Blame It on Paris (13 page)

“You know what?” He tipped back his glass again, his gaze boring into hers. “I'll go out right now. Go hit some bars. Find a woman, screw her. Then we'd be even. So if it's just about that, some short-term cheating, I think it sucks, but we can get past it. I
know
we can get past it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

She was the one at fault for this, so she wasn't about to let herself play the tears card. And she ignored his suggestion about the mutual cheating—it was so like him to want a nice, tidy way to fix things. Only what was wrong with her and Jason wasn't about Will, and it wasn't about anything that could be fixed. “Jason,” she said gently. “I'll love you until the day I die. But not the way you want to be loved. In the long run, there's no way in the universe it could have worked for us, because I'm just not the woman you think I am. The woman you want me to be.”

“That's
my
call. You think I never realized your feelings aren't as strong as mine?”

“They never were,” she agreed softly. “That's exactly the problem. I never realized it before. We were always pushed to be a pair. Our families always wanted us together. We had aunts planning our wedding when we were in middle school. You never looked at anyone else.”

“Because I knew it was you from the time we were kids!”

“And I tried to be—I wanted to be—your other half. I wanted to be as in love as you were. I wanted to feel like you did….” She could see in his face how much she was hurting him. It sucked. Trying to explain was only making it worse. Every word she said made him feel more unloved.

After a while, though, he lost the crushed look and thankfully started getting mad. What did she expect to do with the apartment? All their mutual stuff? Had she told her mother? His? What was she going to say? What were they supposed to tell everyone?

“I'm moving out,” she said. “It was your place first. You can have everything. I'm only packing up my clothes and personal stuff.”

“Well, that's just more shit. You knew you were going to do this without even talking to me?”

The scene deteriorated further after that. He called her selfish. Stupid. She was making an impulsive decision that involved the rest of their lives, and she hadn't thought it through. She'd had a momentary change of heart, a panic attack, which was normal for everybody, but no, she had to turn it into a god-awful, hurtful, life-altering event for both of them, and for what? “Haven't I been there for you? You've got a decent guy who loves you, who's always stood by you—that'd be me—and you're throwing me away like I was nothing?”

When he left, he slammed the door so hard her ears popped. She sank onto the couch, with her hands shaking and her eyes stinging hard.

Okay, she thought, but of course, nothing was remotely okay. Her stomach lurched. She sprang to her feet and barely made it into the bathroom before hurling.

Somewhere in the packed bags was her toothbrush and toothpaste, but she had no idea where.

She leaned over the bathroom sink and splashed cold water into her mouth and squeezed her eyes closed. Her head was pounding so hard she could hardly think. She hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours, had no idea when she'd last had a meal. She had no idea where she was going to sleep, no plan for a place to live, now had to tell her mother and everyone else about the broken engagement and had to confront her mother about her father, as well…

A sudden picture of Will popped into her mind. His smile. The way he'd taken charge after the mugging. The way he'd spun into her life, pulling her into a dance of love and life and laughter and passion. His face. His eyes. The shape and texture and heat of his mouth on hers.

She sucked in a breath.

Banished the memories, the picture.

Paris was a fantasy. She might as well steel herself to reality, because there was every chance she'd never see Will again.

Still, it mattered. What he'd taught her about emotion and love—and herself. Without Will, she'd never have figured out what really mattered to her. She'd have settled for something that didn't.

In the meantime, though, she had a whole life to tear up. So far, it seemed to be going as pleasantly as a train wreck.

 

T
WO MORNINGS LATER
,
Kelly was pacing inside the door at the Olive Garden when her mom walked in.

She quit chewing on a nail and breathed in. She'd called her mother before this, obviously, to let her know she was home safe and sound. But this was their first face-to-face meeting. Kelly had chosen her mom's favorite lunch haunt, given herself a couple days to gear up for this major powwow and told herself that a public place was the ideal spot for this meeting. It was the only way they'd both have a shot at keeping the discussion quiet and relatively unemotional. They'd have to stay rational in public.

But Kelly wasn't positive she could approach this rationally, no matter what. She felt roughed up and ruffled before she even got here.

Char flew in the door, eyes zooming across the lobby until she spotted her. In an instant, Kelly was smothered in a boisterously warm hug and kiss.

“God, I've missed you. Maybe you were only gone for a couple weeks, but I worried so much about how that mugging affected you. And I just missed talking to you. And my heavens, you look so different. A little shorter hairstyle? Very French. But you've lost weight, sweetheart, and you really could use a few pounds. Gaynelle and I went shopping again and found our dresses, did I tell you? We both picked out peach. Hers is fussier, naturally, you know how she likes her ruffles and frills. But that's the thing, the dresses are so different that I don't think it matters if they're a similar color—”

“Mom, I need to get this said right off. There isn't going to be any wed—”

“Oh,
honey
. That blue top looks fantastic on you. Did you get it in Paris?” Her mother was dressed for a typical high-powered real-estate day, a spring-lavender suit with matching heels, her blond hair worn simple and sleek, in a long, smooth comma that framed her face.

All Kelly's life, she had thought her mother was outstandingly beautiful. Still did. Actually, she'd always felt like an ugly duckling next to her mom, which was pretty stupid, considering her mom didn't have a vain bone in her body and had never done anything but praise her only daughter to the high hills and back.

“Mom.” Kelly tried to interrupt the soliloquy again, but even when the waitress led them to a table in the back rooms, even when Char swiftly ordered for both of them—it was easier that way, always prevented a world war and a two-hour discussion—Kelly had a hard time breaking in.

“You don't look any the worse for wear. A little tired and a little thinner. But otherwise…well, I can see that
something's
different. Besides the blue top. I talked to Jason's dad when I dropped off Gaynelle. He said he hadn't talked to Jason in a couple of days, but I think everybody was trying to give you two a little space, knowing you were fresh back and hadn't seen each other in a while.” Her mom smiled mischievously, then zoomed on. “It's killing me. Thinking of what I want to give you for the wedding. I know, money is all kids want today. But I'd really like to give you two something seriously—”

“Mom, the wedding's off.”

“—unique. It's not about expense. It's about something seriously personal—” Abruptly, Char snapped her fingers. “Darn it, I forgot to tell you! Your aunts want to have a shower. We know, we know, you haven't set a date for sure beyond sometime close to next Christmas, but that's just the point. It takes time to find the right place and get it reserved, and especially around the holidays, things get booked fast. We're thinking about a couples' shower, because it's so much more fun. So in the evening. And—”

“Mom—”

“What, dear?”

“Jason and I broke up. There won't be a wedding. I'm not living in the apartment anymore.”

“What?”
Her mom had just dipped into the bread basket by then, had a knife with a pat of butter all ready. Her smile and vivacity suspended as if suddenly frozen.

“I called it off,” Kelly said quietly.

“You can't mean it.” The bread dropped back to the plate. So did the butter. “You can't. Everyone knows. People have already started buying gifts. You've already moved in with him, bought all that stuff for the apartment yourself, were setting everything up so beautifully…”

“Mom—”

Her mom leaped to a conclusion. “Did he do something?” In a flurry she changed gears, turned into mother lioness. “I would have thought better of Jason, but you were gone for a couple weeks, honey. If he went out drinking, or ran up some bills or—”

“No. He didn't do anything like that. He didn't do anything wrong at all. I'm the one who moved out.” Kelly took a breath. “And there's another thing I have to tell you that's going to be just as hard, so let's get it all done at once. When I was in Paris, I met someone.”

Her mother swallowed hard. “Well, I have to admit, that's about the last thing in the universe I thought you were going to say. It's so totally unlike you, but, honey—”

“I met my father. The father you always claimed was dead.”

Her mom started to respond, then went silent as stone.

A baby started crying from a nearby child seat. A couple teenagers took the far table by the window, were whispering to each other with gooey eyes. A trio of businessmen in a close booth kept glancing at her mother—they were eating, doing their business, but they obviously appreciated a good-looking woman. As always, Char didn't notice.

“You met your father,” she echoed, in a fainter voice.

“Yeah. I did.”

Her mom shut her eyes for a moment, then seemed to gather herself, find some starch to put in her shoulders. “Well…damn. That subject is going to take a very long, very private conversation.”

“Yes, it is,” Kelly agreed, in the same painful, soft tone.

Char hesitated. Both of them seemed aware how special their relationship had always been…and how suddenly precarious. But her mom didn't have a long history of loving her for nothing. Given two bulls, she took the one by the horns that she thought was more important. “We'll talk about your father. But not now, Kelly, please. I can see you're upset, but that
is
the past. And right now, the really immediate crisis is you and Jason. It's about whatever happened in Paris that made you come back so…different. You and Jason were completely happy before you left on that crazy fool trip.”

“Mom, could you try and listen?”

“Of course I will.”

Kelly doubted she would or could. Her mom's face was flushing from the neck up, a sure sign she was upset. And when Char was seriously upset, all she wanted to do was act and order and fix, not listen.

Since Kelly had the same flaw, she understood it perfectly. “I don't know how to explain this well. But Jason always…surrounded me. The closer we came to setting a formal date, the more I felt as if I were facing a sentence in a cage.”

“Don't you think that's a little drastic metaphor?”

“No. I think it's exactly how it was. Jas was always great to me. Always seemed to love me. Always chose me. But, Mom, he always hovered so tightly that I never had a chance to look at anyone else. Test anyone else. Even to test
me.
And everyone we knew was always so happy about us. Always labeled us a couple…”

“And this is terrible how?”

“Not terrible. But it was what Jason wanted. Not what I wanted. And I went along, because there wasn't anything specific that I wanted differently. But I started to feel more and more trapped. That's why I went to Paris to begin with. To be alone. To get a better feel for who I was—”

“Kelly Nicole Rochard, that sounds like the kind of crap coming all too much out of your generation. Psychobabble. An excuse for being irresponsible and selfish.”

“That's not fair,” Kelly said unhappily. “Come on. When have I ever been irresponsible?”

“You'll disappoint everyone. Your aunts, your cousins. All his family, who are
crazy
about you, for heaven's sake. The priest—have you at least counseled with Father Donovan before you make such a wildly impulsive decision? You're ruining everything without thinking it all through.”

“I believe I have thought it through.”

“Good men aren't easy to find, Kelly Nicole. You should know that from my life. You don't just throw one away because you get a whim about ‘finding yourself.' Oh.” Her mother tossed down the white napkin. “Frankly, I'm too upset to eat. Or talk. You know perfectly well I'm on your side no matter what you do, anytime or anywhere, but I would like to believe you'll come to your senses about this. I want to think before talking together again. And I want
you
to think. So we can both have a conversation without shouting at each other.”