Chapter 33

I dress in a dark blue sheath dress that hugs me all over, and my favorite pair of dark brown Frye boots. When I reach Staplehouse, Luke's pacing outside, on the phone with someone.

“I told you already. I don't want to do that.”

Pause.

“Because I hate that kind of stuff, which you know.”

Pause.

“It's like this. You handle this part, and I'll do my part. I've got the prototype, and it's perfect. But you'll have to do the sales pitch without me.”

Luke glances my way and notices me, a smile spreading across his face, erasing the frown lines creasing his forehead. “Look, I've got to go. We can talk more in the morning.”

Pause.

“Fine. Yes, but not now. Tomorrow. She's here.”

Luke hangs up and holds out his hand to me. “You look like a young Emilia Clarke. All you need is a dragon on your shoulder.”

“I left the dragon at home,” I say. “I know how you feel about pets.”

“Oh,” he says. “Amy would appreciate your burn.” He takes my arm in his and leads me through the front door, where I'm fully expecting we'll be turned away.

“Mr. Manning, please, come right in.” The maître d' greets us in a black suit and waves us inside.

Which is super weird.

“How did you get us in here,” I whisper.

He squeezes my arm. “I may not be a fancy trust baby like your ex, but every store in town has lights, and I do quality work. I helped wire this entire place back when it was going in. I know the owner, and the head chef.”

“In fact,” the maître d' chimes in, “Mr. Manning helped the Giving Kitchen, back when it started. None of us will ever forget his boundless generosity.”

Well, color me impressed. “Maybe karma is real,” I say. “I've had a lot of clients who have brought me fruit cake, or a plate of cookies. I think I need to branch out a little.”

Luke snorts. “Stick with me kid, and you won't need to.”

My heart twinges a bit, knowing that I'm here with a purpose, and neither of us is going to like it. Why didn't Paisley just let me do this via text? I'm going to kick her in the shin next time I see her. Hard. Like I'm going to leave a bruise.

After we're seated, I have no idea what to say. I could break up with him now, before we've even gotten a basket of bread, but that seems kind of awful. Plus, I've never eaten here, and I kind of want to try it. Or is that even worse?

“How was your girls’ night?” he asks. “What did you do? Since you don't drink, I was wondering.”

I shrug. “First we paint our toenails, and then we braid each other's hair.”

“Is that before or after the big pillow fights?”

“So you can tell when I'm kidding now?” I ask.

He taps the side of his head with one finger. “Prepare to be impressed with my powers of observation. I noticed. . . your hair isn't braided.”

Before I can reply, a waiter places a menu in my hands. I glance down at the words, and then they draw all my attention. No prices, not categories, nothing I can make sense of in the slightest. It's just a list of ten or fifteen words.

“Uh,” I say, “what in the world is this?”

Luke smirks. “It's a tasting menu. You get ten or eleven courses, all of them so good you wish there was more to each one.”

“Wait, we don't get to pick what we're eating?” I bite my lip. “This is weird.”

He splays his hands out in front of him. “We can leave if you'd like, but I think even if you don't like a few of the options, you'll like enough to get full.”

“It might be good for me to try some new things,” I say. “I have a tendency to eat the same burger and fries every time I go out.”

I can't help but wonder what Trudy and Addy would think. Is this evidence that he's trying to change me? Should I be upset?

But the thing is, I'm not.

We chat and laugh, and every single time his fingers brush mine, my heart rate spikes and my mouth dries up. We're on the kombucha course, with only two dessert courses to follow and I decide I can't wait any longer. I open my mouth to break up with him, but he's faster than me.

“I've been thinking about your Sub-for-Santa conundrum, and how your ex-boyfriend is essentially shutting you down.”

“It's not actually—”

He holds up one hand. “Hear me out. I think you need to go over his head. This guy's not doing his job, and you need to tell his boss.”

“He may also just be distracted, or possibly sick of having me in his office.” I think about Jessica last night, her sneer, and how she knew my name. Maybe it's not even Foster who's the real impetus.

“Whatever the reason, if you love this program, don't let it go without a fight.”

I shake my head. “I can't fight it, Luke. I don't have the funds, and after I start my new job, I won't have the time, either.”

“It's all a matter of delegation. If you can get things rolling, I bet you can find volunteers to help out.”

I sigh heavily. “I'd need a miracle.”

“So go ask Foster for his help. Unless he's a real monster.”

“Nah, he's a decent guy.”

“Why did you two end things, if you don't mind me asking.”

I need to just break up with Luke. I don't want to have to go into all of this, moments before I dump him. It's a waste, but maybe Luke needs to know.

“He wanted kids,” I say flatly. “I don't.”

“That was it?” Luke's eyebrows rise. “And neither of you would budge?”

I press my lips together. “Guess not. Although, now he's getting married in like a few days, and I ran into his fiancé at our girls’ night. She was really, really drunk.”

Luke tsks. “Never great to be too smashed, but if it was her bachelorette party, I think she gets a pass.”

“You don't understand,” I whisper. I have no idea why it's so hard for me to say this, but it is. “Foster told me she's pregnant, and that's why he proposed so fast. They only met a few months ago.”

“And she was drunk?” He leans back in his chair. “That's not good. In fact—”

I nod slowly. “I told her as much. I warned her about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and the damage it can cause, which is when she told me she isn't pregnant.”

Luke whistles in disbelief.

“I don't know if that means she made it up so Foster would propose, or whether she's lost the baby. I wonder if I should say anything to Foster.”

“Absolutely not,” Luke says.

A waiter shows up at our side, and looks pointedly at Luke. “Sir? Did you need something?”

“What?” Luke glances at me and then back to the waiter. “Oh, because I whistled? Sorry, wasn't calling for you. I was surprised by something, is all.”

The waiter gives a little half bow and takes our glasses. He glances down at mine. “You didn't enjoy the Kombucha?” he asks me.

“I don't drink alcohol,” I say.

“It barely qualifies,” the waiter insists.

I stare at him calmly. “I appreciate your opinion, but for me, barely is more than enough. Thanks.”

“You weren't kidding when you said you don't drink, huh?” Luke asks.

I shake my head. “I'll never drink.”

“Just like you never want kids?”

“Or we could talk about how you won't get your daughter a dog. We all have our lines in the sand.”

Luke frowns. “Dogs aren't the same as kids.”

“No, they aren't. And drinking too much alcohol isn't the same as moving every few months, either. But both could damage a child, leaving them unable to form proper relationships.”

The corners of Luke's mouth turn down. “What are you saying? That I'm as bad as an alcoholic father, because my job takes me from place to place?”

“How long have you been moving, Luke? Your entire professional life?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.

“I know you didn't move like this for your entire career. In fact, I'd hazard a guess you've been moving for four years, give or take.”

Luke crumples his linen napkin in his hand. “Who told you that?”

I smooth my napkin flat on the table, trying to exude calm. “Amy. She said you've been moving since her mother died.”

If I'd known how wounded Luke would look, I'd have kept my mouth shut. “Do you have any idea what it feels like, to have an epic love, to meet your perfect match, and then to watch her die doing the one thing you both wanted? Trying to grow your family?”

Luke looks away from me, away from anything, and he struggles to regain his composure. “Of course you don't,” he whispers. “You'll never understand because you don't even want a family.”

The waiter approaches, oblivious, with two plates and places them in front of us. “White chocolate tart, with hibiscus infusion and ginger reduction.”

Luke nods at him stiffly and he walks away.

“I'm sorry I brought it up, Luke, but Amy told me all she wanted for Christmas was a puppy. I told her that seemed unlikely. She said if she can't have a puppy, she wants to live somewhere in a house with no wheels. She wants to make friends, and keep them.”

I don't mention her asking me to be her mom.

Luke practically bites each word off as he speaks. “Amy is fine. She has a father who loves her, a brother, and all the finest tutors. Frankly, I'm teaching her a valuable life skill, how to build new friendships quickly.”

I clear my throat. “Which is all fine. You're her dad, and I'm sure you know best. I bet you'll make sure she has an excellent education, even if it's from tutors in a trailer. I'm sorry I interfered.”

Luke's eyes snap when he meets mine. “What would you have me do, Mary? Call and back out of my job? Stay here instead?”

My lips part in surprise. “No, I'd never dream of telling you what to do. I'm sorry I even brought it up.”

“Because it's not like you're facing your demons. You're letting your mom and dad ruin not just your childhood, but also your entire life. You're giving them the power to incapacitate you.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“You're a hypocrite,” Luke says. “You chastise me for not staying put, for running from my problems, but you dump anyone who wants to talk about kids, because you won't make the sacrifices it takes to raise one, and at the same time you blame your parents for being selfish.”

I slam my fork down on the table. “You have no idea, no idea what you're talking about. I don't want kids because I won't mistreat them the way my parents did. I won't, but I love my job, and I love accomplishing something outside of the home. I know myself, and I set healthy boundaries.”

“Oh?” Luke asks. “And what kind of boundaries do you set, exactly?”

I push my chair back from the table. “I came here tonight to set one with you. I can't date you, Luke, not anymore. We want different things, and we just aren't compatible.”

“I want something different? What, to take care of my kids? To put food on the table? And you want to be a saint who helps every poor kid in the city, but doesn't actually love any of them enough to change your life in the slightest.”

I grit my teeth. “I should have broken up with you via text. I'm sorry I came tonight at all.” I stand up and my voice is woodenly stiff when I say, “Thank you for dinner. I wish you and your family all the best.”

“Now who's running away?” Luke asks.

“It takes a runner to spot one.” I turn on my heel and walk out of the dining room and through the front door before the first tears spill, hot and fast, down my cheeks. The man outside with the Salvation Army cauldron swings his arm back and forth, back and forth.

“God bless you,” he says.

I could use some blessings. I haven't had too many lately. I don't even look at the wad of bills in my hand before stuffing them into his red bucket.

I drive home on autopilot, barely noticing familiar landmarks as I pass them. When I finally turn into my own driveway, I stop on impulse at the mailbox and grab the weekend's pile of letters. Maybe the stack of bills will distract me. Sometimes routine things help me clear my head.

After I park, I toss the pile of letters onto my kitchen island and start working my way through them. Coupon mailer, bill, bill, coupon, flier, bill. Thick, heavy, embossed envelope. I tear it open carelessly, cutting my finger in the process. Blood stains the edge of the luxe paper.

A wedding invitation. From Foster and Jessica. A tiny scrawl on the corner in Foster's handwriting. “Sorry this is late. Jessica didn't want to invite you until she realized you had a plus one. Hope to see you there.”

Blood rushes to my head, my ears ringing. I'm invited, now that I have a plus one, huh? I close my eyes and shake my head slowly. I couldn't have waited until after Christmas to dump Luke? I could box Trudy and Addy's ears for this. Now, tomorrow, I'm going to have to march into Foster's office and tell him Luke and I have broken up.

I'd rather eat a bowl of glass shards.

Maybe I could RSVP and then claim I was ill or injured, instead. Or in the hospital! I could get a fake cast to really sell it.

I shake my head. Grow up, Mary. You can do this. Tomorrow, I'll simply march into Foster's office. I'll fight for Sub-for-Santa, and I'll tell him I won't be attending his wedding as an unwanted single, or with a plus one. And if he's a real jerk about it, I can always tell him his future wife lied and she isn't pregnant at all. I hope he got a good pre-nup.

Actually, if I'm being honest, I kind of hope he didn't.