The setback, p.7
The Setback, page 7
“I’m glad she likes me, but she’s also my boss.”
He nods. “Beth’s at work?”
The fishing tours are done for the season, so she’s waitressing at Brownings every afternoon. It frees up her mornings for the photography classes she’s taking.
“She’s doing her online course.”
Will nods, and then his eyes slide upward, slowing down at my legs, and then widening when he takes in the straining buttons of my uniform blouse.
I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “Your sister’s uniforms are a little small.”
He crosses the room in three strides and wraps an arm around my waist. “I’ll say.” His head lowers over mine, his eyes fixated on my mouth.
“I’m getting some new ones,” I say.
“No rush.” The curve of his lips is devilish.
“Ha.”
“Although, the last thing we need is for all the guests to—you know what? Let’s rush that order.” He’s grinning now, and he does my favorite thing ever. He kisses me while he’s smiling.
I always liked his smile.
I’d never thought about how it might feel to have someone I loved smiling with joy while he kissed me. His lips aren’t as full. They aren’t as soft. But I know the reason why. I know he’s happy, and we’re happy, and that joy reverberates between us in a way I can’t really explain.
Everything about Will makes me happy, so when he deepens the kiss, pressing my back against the wall behind the check-in counter, I let out a little sigh. The rest of the world always disappears when Will touches me, but I think it’s gotten worse since he proposed.
“I bet there’s a room that’s free.” Will’s voice is husky.
That makes my heart flip over.
“There are some perks to my mother owning the hotel, you know.”
Someone behind us clears their throat.
And then they giggle.
I stiffen. “Will,” I say against his mouth.
He nips at my lip.
“William Earl.”
“You know what?” the throat clearer says. “I’ll come back.”
The voice is familiar, and my brain shoves against the fog my boyfriend’s—my fiancé’s—mouth has created. Why do I know the voice? Then it hits me.
It’s my future mother-in-law.
Will’s mother.
I practically bodycheck him to escape and swipe my hand across my face, just in case he smeared my makeup. “Mrs. Earl. I am so sorry.”
She shakes her head, blushing as much as I am, I’m pretty sure. “It’s fine.”
“What can I help you with?”
“Tina called in sick,” she says. “But it’s fine. You stay here, and I’ll clean the rooms.”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “Maybe we split them up?”
“That’s what I was going to suggest.” She’s looking at the ground, but then she glances up to grab the clipboard with the cleaning checklist on it. As she does, her eyes lift up my body, freezing somewhere halfway up.
She’s staring at my ring.
“Sorry, Mom,” Will says. “I just had a hotel-related question to ask, and your new employee was so charming. . .” As if he’s just noticing that his mother is mimicking a marble statue, Will clears his throat. “Mom? Earth to Mom.”
“Are you?” She finally moves, her eyes lifting to her son’s. “Are you. . .engaged?”
“I was going to call,” he says, “but it was kind of late by the time I thought of it.” He keeps talking, but I can’t hear a word.
Because his mother’s screaming so loudly, and jumping up and down so enthusiastically, that no other sound is audible. “Oh, William! Oh, William!! You’re getting married! To the girl of your dreams! We’re going to have a wedding!” And then she goes supersonic, and no one can understand her but the dolphins. You know, if there were any dolphins this far inland.
“Alright, Mom. Alright.” Will pats her shoulder. “Breathe, Mom. Try and breathe.”
She hugs him, fiercely, and then she releases him and spins toward me. Her face is bright red, and tears are streaming down her face, and it hits me. This delight, this joy, this overwhelming happiness? I have no family to react that way. No one I can even call, really.
I mean, sure, Aiden and Beth were happy for me. Abigail and Amanda will be delighted too, I’m sure. But my mother’s gone, and my lousy father, too. My brother probably won’t even come. I’m not sure whether I want him to. Even if my mom was here, I doubt she’d react like this. She didn’t love Charles, but when I told her we were getting married, she simply smiled softly and said, “Wonderful.”
When Mrs. Earl’s arms go around me, it’s like something inside me that’s been broken is glued back together. It’s not perfect. It’s not like new either, but it’s better than it has been in years.
Marrying Will would have been the right call for any number of reasons, but gaining a new family right along with him is icing on an already delicious cake. “I’m so happy you’re pleased.”
“Pleased?” Mrs. Earl lets me go so that she can wrap her hands around my cheeks. “My girl, if you knew how long I’d prayed for this, for my Will to be happy, for him not to be alone.” She beams. “And when I think of the tiny Wills and itty-bitty Donnas that will be running around.”
“Mom,” Will says, a warning note in his tone.
She waves at us with both hands. “I know, I know. I won’t pressure you. But you’re not exactly young. Don’t wait too long, alright?”
“Donna and I already talked it over, and if we decide to have more children—don’t forget that we already have Aiden—we’ll probably adopt. There are lots of kids out there who need a great home. Biologically producing a child isn’t the only way.”
Mrs. Earl looks a little disappointed for a split second, and then she rallies. “Well, whatever you decide, I’m still delighted. You hear me? Aiden is the finest little boy I’ve ever met, and if you have a little Donna, a little William, or a completely different family shape that you two choose, I’m just giddy for that, too.”
I’ll give her this. She’s genuinely happy for her son, even when what he wants isn’t what she wanted him to want. I need to remember that and apply her wisdom to my life when Aiden is old enough to want something more complicated than goldfish added to his mac and cheese.
Thinking about Will stepping up to protect me and shield my heart just makes me love him more. “Mrs. Earl,” I say. “The thing is—”
Will takes my hand and shakes his head.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Your mom’s been amazing, and I think she should know.”
“Know what?” Her eyes widen. “Please tell me no one’s ill.”
“Nothing like that,” Will says.
“Well, sort of,” I say. “I have had quite a few miscarriages in the past, and the doctors aren’t positive that I’ll be able to have another child.” My voice breaks on the word child, and I’m about to cry again.
“Oh, Donna.” Mrs. Earl hugs me again. “Sweetheart, I lost three children in a row after having Will’s sister. It was the hardest eighteen months of my life.” She releases me and her eyes are so tender it hurts.
“I’m so sorry.”
She shakes her head. “I had two amazing children and a man who loved me. I had what I needed.” She sighs. “And you have Will and Aiden.”
“I’m not sure what the future holds, but we really appreciate your support.”
“If you do decide to adopt, did Will happen to tell you that my sister runs an adoption agency in Salt Lake City?”
Okay, that was fast.
“We haven’t even set a wedding date yet,” I say.
Mrs. Earl shakes her head. “Of course. Right.”
I do admire her enthusiasm. Engaged to adopting in five minutes or less. I am sure that, for someone who loves family and children as much as Mrs. Earl does, waiting this long for her son to find a match was hard enough.
“Well, you tell her that if she hears of a sweet little girl who needs a home, you’ve got a great family for her.” I wink.
Mrs. Earl’s practically bubbling with joy as we split up to clean our respective rooms.
“A little girl, huh?” Will asks.
“I already have a boy.” I arch one eyebrow.
“I could do a little girl, too.” Will tosses his head at the checklist. “Need a hand?”
“Like you have time.”
“I have some brakes to replace, but the ranch chores are pretty minimal right now. I’ve already taken out the hay and I made sure the water was de-iced.”
My amazing fiancé helps me tuck sheets on beds, scrub bathroom sinks and counters, and change a lightbulb before he finally leaves. “Good luck,” I say.
“Brakes are a breeze.” He blows me a kiss on his way out.
I manage to go through and clean up the room assignments and complete the details on an online booking before his mother catches up to me.
“Looks like you had some help,” she says. “Will has always been the sweetest about coming by to see whether I need anything when he has time in the morning.”
“You trained him well.”
“I hope I didn’t upset you earlier,” she says. “I say things without thinking sometimes, and I never want my carelessness to upset you.”
“I hope your son and I didn’t scar you. I’ll be sure not to ever act that inappropriately here again.” What if, instead of his mother, it had been a guest? I cringe internally.
“Really, it’s fine. We’re a small town. It’s a small hotel. I know it’s not the Ritz Carlton.”
It feels like the right moment to address it. I hope I’m not wrong. “When Aiden was really small,” I say, “he was kind of a spoiled brat.”
Mrs. Earl’s mouth drops open. “I can’t believe that.”
“You should. I had a lot of trouble dealing with him most of the time.”
“But he’s such a good, sweet boy.”
“He’d demand an ice cream cone for breakfast,” I say. “He’d refuse to eat anything else. Or sometimes he insisted on wearing pajamas, day and night. I couldn’t talk him into changing them.”
“Those things aren’t too bad,” Mrs. Earl says.
“I was at the park one morning where I’d met a friend, and she asked me why he was still wearing long-sleeved pajamas. I told her I hadn’t been able to convince him to change.”
Mrs. Earl looks confused.
“She told me that I was his mother and not his friend.” I still feel pretty silly thinking about this. “I told her that I wanted to be his friend as well. I had a husband who was a real jerk to me. You met my parents, and you know my brother. I didn’t really have anyone in my family who liked me, and I wanted that, desperately.”
“Oh, Donna.”
She’s about to start comforting me, and I need to finish making my point first. “But Mrs. Earl, that’s when my friend taught me something. Kids need boundaries. He liked me more for making him feel safe. For telling him no when he wanted something inappropriate, and for being his mother and not his pal.”
“Good for you,” Mrs. Earl says. “A lot of mothers I’ve met still haven’t figured that out. It must be why Aiden’s such a wonderful boy.”
“I’m glad you think that because, right now, I’m going to tell you the same thing.”
She looks shocked. “But Will’s grown.”
“About me,” I say. “I’m going to be your daughter-in-law, and I’m delighted about that. But right now, and especially when we’re here, I’m also your employee.”
Her eyes widen, understanding dawning.
“You’ve been letting me eat ice cream cones for breakfast and wear long-sleeved pajamas. I wish you wouldn’t. Like Aiden, I want to be a good kid. I want to do things that are healthy for my long-term longevity at this job. So when you see me doing something like ordering the wrong conditioner, please stop me. When I carelessly enter something in the wrong place or the wrong way, fuss at me. I’m not made of porcelain. I can take it. And in this circumstance, I want you to do it. I think it’ll make us happier as family, too.”
Mrs. Earl smiles. “Will really is a lucky guy. You’re smart, beautiful, and kind. And if you ever make out with my son behind the reception desk again, I’ll dock you a day’s pay.”
Now I’m smiling as well. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She points at the check-out invoices. “And while we’re talking about this, you’ve been filling these out all wrong.”
Oh, boy. The rest of the day is pretty brutal, but I asked for it. And I’m glad that my future mother-in-law is someone who listens.
7
Helen
My parents aren’t the kind of people who finish each other’s sentences, but they’re almost painfully alike. They both run their departments at Stanford. They both love being in charge, making other people feel stupid, and creating new ideas that will awe and impress their colleagues.
They both love to read.
They both love to schmooze, as long as it’s ‘their’ kind of people.
They are perfect for academics. They met when they were both getting their PhD, and I think it was like at first sight, even if you couldn’t really call it love. They never seemed very passionate, but they also never really fought, at least, not that I can recall. At every step, when I was growing up, if I asked one of them something and they said no, the other would be sure to say the same thing.
I didn’t think I wanted a relationship like that. Actually, it was about the worst kind of matchup I could imagine when I was in school. When I met Oliver—we nearly came to blows in Econ 220 over the ethics of the debt ceiling—it was just what I thought I wanted.
His family had as much money as mine had brains. He had been a swimmer in high school, and he still had the broad shoulders he’d developed from swimming butterfly. And when he told me he loved me, I thought he really meant it.
It hurt when he refused to even pitch my business idea to his dad. I wanted to crawl into a bottle and never come out after he dumped me. Six months later, when he and his dad did the very thing I’d pitched to him?
My despair changed quickly to rage.
I probably owe Oliver a big old thank you card, to be honest. There are very few things that motivate me like a desire for revenge, and I knew that the best revenge was a life well lived. I’m sure he thought the daughter of a couple of academics wouldn’t be able to execute the idea I’d shared. Or maybe he just didn’t want his father to know a girl had the idea instead of him.
Either way, it taught me that I can’t ever trust a guy unless our interests are entirely aligned. In reality, I think it’s stupid to ever trust a guy. Even when they don’t mean to, they can destroy a girl’s future with barely a second thought. Like Abby. My business was well on the way to being the megalith that it is, and she could own half of it today, if only she hadn’t thought Nate looked great in his stupid acid wash jeans.
And again, she’s met a guy and saddled herself with another baby.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. Her kids are great, for kids, and they’re pretty smart, too. But their priorities are all out of whack. Mom and Dad took things too far, but at least they set us on a path of excellence. What’s Abigail’s plan for Ethan? Is she really going to let him stay here and push cows around his entire life?
What I really can’t understand is why Abby’s not freaking out about Ethan’s decision to work a ranch instead of going to college. It’s not like he’s decided to delay grad school or something. He’s earning his undergraduate degree online, like he’s a complete loser. If I see an online college on someone’s resume, it goes straight into the trash, do not pass go, do not collect a single, solitary red cent.
More than anything else, Ethan may be the reason I’m still here, insisting on developing out this retreat. I plan to give Abby my share to run so that even if her legal practice here evaporates, which it could with a very light breeze, she’ll have something to feed her many children. I mean, I suppose I could set up a trust, but people value things more when they feel like they’re earning them.
It’s stupid, but I actually feel a little bit of excitement when the enormous trucks roll up to pour the concrete. They’ve been framing up the footings for the resort complex for a week now, and we’re finally going to have slabs. Amanda is, of course, taking the dumbest photos ever, smiling and waving alongside the best looking of our beer-gut, rotten-toothed contractors. I suppose she’s pretty decent at photo editing, or she wouldn’t have been able to make anything with her little account at all.
Still. What’s the point?
I’ve had multibillion dollar deals that went together faster than this venture, so maybe that’s why I feel happy about something so small. At least I don’t have to fake my smile when Mandy waves me over to pose for the photo of the three of us in front of the Gold Strike sign that arrived just in time.
“Say cheese,” Amanda reminds us.
Moments after our photo’s taken, but before the concrete actually begins to flow into the first of the molds, a large pickup truck pulls up and a man in a white hardhat leaps from the passenger side. He practically sprints toward us, waving his hands. “Wait.”
I eye him like I’d eye a cockroach in my apartment. Not with any joy, I’ll tell you that. No one who rushes in screaming is here for anything good. “Who are you?”
“I’m from the county, and I just heard you were pouring concrete, but you can’t. Your application had errors. It shouldn’t have been approved.”
It takes nearly an hour for us to get to the bottom of things, but the alleged errors are ridiculous. That alone tells me who’s to blame. The horrible thing about small towns is that the people running them are absolute tyrants. I’d almost rather build in a third world country than in a small town. At least the government leaders in Kabul and Mumbai are honest about taking bribes.
They also have a lot more to lose.
When I watch our concrete trucks roll away, without a single speck having been poured, I’m ready to light David Park’s head on fire. Unfortunately, because we aren’t in India or Afghanistan, that might get me thrown in jail.
