“Kate? What is this all about? I know it was hard on you when I left. But I really thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want you to grow up in an unhappy household. I hope you know that.” I can hear the panic in my dad’s voice. That maybe I don’t. That maybe I’ve been bottling up a secret anger toward him for leaving my mom.
“Yes, I’m okay, Dad,” I say, and can picture his jaw softening as he hears my words. “I mean, of course I was sad—no kid wants her parents to get divorced. But you were always there for me,” I say, thinking about how my dad never missed a soccer game or a spelling bee, never tried to shove Leslie on me, instead letting me come to accept her on my own terms, which I did eventually. “Plus, you know I love Leslie,” I say, feeling a pinch of betrayal of my mom for saying it out loud.
? ? ?
The conversation with my dad sits with me long after we’ve hung up. As I’m getting ready for Nikki Day’s party, I’m still replaying my dad’s words—that he wouldn’t rewrite his history, even if given the chance. Was he just saying that to spare my feelings, because if he hadn’t married my mom, I wouldn’t have been born? Would Jules have to give the same response about her marriage to Ben because of her children? Or was my dad right—does life work out just as it should, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time? And if that was the case, why couldn’t my mom accept that? Even though she had already been on three dates with Bill, she was still bringing my dad’s name up in every conversation, the thought of seeing him and Leslie at the wedding consuming her. I had hoped that dating another man would ignite a spark in her, one that would let her leave the past behind once and for all—but for whatever reason, she still seemed to be clinging to it.
“What should I wear to this thing?” Max says, startling me as he enters our walk-in closet.
“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you!” He grabs for a pale blue button-down. “You okay?”
“I was just thinking about a conversation I had with my dad today. I was asking about why he left my mom.”
“That’s a heavy topic for a Saturday.” He searches my eyes. “Why were you asking? Is your mom giving you shit about Leslie again?”
“Yes, always.” I release a hollow laugh, pulling a blue wrap dress down from the hanger and holding it up against my body. “Can I ask you something?” I meet Max’s eyes in the full-length mirror on the wall and he nods.
“Yes, definitely wear that. It brings out the blue in your eyes.” He smiles.
“Thank you. But that’s not my question.” I pause, looking around, thinking how much my life has changed since I was in this closet when this all began—when I was giddy over a pair of sandals that had magically appeared.
“Oh?” He runs his hand through his hair, sticking up slightly in the back from the baseball cap he’d been wearing earlier.
“Do you think life works out just as it should? That you can’t mess with destiny?”
Max’s lips curl upward and I think I see his chest contract slightly, as if he’s just released the breath he was holding. Had he been worried I was going to ask him something else? “Have you been reading The Power of Now or something?” He laughs.
“No!” I swat him with my dress. “I’m being serious, Max. What’s your opinion?”
“Well, if I must weigh in on this . . . I would say that we control our lives, not the other way around. I don’t believe there’s some predestined plan for me.”
“Good answer,” I say, kissing him deeply.
“Oh, yes. Definitely wear that,” he says, running a finger down my arm as I grip the dress. “And if you do, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do to you later.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep,” he says, kissing me again.
“Why wait until later?” I start to pull his T-shirt over his head.
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, pulling me down to the closet floor. I let myself get lost in his kisses, in his touch, detaching myself from the conflicting thoughts about fate and destiny that are wrestling inside of me, and decide the only moment that matters is the one I’m living in right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Once, Magda had given me some valuable advice. It was right before my first client pitch, a proposal I had been working on for weeks, barely sleeping or eating, my hair falling out at the slightest touch from the stress. As we sat in the reception area of the cosmetic company we were courting, the fire-engine-red walls making my temples pound, Magda had uncharacteristically put a hand on my trembling knee and smiled. “Kate, you’ve put together a fantastic presentation. I wouldn’t let you pitch this if I didn’t think you were ready.”
I had nearly jumped at her touch. “But what if I’m not . . .” I’d paused before finishing my thought, not sure how vulnerable I wanted to appear.
“Not what?” Magda squinted her eyes.
“Ready?” I’d finally said.
“I’m going to tell you a little secret,” she said as she leaned in. “No one’s ever really ready for anything. You just fake it till it feels right—and eventually it will.”