know. Try not make stupid, hasty decisions?”
Mom chuckles. “Good plan. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, but know that I’m moving back south over the summer.”
So much for my Alaska plans. Maybe it’s for the better. “These winters getting to you?” I tease.
“They’re killing me.” She pours two coffees as I spread Nutella over my hot toast. Comfort food at its best. “I’m looking for a position back in New Orleans and will spend spring break over there.”
“You are?” With Dad. My heart expands at the thought. Mom’s right. Forgive and forget. It’s time, and who am I to hold a grudge? With what I’ve done, I’m a chip off the old block. “Can I come with and see him?”
“Of course, sweetheart. He’d love nothing more in the world, and neither would I.” She raises her coffee cup in toast. “It’s time for us to go home.”