Matched, page 27
“Pepper’s got it bad,” Cinna said. She was slinging bottles behind the bar beside CJ tonight. “Her last fourteen boyfriends have married the girl they met after they broke up with her.”
“Seven. Seven. Not fourteen. And sometimes I did the breaking up.” Pepper tossed a piece of ice at her sister. “No one invited you to this conversation.”
“Just because you dated half of them before you signed up for Facebook doesn’t mean it didn’t happen with them too. It just means you didn’t hear about it.” Cinna grinned. “Too bad hanging with Billy didn’t count as dating or maybe Lindsey would have a ring on her finger instead of some tears in her beer.”
“Too bad drinks don’t mix themselves.” CJ popped up behind her and swatted her with a towel. “Get back to work and quit being obnoxious.”
“I’m the baby. Being obnoxious is my job.”
Cinna slid down the bar, sassing three groomsmen and winking at a fourth on her way.
“I totally get why some animals eat their young,” Pepper said.
“Yeah, but if Mom and Dad had eaten her, Sage would’ve had baby syndrome,” CJ said.
“I could’ve lived with that.”
Kimmie slid her coconut cream pie across Lindsey and over to Pepper. “Here. You might need this more than I do.”
“Really?”
“Well, no, but I almost didn’t fit in my dress today, and that’ll interfere with my mom’s efforts to marry me off.” She shuddered, then eyed the pie.
CJ pushed another piece onto the bar. “Got enough to go around, and your mom’s gonna have to go through me before we let you get married off. To a man of your choosing. Who loves you with or without the dress. Eat up.” He added a second glass of white zin for Lindsey, then went to check on Nat, who was hunched over a camera with her photographer.
Kimmie and Pepper both poked at their pie.
“Does Bliss have any ways of breaking curses?” Pepper said.
“Supposedly there’s an old troll lady who lives under the country club, but you have to be able to sing the alphabet in her native language, which is a cross between Minion and Mandarin.”
Lindsey peered at Kimmie. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, she—oh, wait. No, that was a dream. Sorry. No curse-breakers.”
“Evening, ladies,” Dad said. “Mind if I join you?”
Lindsey turned. She hadn’t realized he was coming tonight. He was alone—no Marilyn—and he was wearing a melancholy expression she recognized all too well.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Have a seat,” she said.
Dad eyed Kimmie’s coconut cream pie, then winced. “Go light, Kimmie. Don’t want you having bad dreams.”
Lindsey glanced about for an empty stool, and a woman at a table caught her eye. She had plain brown hair with bangs that needed a trim, little makeup, and she wore a chunky sweater that hid her figure. When she realized Lindsey was looking at her, she pulled her purse tighter into her body and shifted her gaze away.
Lindsey’s heart swelled, beating fast. Her nose started running, and pressure built in her sinuses.
She smelled tulips.
She looked around and spotted someone else she recognized.
Her throat clogged.
“Here, Dad. Take my stool.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Way crowded tonight. I’ll celebrate with Nat another time.”
She needed to leave. Take her coat and her purse and go.
Instead, her wobbly knees moved away from her stool without grabbing her personal belongings.
One step. Then two. Three. All the way to the table halfway between the steel semicircle bar and the door, to the girl hugging her purse. “That guy over there—” Lindsey pointed to the man she and Will had seen talking with the girl a couple weeks ago. The couple Will had urged her to say something to. “Let him buy you dinner.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He likes you. Let him buy you dinner.”
The girl cast a covert look at her Romeo-in-waiting, who was casting a covert look at her instead of chatting with his buddies and the four women around them.
“I don’t know him,” the girl said.
Lindsey didn’t either. And her heart was fixin’ to pound right on out of her chest—damn those Southernisms still sneaking into her brain—but she knew. She knew. These two needed to meet. “The bar’s open until two. Lots of people around. Say hi. Tell him your name. Ask him where he’s from. Tell him about your job. Or just go say hi. If nothing else, you’ll make his night.”
Before she could say anything else, Lindsey walked away. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed at her hip, then swiped at her nose. She itched again. Not from the dress, from the fabric, or from anything she could touch.
But it was almost a good itch.
Like she’d taken the first step in shedding skin that didn’t fit her anymore.
“Whoops,” she said when she returned to the stool where Dad was sitting. “Forgot my purse.”
“You’re leaving?” Nat appeared at her side and gripped her hand. “CJ’s bringing us cheese fries. And you have to see this shot of you by the wedding cake monument. It’s gorgeous.”
“The dresses were gorgeous. That was all you.”
“No, you were gorgeous. Please, Lindsey? Five more minutes? We all have to call it quits early because of the Battle of the Boyfriends tomorrow night.”
“We haven’t toasted the dresses yet,” Pepper said. “You have to stay.”
“And I could use a whiskey,” Dad said.
Lindsey blinked at him.
“Dad?” Nat tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a dream fluffernutter sandwiches were marching on the capitol,” Kimmie said over her pie. “And then they reached for their swords, except the swords were really bombs, and the bombs were fortune cookies, and then they popped like popcorn, and it was like, Poof! A bajillion fortune cookies, all with freaky fortunes. They were everywhere. And now—and now—”
“I’ve had to terminate my friendship with Marilyn,” Dad said.
Nat’s lips parted. Kimmie’s cheeks were bright and splotchy, her chin wobbling so hard her nostrils were twitching too.
Kimmie had always borne the brunt of her mother’s personality, and Dad’s friendship had made the Queen General significantly more human.
Lindsey’s itching got worse. It went under her skin, beneath her muscles, but she couldn’t scratch her bones. Couldn’t make it go away.
Because—because—
“Why?” she said to Dad.
“You know, I thought I could change her,” he said slowly. He nodded to Nat. “When she was giving you such a hard time, I thought I could be a buffer. Remind her we were in the business of making magic for people, and that we were all on the same team. I thought she was getting better. Especially after the Games last summer. But then…” He shook his head. “She crossed a line.” He lifted a finger to CJ. “Whiskey. The good stuff.”
CJ nodded.
“What line?” Lindsey said. Her stomach fluttered, her heart begged for a break and that thick knot of icky emotions grew bigger behind her nose and eyes.
“You know what I missed most when your mom died?” he said. “I missed those minutes at the end of the day. She’d ask me how my day was, and I’d ask how hers was. We’d talk about you girls, about the shop, about committee meetings. Simple, but it’s what I missed. Last summer, it occurred to me—Marilyn hadn’t had any of that. Not for years. She didn’t have anyone to unwind with at the end of the day. She was who she was because she was alone, and she didn’t know how to be any other way. So when she was so rotten to you, Nat, I thought I could change her. I thought I could make her better for all of us. For all of Bliss.”
Nat rubbed his back. “You did, Dad. She’s still crazy and annoying, but she’s better. And Bliss is better too.”
“What line did she cross?” Lindsey repeated.
Dad wouldn’t look at her.
“Dad?”
He took a shot glass from CJ and tossed it back, then sputtered out a cough. Dad’s eyes watered, and a trickle of bubbly moisture dribbled out the corner of his mouth. “What in the—” he gasped.
“Ginger ale,” CJ said. “I’ve seen you drunk. Can’t be responsible for that again. Don’t you worry, though. I’ll charge you like it’s top shelf.”
“Finger paints and science kits for Noah’s birthday,” Dad rasped out.
“Pretty sure Margie and Saffron already have those covered,” Pepper said. “Try a set of jacks. It’s the only thing none of us are brave enough to buy. We know that comes with retribution.”
“And payback’s a bitch,” CJ growled at his sister.
She snorted. “So? It’s not like I’m ever getting married and having kids.”
Lindsey watched Dad until he looked at her. “What did Marilyn do?” she said.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “She said somebody needed to talk to your boss, so we could get you to doing what you should’ve always been doing. And I told her—I told her she could accept both my girls for who you choose to be, or she could get out of my life.”
Nat shrank, quick injury flitting across her features.
Dad hadn’t told Marilyn to shove it when Nat was taking the brunt of her shenanigans.
Kimmie wiped a smudge of cream off her nose, then took another bite from her pie.
“Six months, I’ve been patient,” Dad said. “Six months, I’ve believed she could be better. I thought she was better. Your mother had a lot of respect for her, you know. Said she was a good friend in her own unique way, but it meant putting up with all the eccentricities, and knowing that she wouldn’t even realize you were being her friend. But what she did to you, Nat—I was wrong. I can’t change her. I shouldn’t have tried. I’m sorry, hon. I’m sorry, and I’m done. You girls—you deserve better. Lindsey, I don’t understand why you do what you do, but I’m proud of you. And you don’t have to change for me—or for some boy—or for anybody. I’m done accepting people into my family who want you to. Either one of you.”
“Dad—”
“You know what stings?” He fiddled with his shot glass. “She’s a real pain in the ass some days, but she understood. She knew how hard it was to be lonely. She made me less lonely, but I—there are plenty of people to be friends with.”
“Dad,” Lindsey said again.
“I know. I’m sorry. Kimmie, I’m sorry to you too. Not fair to talk about your mother like this.”
“Mmph,” Kimmie said around a mouthful of pie. Her big blue eyes were shiny and tilted down with a morose acceptance. She’d probably known all day. No wonder she’d been quiet.
Lindsey bit her lip.
Compared to being unable to honestly tell Will they were a good match, this should’ve been easy.
Did bones have layers? Because hers were itching inside now. Itching and burning and protesting.
She never wanted to do this.
Never wanted to know.
She’d sworn a blood oath with herself to never tell anyone what she knew, because no good could come of it.
But Kimmie was miserable. Kimmie was bound to be miserable for the rest of her life if Lindsey didn’t say something.
And Dad was sad. Sadder than he’d been since last spring, before he became friends with Marilyn.
And Marilyn—without Dad, she’d return to being the Queen General robot.
Or worse.
Payback wasn’t a bitch. Grief was. And fresh grief—Lindsey knew a thing or two about that.
So she turned her back on every promise she’d made herself, every oath she’d sworn to herself, every bit of determination to ignore what she’d known for almost a year.
“Dad,” she whispered, “Marilyn’s a good match for you.”
Nat choked on her drink. Pepper dropped her wine, the glass shattering on the floor. And CJ lost control of the soda hose.
Lindsey ducked but still got hit with the sticky stream of liquid. Dad, Kimmie and Nat all dove for cover while Pepper flew across the bar and grabbed the soda sprayer. “Smooth, Princess,” she said to CJ.
“Like to see you keep it together if you’re faced with having Marilyn as your mother-in-law.”
Lindsey’s eye twitched.
Nat straightened with a giggle. “Oh, God, Lindsey. That was mean. Don’t do that to Dad.”
Lindsey pulled out one of her favorite lawyer expressions.
“You’re serious?” Nat said.
“You’re serious?” Kimmie echoed, significantly more hope in her baby blues. She reached for her pie, now doused with wine and soda, and went in for another bite.
Dad eyed Lindsey. “You’re serious.”
“I’m not saying not to let her stew for a few days to come to the realization of what she’s lost”—oh, the irony and the pain—“but don’t write her off because of us. Nat can handle Marilyn. I can handle Marilyn.”
She could. She could handle Marilyn.
It was the rest of her life she was still sorting out.
But the truth was, much as she cringed at the thought of more family dinners with Marilyn, of the Queen General of Bliss hosting them for Thanksgiving, of having to put up with Kimmie’s mother more—telling Dad the truth felt good.
She grabbed Nat’s hand. “And you. You and CJ are a fantastically good match too.”
“Duh.” Nat pulled her in for a hug. “You already said it, even if you didn’t.”
Across the bar, the girl with the bangs and baggy sweater approached the preppy guy who’d been eyeing her. They shared a tentative smile, and Lindsey smelled a whole field of spring flowers.
Like she’d put her own brand of happiness into the world.
Will would’ve been proud of her. She clenched her fist to keep from reaching for her phone.
She didn’t have the right to call him or text him. She’d walked away. This was her fault. And now she needed to leave him alone to find his own happiness.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and it had involved dodging his phone calls the first half of the week, but it was right.
He had a bigger life, and he deserved to move on to someone who could love him without question. Someone who was an honestly good match for him. Someone who could be his forever without question, who could be as good with Billy as she was with Will, who could fit into all of his worlds, the superstar world and the simple country boy world.
She hoped she hadn’t broken him too badly for that.
Because the world would be a better place with a mini-Will or five running around in it.
Lindsey blinked against the stinging and snatched her coat. “I need to go,” she said.
“Aw, Lindsey,” Nat sighed.
Pepper reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. You two looked happy together. Cinna’s right. I should’ve dated him first for you.”
Lindsey waved them both off. “I’m beat. You guys have fun.” She eyed the mess on the bar and the floor. “After you get cleaned up.” She gave Dad a half-hug. “Don’t wait so long that Kimmie starts talking about Marilyn channeling her displeasure to swallow The Aisle whole again, but give her a chance to admit she’s been wrong. I’ll drop by and see you tomorrow.” Then she gave Nat a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’m proud of your dresses, Nat. Mom would be too.”
“She’d be proud of you too, you know.”
“She wouldn’t, but that’s sweet of you to say.”
And knowing she had family and friends who would tell her comforting lies like that was all that would be keeping Lindsey warm tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One
AFTER ONE TOO many glasses of wine after she got home Friday night, Lindsey was up with the sun, headache in full force, and nowhere she had to be.
But staying home—yeah.
Not happening.
Nat and Kimmie were both helping Pepper with the Battle of the Boyfriends all day. So was CJ. So since her favorite nephew needed a grown-up, and Lindsey needed a distraction, she went for a double dose of coffee, her happiest smiley face panties, and packed her s’mores maker into her car.
A while later, she and Noah clomped into Dad’s weekend cabin. When Lindsey and Nat had lived at home, the cabin was Dad’s weekend retreat away from all the girls. Now that he was retired and widowed, he was out here as often as possible. Lindsey hadn’t been in a while, but it was obvious Marilyn had.
There were touches of her everywhere. A KitchenAid mixer on the counter, matching white throw pillows on the couch, wilted daisies in a vase on the mantel. And like last night, Dad was wearing a shade of melancholy that complemented Lindsey’s very, very well.
Noah didn’t seem to notice, and between Candy Land, s’mores and a snowball fight, they were all almost in a good mood by late afternoon. Noah nodded off between Lindsey and Dad on the couch by the fire. And Lindsey wanted to.
But she couldn’t.
“I met Will on spring break my sophomore year,” she said quietly.
Dad nodded for her to go on.
And she did.
She told him the whole story, about losing all her friends in college because she told them who should break up with their boyfriends, about the awkwardness of going on spring break with them anyway, about Will slamming into her on the ski slope, about her wanting a friend and finding so much more.
She left out the part about sleeping with him. Let Dad assume whatever he wanted.
She told him about their final night over spring break, how Will had pulled her onstage at the tavern, sung her a song, told her he loved her.
And then about how she broke his heart.
Publicly.
Loudly.
Humiliatingly.
Dad didn’t comment, so Lindsey pressed on.
She told him why she switched law specialties—she’d barely gotten through law school with every presentation getting harder to bear instead of easier, every moment of speaking in front of a crowd terrifying her more and more, about choosing to go into family law to correct the wrongs she wasn’t brave enough or strong enough to prevent.
Dad sat there, his arm draped across the back of the couch, circling both her and Noah, and he listened. And when she was spent, he nodded once more. “Always knew you didn’t want the family business,” he said. “Never knew you were working it in your own way anyway. Giving people second chances—that’s honorable, hon. Don’t even want to think of where Nat would be now if she hadn’t gotten out of her first marriage. Haven’t always understood how you do it every day, haven’t always liked it, but you’ve got a bigger heart than you know. You take care of Nat and Noah and Kimmie. You came over to Bliss and supported us all in your own way, even before most people accepted what you do. Lot of ways, you’re bigger than Bliss. I’ve always been proud of that. Hope you know it.”
“Seven. Seven. Not fourteen. And sometimes I did the breaking up.” Pepper tossed a piece of ice at her sister. “No one invited you to this conversation.”
“Just because you dated half of them before you signed up for Facebook doesn’t mean it didn’t happen with them too. It just means you didn’t hear about it.” Cinna grinned. “Too bad hanging with Billy didn’t count as dating or maybe Lindsey would have a ring on her finger instead of some tears in her beer.”
“Too bad drinks don’t mix themselves.” CJ popped up behind her and swatted her with a towel. “Get back to work and quit being obnoxious.”
“I’m the baby. Being obnoxious is my job.”
Cinna slid down the bar, sassing three groomsmen and winking at a fourth on her way.
“I totally get why some animals eat their young,” Pepper said.
“Yeah, but if Mom and Dad had eaten her, Sage would’ve had baby syndrome,” CJ said.
“I could’ve lived with that.”
Kimmie slid her coconut cream pie across Lindsey and over to Pepper. “Here. You might need this more than I do.”
“Really?”
“Well, no, but I almost didn’t fit in my dress today, and that’ll interfere with my mom’s efforts to marry me off.” She shuddered, then eyed the pie.
CJ pushed another piece onto the bar. “Got enough to go around, and your mom’s gonna have to go through me before we let you get married off. To a man of your choosing. Who loves you with or without the dress. Eat up.” He added a second glass of white zin for Lindsey, then went to check on Nat, who was hunched over a camera with her photographer.
Kimmie and Pepper both poked at their pie.
“Does Bliss have any ways of breaking curses?” Pepper said.
“Supposedly there’s an old troll lady who lives under the country club, but you have to be able to sing the alphabet in her native language, which is a cross between Minion and Mandarin.”
Lindsey peered at Kimmie. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, she—oh, wait. No, that was a dream. Sorry. No curse-breakers.”
“Evening, ladies,” Dad said. “Mind if I join you?”
Lindsey turned. She hadn’t realized he was coming tonight. He was alone—no Marilyn—and he was wearing a melancholy expression she recognized all too well.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Have a seat,” she said.
Dad eyed Kimmie’s coconut cream pie, then winced. “Go light, Kimmie. Don’t want you having bad dreams.”
Lindsey glanced about for an empty stool, and a woman at a table caught her eye. She had plain brown hair with bangs that needed a trim, little makeup, and she wore a chunky sweater that hid her figure. When she realized Lindsey was looking at her, she pulled her purse tighter into her body and shifted her gaze away.
Lindsey’s heart swelled, beating fast. Her nose started running, and pressure built in her sinuses.
She smelled tulips.
She looked around and spotted someone else she recognized.
Her throat clogged.
“Here, Dad. Take my stool.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Way crowded tonight. I’ll celebrate with Nat another time.”
She needed to leave. Take her coat and her purse and go.
Instead, her wobbly knees moved away from her stool without grabbing her personal belongings.
One step. Then two. Three. All the way to the table halfway between the steel semicircle bar and the door, to the girl hugging her purse. “That guy over there—” Lindsey pointed to the man she and Will had seen talking with the girl a couple weeks ago. The couple Will had urged her to say something to. “Let him buy you dinner.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He likes you. Let him buy you dinner.”
The girl cast a covert look at her Romeo-in-waiting, who was casting a covert look at her instead of chatting with his buddies and the four women around them.
“I don’t know him,” the girl said.
Lindsey didn’t either. And her heart was fixin’ to pound right on out of her chest—damn those Southernisms still sneaking into her brain—but she knew. She knew. These two needed to meet. “The bar’s open until two. Lots of people around. Say hi. Tell him your name. Ask him where he’s from. Tell him about your job. Or just go say hi. If nothing else, you’ll make his night.”
Before she could say anything else, Lindsey walked away. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed at her hip, then swiped at her nose. She itched again. Not from the dress, from the fabric, or from anything she could touch.
But it was almost a good itch.
Like she’d taken the first step in shedding skin that didn’t fit her anymore.
“Whoops,” she said when she returned to the stool where Dad was sitting. “Forgot my purse.”
“You’re leaving?” Nat appeared at her side and gripped her hand. “CJ’s bringing us cheese fries. And you have to see this shot of you by the wedding cake monument. It’s gorgeous.”
“The dresses were gorgeous. That was all you.”
“No, you were gorgeous. Please, Lindsey? Five more minutes? We all have to call it quits early because of the Battle of the Boyfriends tomorrow night.”
“We haven’t toasted the dresses yet,” Pepper said. “You have to stay.”
“And I could use a whiskey,” Dad said.
Lindsey blinked at him.
“Dad?” Nat tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a dream fluffernutter sandwiches were marching on the capitol,” Kimmie said over her pie. “And then they reached for their swords, except the swords were really bombs, and the bombs were fortune cookies, and then they popped like popcorn, and it was like, Poof! A bajillion fortune cookies, all with freaky fortunes. They were everywhere. And now—and now—”
“I’ve had to terminate my friendship with Marilyn,” Dad said.
Nat’s lips parted. Kimmie’s cheeks were bright and splotchy, her chin wobbling so hard her nostrils were twitching too.
Kimmie had always borne the brunt of her mother’s personality, and Dad’s friendship had made the Queen General significantly more human.
Lindsey’s itching got worse. It went under her skin, beneath her muscles, but she couldn’t scratch her bones. Couldn’t make it go away.
Because—because—
“Why?” she said to Dad.
“You know, I thought I could change her,” he said slowly. He nodded to Nat. “When she was giving you such a hard time, I thought I could be a buffer. Remind her we were in the business of making magic for people, and that we were all on the same team. I thought she was getting better. Especially after the Games last summer. But then…” He shook his head. “She crossed a line.” He lifted a finger to CJ. “Whiskey. The good stuff.”
CJ nodded.
“What line?” Lindsey said. Her stomach fluttered, her heart begged for a break and that thick knot of icky emotions grew bigger behind her nose and eyes.
“You know what I missed most when your mom died?” he said. “I missed those minutes at the end of the day. She’d ask me how my day was, and I’d ask how hers was. We’d talk about you girls, about the shop, about committee meetings. Simple, but it’s what I missed. Last summer, it occurred to me—Marilyn hadn’t had any of that. Not for years. She didn’t have anyone to unwind with at the end of the day. She was who she was because she was alone, and she didn’t know how to be any other way. So when she was so rotten to you, Nat, I thought I could change her. I thought I could make her better for all of us. For all of Bliss.”
Nat rubbed his back. “You did, Dad. She’s still crazy and annoying, but she’s better. And Bliss is better too.”
“What line did she cross?” Lindsey repeated.
Dad wouldn’t look at her.
“Dad?”
He took a shot glass from CJ and tossed it back, then sputtered out a cough. Dad’s eyes watered, and a trickle of bubbly moisture dribbled out the corner of his mouth. “What in the—” he gasped.
“Ginger ale,” CJ said. “I’ve seen you drunk. Can’t be responsible for that again. Don’t you worry, though. I’ll charge you like it’s top shelf.”
“Finger paints and science kits for Noah’s birthday,” Dad rasped out.
“Pretty sure Margie and Saffron already have those covered,” Pepper said. “Try a set of jacks. It’s the only thing none of us are brave enough to buy. We know that comes with retribution.”
“And payback’s a bitch,” CJ growled at his sister.
She snorted. “So? It’s not like I’m ever getting married and having kids.”
Lindsey watched Dad until he looked at her. “What did Marilyn do?” she said.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “She said somebody needed to talk to your boss, so we could get you to doing what you should’ve always been doing. And I told her—I told her she could accept both my girls for who you choose to be, or she could get out of my life.”
Nat shrank, quick injury flitting across her features.
Dad hadn’t told Marilyn to shove it when Nat was taking the brunt of her shenanigans.
Kimmie wiped a smudge of cream off her nose, then took another bite from her pie.
“Six months, I’ve been patient,” Dad said. “Six months, I’ve believed she could be better. I thought she was better. Your mother had a lot of respect for her, you know. Said she was a good friend in her own unique way, but it meant putting up with all the eccentricities, and knowing that she wouldn’t even realize you were being her friend. But what she did to you, Nat—I was wrong. I can’t change her. I shouldn’t have tried. I’m sorry, hon. I’m sorry, and I’m done. You girls—you deserve better. Lindsey, I don’t understand why you do what you do, but I’m proud of you. And you don’t have to change for me—or for some boy—or for anybody. I’m done accepting people into my family who want you to. Either one of you.”
“Dad—”
“You know what stings?” He fiddled with his shot glass. “She’s a real pain in the ass some days, but she understood. She knew how hard it was to be lonely. She made me less lonely, but I—there are plenty of people to be friends with.”
“Dad,” Lindsey said again.
“I know. I’m sorry. Kimmie, I’m sorry to you too. Not fair to talk about your mother like this.”
“Mmph,” Kimmie said around a mouthful of pie. Her big blue eyes were shiny and tilted down with a morose acceptance. She’d probably known all day. No wonder she’d been quiet.
Lindsey bit her lip.
Compared to being unable to honestly tell Will they were a good match, this should’ve been easy.
Did bones have layers? Because hers were itching inside now. Itching and burning and protesting.
She never wanted to do this.
Never wanted to know.
She’d sworn a blood oath with herself to never tell anyone what she knew, because no good could come of it.
But Kimmie was miserable. Kimmie was bound to be miserable for the rest of her life if Lindsey didn’t say something.
And Dad was sad. Sadder than he’d been since last spring, before he became friends with Marilyn.
And Marilyn—without Dad, she’d return to being the Queen General robot.
Or worse.
Payback wasn’t a bitch. Grief was. And fresh grief—Lindsey knew a thing or two about that.
So she turned her back on every promise she’d made herself, every oath she’d sworn to herself, every bit of determination to ignore what she’d known for almost a year.
“Dad,” she whispered, “Marilyn’s a good match for you.”
Nat choked on her drink. Pepper dropped her wine, the glass shattering on the floor. And CJ lost control of the soda hose.
Lindsey ducked but still got hit with the sticky stream of liquid. Dad, Kimmie and Nat all dove for cover while Pepper flew across the bar and grabbed the soda sprayer. “Smooth, Princess,” she said to CJ.
“Like to see you keep it together if you’re faced with having Marilyn as your mother-in-law.”
Lindsey’s eye twitched.
Nat straightened with a giggle. “Oh, God, Lindsey. That was mean. Don’t do that to Dad.”
Lindsey pulled out one of her favorite lawyer expressions.
“You’re serious?” Nat said.
“You’re serious?” Kimmie echoed, significantly more hope in her baby blues. She reached for her pie, now doused with wine and soda, and went in for another bite.
Dad eyed Lindsey. “You’re serious.”
“I’m not saying not to let her stew for a few days to come to the realization of what she’s lost”—oh, the irony and the pain—“but don’t write her off because of us. Nat can handle Marilyn. I can handle Marilyn.”
She could. She could handle Marilyn.
It was the rest of her life she was still sorting out.
But the truth was, much as she cringed at the thought of more family dinners with Marilyn, of the Queen General of Bliss hosting them for Thanksgiving, of having to put up with Kimmie’s mother more—telling Dad the truth felt good.
She grabbed Nat’s hand. “And you. You and CJ are a fantastically good match too.”
“Duh.” Nat pulled her in for a hug. “You already said it, even if you didn’t.”
Across the bar, the girl with the bangs and baggy sweater approached the preppy guy who’d been eyeing her. They shared a tentative smile, and Lindsey smelled a whole field of spring flowers.
Like she’d put her own brand of happiness into the world.
Will would’ve been proud of her. She clenched her fist to keep from reaching for her phone.
She didn’t have the right to call him or text him. She’d walked away. This was her fault. And now she needed to leave him alone to find his own happiness.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and it had involved dodging his phone calls the first half of the week, but it was right.
He had a bigger life, and he deserved to move on to someone who could love him without question. Someone who was an honestly good match for him. Someone who could be his forever without question, who could be as good with Billy as she was with Will, who could fit into all of his worlds, the superstar world and the simple country boy world.
She hoped she hadn’t broken him too badly for that.
Because the world would be a better place with a mini-Will or five running around in it.
Lindsey blinked against the stinging and snatched her coat. “I need to go,” she said.
“Aw, Lindsey,” Nat sighed.
Pepper reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. You two looked happy together. Cinna’s right. I should’ve dated him first for you.”
Lindsey waved them both off. “I’m beat. You guys have fun.” She eyed the mess on the bar and the floor. “After you get cleaned up.” She gave Dad a half-hug. “Don’t wait so long that Kimmie starts talking about Marilyn channeling her displeasure to swallow The Aisle whole again, but give her a chance to admit she’s been wrong. I’ll drop by and see you tomorrow.” Then she gave Nat a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’m proud of your dresses, Nat. Mom would be too.”
“She’d be proud of you too, you know.”
“She wouldn’t, but that’s sweet of you to say.”
And knowing she had family and friends who would tell her comforting lies like that was all that would be keeping Lindsey warm tonight.
Chapter Twenty-One
AFTER ONE TOO many glasses of wine after she got home Friday night, Lindsey was up with the sun, headache in full force, and nowhere she had to be.
But staying home—yeah.
Not happening.
Nat and Kimmie were both helping Pepper with the Battle of the Boyfriends all day. So was CJ. So since her favorite nephew needed a grown-up, and Lindsey needed a distraction, she went for a double dose of coffee, her happiest smiley face panties, and packed her s’mores maker into her car.
A while later, she and Noah clomped into Dad’s weekend cabin. When Lindsey and Nat had lived at home, the cabin was Dad’s weekend retreat away from all the girls. Now that he was retired and widowed, he was out here as often as possible. Lindsey hadn’t been in a while, but it was obvious Marilyn had.
There were touches of her everywhere. A KitchenAid mixer on the counter, matching white throw pillows on the couch, wilted daisies in a vase on the mantel. And like last night, Dad was wearing a shade of melancholy that complemented Lindsey’s very, very well.
Noah didn’t seem to notice, and between Candy Land, s’mores and a snowball fight, they were all almost in a good mood by late afternoon. Noah nodded off between Lindsey and Dad on the couch by the fire. And Lindsey wanted to.
But she couldn’t.
“I met Will on spring break my sophomore year,” she said quietly.
Dad nodded for her to go on.
And she did.
She told him the whole story, about losing all her friends in college because she told them who should break up with their boyfriends, about the awkwardness of going on spring break with them anyway, about Will slamming into her on the ski slope, about her wanting a friend and finding so much more.
She left out the part about sleeping with him. Let Dad assume whatever he wanted.
She told him about their final night over spring break, how Will had pulled her onstage at the tavern, sung her a song, told her he loved her.
And then about how she broke his heart.
Publicly.
Loudly.
Humiliatingly.
Dad didn’t comment, so Lindsey pressed on.
She told him why she switched law specialties—she’d barely gotten through law school with every presentation getting harder to bear instead of easier, every moment of speaking in front of a crowd terrifying her more and more, about choosing to go into family law to correct the wrongs she wasn’t brave enough or strong enough to prevent.
Dad sat there, his arm draped across the back of the couch, circling both her and Noah, and he listened. And when she was spent, he nodded once more. “Always knew you didn’t want the family business,” he said. “Never knew you were working it in your own way anyway. Giving people second chances—that’s honorable, hon. Don’t even want to think of where Nat would be now if she hadn’t gotten out of her first marriage. Haven’t always understood how you do it every day, haven’t always liked it, but you’ve got a bigger heart than you know. You take care of Nat and Noah and Kimmie. You came over to Bliss and supported us all in your own way, even before most people accepted what you do. Lot of ways, you’re bigger than Bliss. I’ve always been proud of that. Hope you know it.”
