Some Like It Fox, page 15
She taps her finger on the table. “But you’re not happy.”
I shrug. “I just want us to be closer.”
She picks up a fry and points it at me. “There. That’s it. Tell them exactly that. Ask them to hang out together more. That kind of thing.”
Nerves coil in my stomach. “Do you think it’s that simple?”
What if they don’t want to spend time with me? What if they say no? I don’t know how to ask for what I need. I’m the one who’s shut myself off from them in my attempt to be accommodating and not a heavy weight around their necks. How do I tell them the truth? It’s been too long. Am I too late?
One of her shoulders lifts in a semblance of a shrug. “You never know until you try.”
I lean toward her. “I’ll make you a deal. You talk to your family, and I’ll talk to mine.”
She smiles, the first real one she’s given me all day. “Deal.”
By the time I’m sitting down to dinner later that night, my stomach is twisted in knots.
I half listen as Paul and Moira chat about an upcoming trip to visit a friend in Stony Point, only an hour or so away.
I still don’t know how to broach the topic of spending more time with my family, but almost immediately, an opportunity presents itself.
“We can go golfing at Patriot Hills, I’ve heard it’s a great course. Atticus, you want some bread to dip in your soup?” Moira passes me the bread bowl.
Paul finishes chewing. “Yeah. Patriot Hills would be great.”
I take the bread bowl and set it next to my bowl of soup. “I could go too.”
Their gazes swing toward me at the same time. Paul’s spoon is lifted halfway to his mouth and Moira’s eyebrows are nearly touching her hairline.
My face heats. “I mean, if you want. It’s not far. Just let me know when you’re going, and I could meet you there.”
Paul finds his voice first. “You like golf?”
“I’ve never tried it. But I’d like to.”
Moira wipes her mouth with her napkin, swallowing her food and glancing over at Uncle Paul before answering. “That would be great. We would love that.”
But I can’t tell if she means it. She sounds . . . confused.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Do you have clubs?”
I hesitate. “No.” I put my spoon down, wiping my sweating palms on my knees. “It’s not just about golf. It’s about spending time with my family.” The only family I have left.
Silence stretches out between us, except for the tick of the old cuckoo clock on the wall and my heart thudding in my ears.
Moira hiccups and then covers her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice thick. “I didn’t think you wanted to.”
It takes me almost a minute to register her words. “You . . . didn’t?”
Moira shakes her head. “You always wanted to keep yourself apart and put up these walls between you and the world. We noticed it when you first came here, and you were so quiet and polite. You were the perfect child, but you had gone through such a terrible loss.”
I frown. “And that was a problem?”
Paul shakes his head. “Not a problem. But you were just a kid who’d lost his parents. The girls would get in trouble every other week.”
“You wanted me to get in trouble?”
She reaches across the table, putting her hand over mine. “We wanted you to be free to make mistakes. To be happy. We knew you were hurting, and we thought the walls would come down eventually and you needed space and time to know you were safe. But then as the months went on, we didn’t know what to do. We didn’t know how to get through to you, to get you to talk or open up.”
They exchange a glance and then Paul speaks. “We thought you were holding yourself apart because you were frightened to be close to anyone again.”
Moira nods. “We worried all the time, wondering if we were doing the right thing by waiting to see if you could feel your way through, find the path forward without us pushing or making you uncomfortable in any way.”
I blink in surprise. “I thought I was a burden.”
“No,” Paul’s response is immediate. “Never a burden.”
“I heard you talking about how expensive things were.”
“Shit,” Paul murmurs.
I almost laugh. I’ve never heard him curse.
Moira leans back removing her hand from over mine to fiddle with her napkin. “Expenses may have been tight here and there, but that was never your fault. We didn’t blame you for our circumstances. That was never on you, you hear me?”
I nod, bewildered.
Paul leans toward Moira. “Should we tell him about the rent money?” he murmurs.
“What do you mean?”
Moira ducks her head. “The money you insisted on giving us for rent, we’ve been saving for you.”
“What?” Shock knocks me back in my seat.
Paul points at me. “We told you we didn’t need that money.”
They did, but I didn’t listen. I wanted to give more than I took because I didn’t know how else to repay them.
Moira leans forward, her eyes earnest. “You’re doing us a favor, watching the house for us while we travel, that’s payment enough.”
Paul gives a decisive nod. “Besides, we’re family.”
“The only reason we took your money was because you were so insistent, and we just want you to be happy.” Moira worries her bottom lip, watching my reaction.
I have been more worried about their happiness than my own. I thought if I did enough, if I made the weight of my presence light enough, they wouldn’t . . . what, die and leave me with the same feelings of guilt I had after my parents passed?
Meanwhile, they’ve been trying to respect my boundaries and it’s all resulted in this chasm of misunderstanding.
“I’m sorry.”
Moira shakes her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You just have to be yourself. You’re a good person, you don’t have to sell yourself to us. Jillian and Patrick would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”
My throat tightens. “Thank you.” The words are thick.
Moira stands up and rounds the table, leaning over to hug me.
I pat her on the back.
She clutches me a little tighter. “We’ll work on it together. You can always tell us how you feel.”
Paul lumbers to his feet too, wrapping an arm around each of us. “You can talk to us about your parents too. Only if you want. And you can go golfing with us, but you have to let me help you pick out your clubs.” His eyes gleam.
Moira laughs, the sound choked with emotion. “Shopping for golf supplies has become his favorite pastime. You might regret what you’ve started.”
I swallow past the lump building in my throat, blinking through the stinging in my eyes. “I don’t think I will.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Taylor
Getting all my siblings together in one place, without telling them exactly why we need to be together, is trickier than lassoing a wet noodle with dental floss.
“So, you want me to come to Whitby this weekend to watch some show at Veronica’s?” Piper’s voice is a mixture of confusion and distraction.
I rub a finger over the spot in my childhood desk where Jake carved his name when he was seven. He used the A to also etch in Aria, her name running perpendicular to his.
I need to go into Veronica’s soon to get some work done, but first I wanted to set the ball in motion to get my family all together so I can come clean about Mom.
“It’s not just any music people, it’s Discontinued Barbies. They are one of Mindy’s new clients.”
There is a weighted pause. “Does that mean you and Mindy are good then? You made up?”
“We haven’t. But I’m working on it and this is part of that.” Sort of. Maybe.
“And you’re asking me to come home because you are trying to help Mindy? That doesn’t really make sense. Why wouldn’t she ask me herself? We aren’t the ones fighting.”
“Can’t I just want to get all my siblings together for some family bonding time? We haven’t been in the same room together since Thanksgiving.”
“That’s your fault for flaking on Christmas.” Her tone is light and teasing, but I know Piper well enough to read the undercurrents.
I tip my head back, shutting my eyes. She’s right. I totally flaked. “Piper, I’m sorry about that. Truly I am.”
It ended up being a dead end anyway. I went all the way across the country and Mom hadn’t left the East Coast.
“You apologized to Finley, right? She was super bummed too, Tay.”
“I did and we’re good. I promise. Let me make it up to you. Just come to Whitby for a couple of days. Please?”
“Maybe. We’ll see. I’ve been working on more pieces for the gallery and I wanted to have at least one done by the end of the month, but I’ve gotten nowhere.” She blows out a breath, the sound gusting over the phone line. “I haven’t felt inspired lately.”
I pick up a pen, tapping it against the pad of paper in front of me. “Why? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m in a slump, I guess. It happens.”
I frown. “But last time you had creative difficulties it happened because of dickface Ben.” Ben, her ex-boyfriend, is now doing hard time for stalking, attempted murder, and defamation, to name just a few of the fucked-up things he did after Piper dumped his abusive ass.
“Well, this time I don’t have a psycho ex to blame.”
I perk up. “Can we blame Oliver?”
She sighs, but it’s a happy sound. “No. He’s perfect.”
I snort. “He’s an ass.”
“Yeah, but he’s my ass.”
A masculine voice echoes in the background and Piper laughs.
“What is he saying?” I ask.
“He wants to know why I’m talking about his ass. You do have a nice ass,” she calls out. “Sorry, Taylor, I gotta run. We have a charity event tonight.”
“Think about coming this weekend.”
“I’ll let you know. Love you.”
“Love you too, P.” I hang up the phone and drop it on the desk.
Even though you’re freaking killin’ me here.
“Hey.” Jake pushes the door open. “You got a second?”
I pick up the pen and throw it at him. “It’s called knocking, doofus.”
He plops down on the end of the bed, facing me. “What are you doing?”
“I was just talking to Piper. Why? What do you want?”
“Why do you sound so suspicious? Can’t I ask random questions and hang out with my favorite older sister?”
“Okay, now I know you want something. Out with it.”
He sighs. “I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
Which means I’m definitely going to get mad.
A tap on the door has both our heads swinging in that direction.
Mindy leans in the doorframe, wearing skinny jeans with heels and a baggy silk blouse. She’s holding a manila file in one hand.
Jake bounces off the bed. “I’m getting out of the crossfire. Sorry, Tay, I only did this because she blackmailed me.”
Mindy rolls her eyes. “I didn’t blackmail you, I asked where Taylor was.”
“You bribed me.” He points at her. “She brought me pie from Bubby’s.”
“You asked for that pie three days ago. It had nothing to do with Taylor.”
Jake disappears out the door, calling out behind him, “You two can fight. I’ve got pie waiting for me.”
Mindy faces me. “I’ll leave if you want, Taylor. I’m not trying to intrude or bother you. I just wanted to finalize some of the details for the gig, and since I’m here, I thought it would be weird to text from, you know, downstairs.” She shifts on her feet.
This is good timing. I need to talk to Mindy anyway, I need to tell her, somehow, that I’m ready to . . . I don’t know, try to forgive her? Can I do this? Am I ready? It’s only possible if I can trust her with my guilty truths. This whole fight started because I was vulnerable, and she crapped all over me.
There is only one way to know for sure if she means it. If I can trust her again.
I force a smile. “It’s fine.”
She perches on the edge of the bed, only about a foot away from my chair. Her back is as straight as an arrow, her spine rigid with tension. “So I have the signed performance contract here and we had a question about—”
“I’ve been looking for Mom,” I blurt out.
She stares at me, her face frozen in stunned shock. “What?”
Moment of truth. Will she freak out and lose her mind like she did when I told her about Aria?
“You know, that lady who birthed us and disappeared? I hired a PI and I’ve spent the last seven months trying to track her down. And I just found out what happened to her.”
Her mouth pops open. She shuts it with an audible click and swallows before asking, “What did you find?”
I search her eyes. She’s not angry. She’s surprised and curious. “She’s dead.”
She blows out a breath, leaning forward and propping her elbows on her knees, her hands covering her face. “Jesus.”
“I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot. It’s just . . . I haven’t told anyone.”
Then I give her the whole story. How I hired Georgia, how I’ve been following leads all over the country trying to find her, and how I finally tracked her down to Boylesville and the subsequent conversation with Jonas. I leave out Atticus but explain how I started looking through the box of her things, but then couldn’t continue. Not without my family.
When I’m finished, her expression is blank. “Wow.”
“Yeah. I want Piper to come to Whitby for the show so I can talk to everyone. I meant to tell you all at once, but well . . .”
She reaches over and touches my arm with her palm. “I’m glad you told me. Thank you for trusting me with this.” She pulls back. “I know I reacted badly when you told me about Aria.”
I snort. “There’s the understatement of the year.”
She swallows. “I know. I was wrong. I lashed out at you because I felt guilty too.”
My brows lift. “You did?” She might have mentioned her guilt before, the first time she apologized, but I was too pissed to listen.
“I never truly blamed you for what happened to Aria. You were only sixteen. I blamed myself.”
“Why? You didn’t even live here. You were off at college.”
She blows out a breath. “Aria wanted to come stay with me that weekend. We had talked about it a few times before, her coming to visit for a night or two so she could check out the campus and hang in the dorms. And I kept blowing her off. I was too busy enjoying college life. And then she died.” She blinks rapidly, holding back tears. “It was easier to be angry at you than to acknowledge my own culpability.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, shock stealing my voice.
“Then when you opened up about what happened, I was . . . resentful that you would share it with me. You had reached a point where you were ready to open up. But I hadn’t. I didn’t have the guts to face my own shame. Every time I looked at you after that, all I could see was my own guilt, my own fear, my own cowardice staring me in the face.” Her eyes fall shut, tears tracking down her cheeks.
I can’t stand it any longer. I lean forward and wrap my arms around her shaking shoulders. I felt the same way when she apologized to me last year. I couldn’t even handle being home, because it reminded me that while she was able to move forward, forgive me, forgive herself and then push through the grief, I wasn’t.
But maybe I’m getting there.
“I’m sorry,” she says, between tears.
“I know.”
She pulls back to wipe her eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Hell, yeah you will. You can start by helping me tell the rest of our family about Mom.”
She chuckles. “Of course.”
Relief crashes over me. “Thank you. Also, I might need your help getting Piper to visit while you’re still here.”
She nods without hesitation. “Of course. I’m on it.”
I purse my lips. “And maybe you could clean the bathroom Jake and I have been sharing.”
She rolls her eyes, pushing me on the shoulder. “Now you’re just being greedy.”
We laugh and memories flood through me, all the moments we shared before Aria died and things went south. Mindy was always the first one I called when I needed anything, before Finley, even. She was the person I turned to for everything. She was the first person I talked to about my guilt over Aria’s death. She was my person, which is why her anger stung so deeply, and why her sudden apology was like a Band-Aid over a knife wound.
She leans toward me. “Can I ask why?”
I blink. “Why what?”
“Why did you search for her?”
I take another leap of faith and decide to face the truth about myself I’ve been avoiding. “I wanted to know why she left, because I wanted to know if I was like her.”
Mindy rocks back slightly. “What do you mean, like her?”
“She left. I leave.” I wave a hand in the air. “It’s like what I do. I’m flakey and unreliable, you’ve said it yourself a thousand times.”
She winces. “I was wrong. I was lashing out at you because of my own issues.” She leans toward me, her eyes serious. “Taylor, you aren’t her.”
I swallow and avert my gaze to the corner of the bed. “How do you know?”
“Because you come back. You always come back. Sure, you might need to get out there for a bit, but you would never disappear entirely. You would never ghost your family. You aren’t that person.”
She’s right.
I might leave, but I don’t stay away. I’m running from myself, not the people who love me. I couldn’t. I care about my family too much.
Maybe I’ve been asking the wrong questions. Maybe it’s not about why Mom left, but about why I always need to leave. Why can’t I just stay still? What am I running from, really?
