A Cosmic Kind of Love, page 17
Chris smirked at her before turning those swoony dark brown eyes on me. “I graduated as a systems engineer from the academy. An important qualification in my selection to NASA.”
Fascinated, I asked, “And you made captain in the air force really young, right?”
“In four years, which is the shortest time period you can make captain,” Richelle answered proudly. “He trained as a tactical fighter pilot, was on active duty for four years, and made captain by the age of twenty-seven.”
I grinned at his aunt, who was practically bursting with pride.
Staring out at the water, Chris ate but said nothing. I wondered how he felt about his time on active duty. What he’d seen. Who he’d lost. Then he spoke. “I enjoyed flying, but combat wasn’t for me.” He turned back to me. “So I applied to Pax.”
“Pax?”
“Naval Test Pilot School at Patuxent River in Maryland. I was there for three years, and I got involved in test-piloting for NASA. Miguel was the one who dreamed of being an astronaut. He was fascinated with space since he was a kid, and it rubbed off on me. When he died, having never pursued what he’d really wanted, I decided I’d try to make that dream come true for him. That’s what got me interested in the astronaut-training program, so I applied and was selected when I was thirty-one. Trained for three years and then went on my first mission, as you know.”
Awed and feeling like I’d done very little of significance with my life in comparison, I gaped at him.
Richelle laughed beside me. “Impressive and intimidating, I know.”
He frowned. “How? All I did was work hard. People work hard all the time.”
“Yes, but not all people are bona fide astronauts who live in space for five months.” I shook my head at him. “You’ve packed so much into your life, and you’re only thirty-five.” No wonder he was floundering now. He’d literally reached for the stars and achieved it. What came next? I suddenly remembered his confession. “And now you’re writing a book. I feel the desperate need to go home and reevaluate all my life choices.”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t compare your achievements to anyone else. Look at your success. You’re excellent at your job, Hallie, and that’s why you work for one of the best event-management companies in the country. Never undervalue yourself.”
I softened my cheeky grin, moved by his praise. “Thank you for saying that. As for your book, you know I think it’s amazing.”
“I can’t believe you told her about the book,” Richelle murmured.
She and Chris shared a look I didn’t understand.
Eventually he shrugged. “Hallie knows to keep it to herself.”
“Did you tell your father about it?”
Just like that, it felt like Richelle’s words had conjured this wall between us and Chris. The tension radiating off him was palpable, and I knew from our discussion last night that things between him and his dad were awful.
And I thought my relationship with my parents was a mess.
As if on cue, my cell rang on the table beside my plate. I’d changed my ringtone Friday night to “Keep Moving” by Jungle, so it was pretty loud. It felt incredibly inappropriate at the moment. Seeing that it was Dad, I winced and muttered an apology before I left the table. I answered as I stepped away, hoping maybe the interruption would dissolve the tension the mention of Chris’s father had created.
“Hey, Dad, can I call—”
“You need to call your mother right now,” my father barked furiously in my ear.
In all the arguments I’d been stuck in the middle of, Dad had never spoken to me like that. My stomach dropped. “What’s going on?”
“Your mother and Jenna were drunk and toilet-papered our yard last night. This is beyond acceptable behavior, Hallie! This is intimidation! Miranda is in tears, Alison is mortified, and my neighbors are affronted. I can’t—”
“Dad, Dad, slow down. Are you sure it was Mom?” Of all the crazy stuff she’d done, I just couldn’t imagine her toilet-papering Dad’s yard.
“I saw her!” he raged. “I woke up because I heard them laughing, and when I went to investigate, they took off in that cheap lime-green monstrosity Jenna refuses to stop driving. I checked the security camera on the front door to make sure, and there was your mom, laughing it up and stumbling all over the fucking yard with rolls of toilet paper in hand.”
Oh my God.
“Dad, I’m sorry. That is ridiculous.” What was she thinking?
“It’s beyond ridiculous, Hallie. It’s criminal. Now you get on the phone to your mother and tell her to get her ass over here and clean this up, or I am pressing charges. She puts me through hell, and just when I’m getting back on track, she starts harassing my family? That’s not happening!”
I winced at him calling Miranda and Alison his family.
“Right. I’ll call her.”
He hung up on me.
Like it was my fault too.
Resentful tears filled my eyes, and I squeezed the bridge of my nose to stop them. My wrist throbbed, and I released the pressure with a hiss of frustration. Despite the stumble over Bandit, I’d been having the best weekend I’d had for as long as I could remember.
But, of course, my parents would ruin it.
A firm hand settled on my shoulder. “Hallie, you okay?”
The hair on my nape rose.
I turned to face a concerned Chris. “I have to call my mom. I’ll be two seconds.”
He nodded, a deep frown between his brows, but he returned to the table while my phone rang out. Just as I was about to hang up, Mom answered.
“So you remembered you were supposed to be here for lunch?” she snapped, her tone hurt.
What? “When? We didn’t make plans.”
“I texted you.”
“I didn’t get your— Mom, that’s not why I’m calling. Dad just called me, and he’s furious at you and Jenna. You have to get over there and clean up his yard.”
There was silence, then a petulant “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Frustration squeezed my throat, and I gritted out, “You toilet-papered Dad’s yard last night.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Mom, he’ll press charges if you don’t get over there and clean it up.”
“Why should I clean up something I didn’t do?” She raised her voice.
“You’re on camera, Mom.”
I heard her intake of breath.
“Mom?”
“I didn’t do it,” she insisted angrily. “And it’s so like you to take that bastard’s side in this!” She hung up on me, making her the second parent to do so.
Stomach churning, I hurried over to the table, where Chris and Richelle waited, wearing worried expressions. Mortified, I gave a quick explanation. “So,” I continued after stumbling through the embarrassing details, “I have to get to Ridgewood and clean up the yard. I don’t want to spoil your Sunday, Chris, so do you have a cab number? I can get a cab to the station.”
“No, I’ll drive you.” Chris stood up from the table.
“No, really, I don’t—”
“Hallie, of course I’m driving you,” he interrupted, his tone stern. Then he leaned down to kiss Richelle’s cheek. “I’m sorry to cut this short. I’ll see you soon.”
“Of course, go, go.” She stood to hug him and then rounded the table to embrace me. “I hope you work things out with your family.”
My smile was pained. “Thank you for this weekend. I’ve had such a good time. I’m sorry to rush out on you like this.”
“Don’t be silly. Family comes first. It was so good to meet you, and I can’t wait to see you again.” She gave me a broad smile. “Let me wrap up these sandwiches while you grab your things.”
Ten minutes later we were in Chris’s car, wrapped sandwiches on my lap, as we drove out of Richelle’s driveway.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized again.
“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Chris replied softly. “It’s not your fault.”
My resentment grew as we drove down the tree-lined highway, heading out of East Hampton. It had been so refreshing to get away from the city, to be by the sea, but more so to spend time in the company of two people I clicked with. For the first time in a long time, I felt like myself, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
The reminder that my parents were a mess and didn’t seem to care about dragging me into their chaos made me so mad, I wanted to leap out of the car and just run back to the beach.
“I can feel you stewing from here,” Chris said. “You can talk to me, you know. If it’ll help.”
Embarrassed by the whole situation, it took me a while to answer. “My parents’ divorce has been the extra-messy kind, and I find myself stuck in the middle a lot.” I looked over at him.
He scowled. “I’m sorry to hear that. Can I ask what caused the divorce? You don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal.”
Where to even start?
“My parents are complicated together,” I sighed heavily, remembering the thousands of fights. “I didn’t realize it then, but looking back as an adult, I can see that I grew up in a very tense, unstable home. My parents veered between being the best of friends, mortifying me with public make-outs one weekend and then with public arguments the next. They fought a lot. My dad is—was—a sweet guy, but I think he was always insecure about my mom. Like he thought she could do better. So he was jealous of a lot of other men, and my mom found that hard to deal with. On the flip side, Mom is kind of materialistic, and they argued about money a lot too. Mom always seemed to want more, and Dad was very practical about finances and didn’t think we should spend it on luxury items like a big house or a pool. They also argued about how much my dad worked. Mom was a real estate agent before she opened up her own real estate company, but she always was there for me. Every school event, every parents’ evening, every birthday. Dad couldn’t seem to manage that. While I knew he loved us, he prioritized his work a lot. So they fought about that too.
“I spent a lot of my childhood trying to defuse their arguments because I was so scared they’d get a divorce. I’d seen what that had done to friends’ families, and I didn’t want that.”
God, how I’d worried about that as a kid, how I worried if I saw a man smiling at Mom too long, or if I had a school thing Dad couldn’t make, and how those things might lead to an argument. A kid shouldn’t have to worry about that stuff.
“I kind of thought by the time I graduated from college that parents just didn’t divorce after a certain age.” I laughed humorlessly. “So naive of me. About two years ago, something happened with my mom that I still don’t quite understand because she won’t talk about it. I suspect it was some kind of depression, but Mom isn’t one for talking about feelings. So she just did things we didn’t understand, and the biggest was asking Dad to move out.” Emotion thickened my throat. “He was so devastated, Chris. Even with all the arguing, my dad adored my mom. He would tell me all the time that he thought there was no one as beautiful or as funny as my mom. And she just seemed to throw him away. I know it can’t have been that simple, and he knew that too, but goddammit, she won’t talk about it. It went on for about a year, and Dad decided he needed closure, so he asked for a divorce. It rattled my mom. She broke down in front of me, and I’d never seen her like that. She told me how much she loved him, how much she hated herself for what she’d put him through. But then afterward she pretended it never happened, and she was too proud to tell my dad she’d made a mistake and wanted him back.
“Six months ago, he met Miranda. She’s a little younger, forty, and has a teenage daughter. She’s nice. She seems nice. Her daughter is kind of a brat, but Miranda seems kind . . . and yet I still resent her because her presence is killing my mom.” A tear slipped free and I swiped angrily at it. “And I know my mother did this to herself, and she’s not exactly the nicest person to me sometimes, but all this crap she’s pulling is because she’s heartbroken. No matter what, she’s my mom, and I want to fix things for her, but I can’t. And now I’m just playing referee, and neither of them seem to care what this is doing to me, and I can’t tell them because I’m so busy trying to please everyone. My dad thinks I’m on her side, and Mom thinks I’m on his side, and it’s my feelings that get kicked around.” I was crying. Full-on crying. Embarrassed, I covered my face. “I’m so sorry I’m unloading all of this on you.”
Suddenly the car slowed, and I removed my hands to see Chris had pulled over. “What are you—”
I shut up abruptly as he released his seat belt and reached over to pull me into his arms.
He felt solid and strong, his embrace tight and reassuring. That strange sense of familiarity I felt around him overwhelmed me as I drew in his scent, as his warmth seeped into me. Why did he feel like such a safe place?
His comforting hold made me cry even harder.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, smoothing a hand down my hair.
After a little while, mortification returned, and I pulled out of his embrace even though his arms felt wonderful. Flushed, I couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry. I’m acting like a whiny teenager.”
“Hey.” Chris brushed my hair off my face so he could look into my eyes. I felt myself falling into his. “It doesn’t matter what age you are, parents can still fuck you up.”
I gave a huff of humorless laughter, wiping at my eyes. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I promised. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He clipped his seat belt in and drove back onto the road. “Sometimes we bottle things up for so long that they just come pouring out when we least expect it.”
“Thank you for understanding.” I tried not to let my growing adoration for the man show. “For comforting me.”
He gave me a soft look. “Anytime.”
We drove for a little while in silence, and then Chris spoke. “I think your parents are probably the reason you’re a people pleaser.”
I nodded, feeling that resentment rise in me again. “Yeah, I think so. I hate confrontation, I hate upsetting people, and I end up dragging out friendships and relationships I’m not happy with because I don’t want to deal with the fallout. I don’t need a therapist to tell me my parents’ behavior created that.”
“That’s not good for you, Hallie. Or for the people in your life. Sometimes being nice so you don’t hurt feelings or get into an argument with someone is worse than just being honest. Sometimes there’s kindness in brutal honesty, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time.” He winced suddenly. “Anyway, it’s not your job to police their war. Like you said, in the end no one is happy when you’re too busy trying to please everyone.”
My brows drew together. “Are you suggesting I pick a side?”
“Yeah. Your side.”
“Isn’t that selfish?”
“In this case, no. Your parents are adults. They should be able to handle the divorce themselves, and that includes this toilet-paper incident.”
Despite the nervous fluttering in my stomach at the mere thought of leaving them to deal with the toilet-papered yard, the guilt that flushed through me at the thought of my dad pressing charges, my anger overtook those feelings. Would Dad really call the police, or was he just trying to force me into fixing the problem? And did Mom not care about the threat because she knew I’d cover her ass to keep the peace?
Did they not respect me at all?
“You’re right,” I blurted out. “Why the hell should I clean up the yard? I’m not doing it. I’m sweating at the mere thought of recusing myself from the situation, but I’m not doing it.”
Chris grinned at me.
His smile made me feel stronger.
“You can drop me off at my apartment instead.”
His gaze flicked back to me from the road, and I could have sworn there was pride in it. “I think that’s an excellent plan. So that means you’re free for the rest of the day?”
My heart leaped. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“Me too. How about a movie and takeout?”
I thought it sounded like the perfect distraction from my parents. I also didn’t know what it meant. Were we friends, or was this heading in a new direction? I didn’t know. Chris hadn’t made any romantic overtures, but there definitely seemed to be an attraction between us, right? Or was it all one-sided?
My brain hurt from overthinking it.
So I stopped.
Chris wanted to spend time with me and I him, and for now that was all that mattered.
“That sounds great. Favorite movie of all time?”
Going with the subject change, Chris shrugged. “Back to the Future.”
I gaped at him for so long he turned to give me a quick look.
“What?” He frowned. “You hate Back to the Future?”
“I love Back to the Future. It’s just every guy I’ve ever asked that question to answered with a movie I suspected they felt was the correct answer instead of the movie they truly loved. Like Taxi Driver or The Grapes of Wrath. I think yours might be the first honest answer I’ve ever heard.”
He shrugged. “I don’t believe in lying about something to impress people. I don’t believe in trying to impress people, period.”
“Well, you’re an astronaut. You never have to do anything else impressive ever again,” I teased.
He grinned boyishly. “That’s true.”
“And so modest too.” I laughed. “You’re a real Marty McFly.”
Chris chuckled like he was in on a secret I wasn’t.
“What?”
“Nothing. It was just my nickname in the Air Force.”
