Back to the Good Fortune Diner (34 page)

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the interview,” she said finally.

“I overreacted. The night of the wedding was rough, and my flight was delayed and I was tired after everything and Dad... Well, in any case, I don’t have any excuses for the way I behaved.”

“You did,” she insisted. “I lied. I made you think—”

“You don’t have to say anything, Tiff. I forgive you.”

The words should have absolved her, but they only made her feel worse. She wanted him to yell at her, to hate her, to break things off and never speak to her again. She didn’t deserve his kindness. She turned away from him and walked up the last flight of stairs, Chris on her heels. “Tomorrow,” she said quickly, stamping out the emotions boiling under her skin, “we’ll meet for breakfast. I’ll take you guys to some of the college campuses I know a little more about. I can get some calendars for Simon to look at, too. It’d be easier if he had an idea of the area of study he’d like to focus on, of course. And then we can go to the Museum of Natural History. He’d like that. And we can hit Central Park, and—”

Chris turned her and covered her mouth with his, stopping the flow of words. His fingers tightened around her waist, but he didn’t pull her closer. Tiffany arched into him. And though a feeling like warm honey filled her, his kiss brought her despair into sharp focus.

I may never get to kiss him like this again.

He pulled away and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ve missed that,” he said quietly.

She didn’t want to return the sentiment. If she admitted how much she wanted to be with him, she’d fall to pieces and allow him to sweep her up and take her back to Everville, where she’d remain a broken woman. So she said nothing.

“I’ll call you tomorrow when we’re up,” he said after an awkward beat. “I better get back to Simon.”

“Okay.” He stood there a moment longer, as if waiting for her to say something more. But she had no idea what was supposed to come next. In the next breath, he turned back down the steps, his heavy footfalls echoing down, down, down, and out the door.

* * *

T
HE NEXT DAY
, Tiffany dragged them all over Manhattan in a whirlwind attempt to show them everything about the city she loved. Something was off, though. She kept Simon between them, using him as shield and speaking mainly to his son, as if Chris were simply his chaperone. He suspected she was trying to win back his son’s respect with the campus tour and museum visit. Surprisingly, it was working. He couldn’t hide his growing excitement as they toured NYU’s campus. By dinnertime, Simon was eagerly discussing living arrangements and ways to afford a place of his own.

Chris, meanwhile, struggled to stay upbeat. He’d had a terrible night’s sleep no thanks to the constant whir of the hotel’s noisy air conditioner, the traffic below his window and the glare of the streetlights peeking between the blackout curtains. The strange and constantly shifting smells of the city made his sinuses hurt. Now he had an inkling of what Daphne went through with her migraines. The exhaust fumes choked him and the tap water tasted funny. And there were so many people, all of them jostling him, glaring at him as if he had no right to be there.

Those little miseries were trivial, though, compared to the way Tiffany was trying to mask her pain.

He shouldn’t have come to see her. After his talk with his dad, he’d thought bonding time with Simon would be good for them both. Involving Tiffany when they were both still hurting had been a mistake.

We don’t always want what we think we want.
He’d been almost certain of what he wanted: Tiffany, in his life. He’d come to see if it was a sure thing. But she hadn’t even told him she’d missed him, never mind whether she felt the same way he did.

He should’ve left things as they were. He would have gotten over her eventually. He’d deluded himself into thinking he could win her back. Now he was hurting them both.

They ate dinner at a fancy steak house. Simon pored over NYU’s course calendar. His son had been taken with Jenny, the pretty liberal arts major who’d conducted the tour. At the end of it, she’d handed him her number and told him to call anytime if he had questions. Chris couldn’t help noticing his son was now keenly reading the section on liberal arts.

They dropped Simon off at the hotel after dinner. Chris drove Tiffany back to her apartment and asked to be invited in. “Just to talk,” he assured her, despite that damned flicker of hope.

“Simon seems pretty enthusiastic about college now,” she said once they were inside. She dropped her keys into a bowl on the small dining table.

“I think that had more to do with Jenny than the programs,” Chris replied wryly.

“Well, he has time to figure it out.” She brewed coffee for them both. He sat on the squishy futon and took the mug from her. “I’m glad you did this for him. I think he’s really benefited from the trip.”

“It wasn’t just for him.” He put the mug down. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Dad’s been talking about selling the farm.” Her mouth fell open, and he plowed on. “Before I came to see you yesterday, I was looking into some opportunities with a firm here that does policy advocacy for alternative energy programs.”

Something brighter than hope sparkled in her eyes, but then dimmed quickly when he sighed.

“I’m not qualified, despite my experience. I don’t have the right schooling for it. I don’t have any schooling at all. Kind of ironic, really, considering everything I’ve done back home.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But even if I was qualified, I don’t think I could do it. Being here, away from the farm... New York isn’t the place for me.” Admitting it out loud closed a bunch of doors in his mind. His gaze meshed with hers, even as she lowered her eyes, understanding clear in the slouch of her shoulders.

“To each his own.” Her attempt at sounding trite fell flat. Her lips lifted in a tremulous smile. Dammit, he should have kept his mouth shut. He wanted to go to her, pull her into his arms, but if he touched her, he might do something stupid like promise to stay, sell the farm, buy some horrid little box of a condo in some stale little suburban borough and move in with her.

He couldn’t do that. Not to his son or his father. But most important, he couldn’t do it to himself. He was happy as a farmer. He’d always thought he’d been missing out on something bigger, grander, more important. But he’d achieved more in his hometown than he could have anywhere else. It wasn’t on the same scale as working for an environmental lobby group, but he was making a difference.

For the first time in his life, he was truly proud of who he was and what he did. Tiffany couldn’t give up her dream any more than he could give up his.

“We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon,” he said, throat tight. “Do you want to join us for brunch before we go?”

“I...I’d better not. I have a lot of work to do.”

“I thought your boss told you to take the weekend off.”

The corner of her mouth twisted up. “I snuck a few manuscripts home.”

“Rebel.” He chuckled, then slowly pushed to his feet. Dragging up the energy to be courteous and friendly was painful. “Okay. Well. Thanks for playing tour guide. And for...everything.”

He waited, hoping beyond hope she’d reach out, show him
something.
She stared at him across the short space between the living room and the kitchen. It might as well have been miles. “You’re welcome.”

Every limb felt like wood as he forced himself to open the door. She started walking toward him to see him off, but he simply smiled, waved and shut the door behind him.

The next day, he headed home to Everville.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

W
HEN
D
ANIEL CAME HOME
around midnight, he found his sister facedown on the futon, sobbing.

“Tiff?” He threw his jacket aside and knelt by her. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t be with him,” she wailed, and hiccuped as she tried to take a breath. “I can’t be with him. This is where I’m supposed to be, and he can’t be here. He doesn’t want to be here. I can’t be with him.” She was hyperventilating. The emotional dams had at last crumbled, and grief swamped her.

Daniel brought her tissues, brewed tea, then comforted her as best he could while she remained curled up in fetal position.

“Oh, God, Daniel, why am I so miserable?” she blubbered.

He patted her back. “Love is funny that way, I guess.”

“I don’t love him,” she said staunchly, blowing her nose. “I can’t love him. We don’t belong together. We’re too different.”

“Sure, sure.” He was too tired to point out how much she sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“I love my job,” she asserted, fist clenched. “It’s a great job. It’s what I’ve always wanted. What I trained for. This is where I am supposed to be.”

“No, it’s not.” He clasped her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I saw it the minute you opened the door. Tiff, your job is making you miserable.”

“It is not. I love my job. I worked all my life for this. If you’re going to sit there and question my feelings all night—”

He burst out laughing, hearing his own words echoed back to him. His sister stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Like I haven’t heard
that
before.”

“What?”

“Remember when you first found out about Selena and you were all ‘What do you have to offer her blah, blah, blah?’ You told me we were too different, that she could never leave her practice and move to Everville, that I’d never figure out how to live apart from Mom and Dad—”

“I never said those things.” She smacked him in the arm.

“You didn’t say them out loud, but I got the message. And now it’s the same for you, isn’t it? You think you love your job, but really, you’re in love with Chris.”

“I am not!”

“You’d do anything for him,” he went on relentlessly, “but you’re too stubborn to because you’re too focused on what you think you
should
want. You think you want all this, but in the week I’ve been here, all I’ve seen is how hard you work and how unhappy you’ve become. You don’t have time to have the life you’re dreaming of. I’m not sure you even know what that dream life is supposed to be. Make your own happiness, sis. Success is how you define it, not how someone else does.”

As the words tumbled out of his mouth, it was as if a window had opened in his mind. It was all so clear now, and he took a deep breath.

He settled both hands over his sister’s shoulders, looking her straight in the teary eyes. “We’re both idiots,” he said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Also, you’re an ugly crier, so snap out of it and clean yourself up.” He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Are you going to leave your poor, heartbroken sister all alone in her hour of need?”

“Tiff. Chris drove all the way here with his son to see you during
harvest
season. You need to think about that and what you really want in life.” He snatched up his keys. “You already know what that is. You just have to admit it to yourself.” He hurried out the door, praying he could win back what happiness he could for himself.

* * *

I
T WAS CLOSE TO ONE
by the time Daniel arrived at Selena’s condo. He buzzed her code, and when she picked up, he said, “It’s Daniel. I’m sorry for calling so late. I’m not drunk. But I am an idiot and I need to tell you to your face how much of an idiot I am.”

Silence answered him, and then a loud buzz. He nearly wrenched the door off the hinges going in.

His heart was hammering so hard, he could feel his sweat- and food-stained T-shirt jumping against his skin. He should have showered and changed before walking into this conversation, but he couldn’t waste another minute of his life without telling Selena how he felt.

She opened the door at his knock. She had on pajama shorts and a T-shirt with a dancing kitten on it. Her hair was piled in a bun on her head, and she wore glasses rather than her usual contacts. Even so, she was the most radiant woman he’d ever seen.

“I love you, Selena,” he said.

Her eyebrows climbed into her hairline. “Are you high?”

“Only on your love. Can I come in?”

“Depends.” She cocked a hip and leaned against the door. “Are you going to pass out on my couch again and leave without saying thank you? Are you going to tell me your parents won’t like me because I’m a
gwai-mui?
”

He chuckled at her use of the Cantonese slang term for
white girl.
“I promise never to do either of those things ever again. If you don’t want to let me in, that’s okay, but I have something to say and I might get a little loud about it.”

She glared, considered him a moment. “In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, I’m mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how ticked off I was when you showed up here drunk after you told me I wasn’t good enough for your parents.”

“I know.”

“I don’t owe you a goddamned thing. And I’d probably be better off without you.”

He swallowed thickly, glanced at his shoes. “Yeah. I know that, too.”

Her fingers flexed over the edge of the door, but then she swung it wide open and waved him through.

He followed her into the living room, as if he were walking up to the edge of a precipice. He knew exactly how far he had to fall if Selena didn’t return his feelings. The way she was eyeing him now, he might already have lost her. He must look slightly crazed. But now was the time for leaps of faith.

“I was making excuses,” he declared. “I got it into my head that my parents wouldn’t approve of you because you’re white. Because you don’t meet this strict list of qualifications that I made up in my mind based on nothing. My parents don’t care what you are. In fact, I don’t care what my parents think about you. The reality is that
I’m
not good enough for you. I’m the one who doesn’t meet my own standards. I’m the one judging our relationship against some nonexistent benchmark.” He breathed deeply. “I’m sorry I ever tried to put any of my own insecurities on you. I’m ashamed of myself.”