Perfect on Paper (20 page)

“This is a lovely selection of tea paraphernalia, Mrs. Bronstein,” Nadine remarked.

“Oh, thank you. It’s from my beau.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Mr. Delacroix. He lives here, too. In the other wing.”

“Really?” Nadine was surprised for some reason, though she caught herself before she made too much of it. “How nice.” She didn’t want to pry.

“Yes. He came calling a few months ago.”

“Oh, so it’s a new relationship?” Nadine smiled to herself. This was exactly the kind of distraction she needed.

“Yes, and I’m afraid I’ll be letting him down easy pretty soon.”

“That’s too bad. Any reason?”

“He’s too old for me, dear. Too old-fashioned.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he had a different type of life than I did—a wife who stayed at home and tended the children and all that. I have had a—shall we say—unconventional life. Never married. One kid, adopted. Cheryl is her name. She’s a singer.”

“But you call yourself
Mrs
.” Nadine pointed out, wanting to hear why before Mrs. Bronstein moved on. She seemed like the kind of woman who could gloss right over the most important stuff.

She shrugged. “That’s what they call me around here.”

“Even though you were never a Mrs.?”

“It’s a generational thing. Most women in my generation go by Mrs. It’s a silly little thing and I don’t give a hoot one way or another, so I just let them call me whatever they want. As long as they call, I say.” She laughed at her own joke.

Nadine laughed, too. She couldn’t believe the story on many levels—both the strange assumptions people make and Mrs. Bronstein’s blatant disregard.

“Wow. So your daughter’s a singer?”

“Oh yes. She also plays bass guitar. She’s touring right now with a band, all throughout the southern states. They have a big gig coming up in Nashville in a couple of weeks.”

“Whoa. That’s amazing. How old is your daughter?”

“Oh, she’s what now? Fifty-three.”

“And touring? That’s very cool.” Her own mother was around that age, but somehow it was impossible to conjure an image of her mom getting her groove on in a band.

“She has some CDs out. Maybe you’ve heard of them. The Molly Miller Band?”

“Sounds familiar.”

“They play on the radio from time to time. She makes a living. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not an easy life. But she followed her heart and that’s what matters.”

The tea was ready to steep in the teapot. Nadine placed it on a trivet on the coffee table. She told Mrs. Bronstein—Stella—about the Allan situation and how it had interrupted a budding romance with a young guy she’d met at work.

“The thing is, it seems so tempting to go back to Allan. I loved him so much and was devastated when he left. Our families love each other. That’s important. And he wants to take care of me.”

“I hear two red flags in what you just said. One, you said love in the past tense. Two, when men promise to take care of you, there are strings attached.”

Nadine thought about it. She could never admit this to her own mother or Jeraldine Jordan, of course, but Allan’s vision did sit funny with her. “He said I could work on my furniture business from home during the day, and it wouldn’t matter if it became a commercial success or not.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I mean, I get it. He wants me to follow my heart and be happy in doing the work that I love, but…”

“He doesn’t understand that you’re a serious businesswoman.”

“I think he thinks what everyone in our families thinks, too, that one day I’ll just make the same choice I grew up with and stay home and raise kids. The truth is, I’m not even sure I want them.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Oh, honey. There’s lots of time for children and they don’t have to come from your body in order to be your kids. Believe me.”

“I do.” Nadine sighed. “Thanks for talking with me, Stella. Sometimes I feel like nobody understands.”

“What about Allan? Do you feel like he understands you?”

Nadine thought about it and her eyes became teary. “I don’t.”

“Then you’d better let him go.”

“Even though on paper we’re perfect?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if you write down everything about us on a piece of paper, we match perfectly.”

“Who cares about paper? You need a guy who understands you. Otherwise, you’re better off alone. There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. You get to choose who comes and goes. It’s a sweet life. How long has it been since you had sex?”

Nadine wondered if it was written all over her. “I had a pretty great experience not too long ago. Why do you ask?”

“Duke’s new dad. He’s very handsome, and he’s one of the good ones. I can tell.”

“No thanks.” Nadine shook her head. “I’ve got enough going on. The guy who gave me that incredible experience I just mentioned? That wasn’t Allan.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. See, there’s this other guy. And on paper we’re
so
not perfect. He’s over a decade younger than me.”

“Sounds delightful. If only Mr. Delacroix were about ten years younger.”

“You don’t think it matters?”

“I think there are a lot of other things that matter more. Tell me, do you feel like this younger guy understands you?”

Nadine didn’t need to think about it. She nodded.

“So there you go.”

“But I’m not sure I want to be with him.”

“Because?”

“We’re different.”

“Difference is good,” Mrs. Bronstein said.

“That’s what he said.”

“He’s smart.”

* * * *

Nadine got into her work overalls. All the drama of her romantic life had taken its toll on her ability to focus on the one thing that really mattered—her business. She turned on the light in the garage and plugged in the tiny space heater for the first time this year. It was too brisk to be outside in the garage without a little extra heat.

She got out her sanding equipment. It was time to strip the pale yellow paint off an old country table. This was the kind of thing she could really sink herself into. There was nothing like starting a new project, seeing what was beneath the surface and bringing it to light.

She took a break and looked around her garage, which functioned as a tool shed. On the wall, there was a framed picture of her and Grandpa Winston at his shop. She must have been twelve or thirteen. She put down the sander and walked over to the picture and studied it. Who was that girl who had wanted to get married so badly? She barely recognized her. A ghost from the past, she was now.

The past couple of years had changed her. Allan’s leaving then her job no longer needing her and giving her the ax like that… Then losing the most important mentor of her life. All so abrupt. She knew one thing. Her grandfather was right. Life has no guarantees and you can’t control other people or their actions, nor should you try. Things either worked out or they didn’t. It shouldn’t be hard. And you should never spend time with someone who doesn’t fully accept you, nor should you ever try to change anyone. People are as they are, she thought, as she surveyed the garage and felt her heart swell with pride that she had—against her ex-fiance’s advice—followed this dream. She loved furniture and working with wood and helping people create the homes they wanted. All of it was beautiful to her, especially the many, many hours she’d get to spend by herself lost in thought.

She went back to work. That was it. As she sanded away at the table, she knew what her heart desired more than anything else.

Reaching for her cell phone, she dialed the number.

“Hi, Jack? It’s Nadine.” She felt her grandpa’s presence with her in the austere garage. “I’d like to lease the shop.”

* * * *

Friday night came around and Nadine wanted to be ready for seven, as she and Allan had agreed. She got dressed and did her hair and makeup, but everything was off. Her stomach was in knots. She didn’t want this date. She had agreed to it because of a stupid trick, Allan’s annoying kissing game. Even with the stakes as high as they were for her, Allan couldn’t help but turn everything into some sort of betting game.

Did she want a man like this?

What about everything she’d divulged to Stella? It had seemed pretty clear then that she didn’t want Allan. So why was she going through these motions? She owed him nothing. Less than nothing.

By the time Allan knocked on the door, Nadine had loosened herself up with two glasses of chardonnay.

“Come on up,” she said, ignoring the flowers he held.

“These are for you,” he said.

“Okay. Bring them up,” she said with her back to him. She was already halfway up the steps.

“How was your week? Were you looking forward to seeing me?”

“My week was—” She paused, searching for the right word. She settled on—“
Illuminating
.”

“Cool. I don’t know what that means, but you look great.”

“Thanks,” she said through pursed lips.

He went through her cupboards, the very ones he had once shared with her. He knew where to find a vase, and he wasted no time in filling one with water. He cut open the bouquet paper and snipped off the bottoms of the stems, then sprinkled some of the powder from the florist into the water.

“Have you given any thought to us?” Allan asked.

“I have. It’s not going to work.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, it’s not like it’s some kind of impromptu decision, Allan. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

“I’ll be more attentive, I swear.”

“It’s not that. There’s nothing you can do.”

“But, Nadine. We’re perfect. Everyone knows that. I’m sorry it took me too long to figure it out. I’m sorry about the mistakes I made, but you can’t change the past.”

“I don’t want to restore furniture as a hobby, while I pop out kids and support you in your career.”

“Who said anything about that? We could get you a store, if you prefer.”

“That. Right there. That idea is so condescending, Allan. At the end of the day, you want me to be your dependent. You’ll give me the illusion that I’m doing something empowering and independent, but really, you will be the one footing the bills.”

“Well, come on, Nadine. Do you really believe you’ll be able to support yourself on restoring furniture in this economy? People want new stuff. Nobody gives a crap about antiques anymore.”

There it was.

One sentence that told her everything she needed to know.

Nadine stood, shocked into silence, and stared at the man she had once loved.

“Goodbye, Allan.”

“That’s it? No dinner? No nothing? I made reservations.”

“So go on your own if it’s that important to you.”

“Whoa. Where’s all this anger coming from? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“That’s just it, Allan. You’ve never seen me.”

Chapter Eighteen

That weekend, Nadine Baxter dressed in her Alfred Sung dress. She put her hair in a sensible bun and applied a little makeup, but not too much. It was important that she look like the kind of woman who could run a furniture restoration shop to whomever this landlord was she was about to meet. She wanted to make a good impression, and she didn’t think her work overalls would cut it, though she couldn’t wait to have days in the shop where she tended to customers in her work clothes, just like Grandpa Winston did.

Before she left for the meeting, she checked herself out in the full-length mirror. Something was missing and she saw precisely what it was. She went to her jewelry box and got out the necklace with the key on it. Yes, she thought as she put it on, this was their day together. He was with her. She knew it and felt it deeply in her heart. Now she was ready.

She and Duchess got into the car and pulled out of the driveway. As she drove past David’s neighborhood, she realized that she missed him. But no mind, she thought. She couldn’t afford to distract herself from her vision—not over a man. Men were fleeting and made promises they didn’t keep. There was no reason to torture herself over something that wouldn’t work out anyway. They were in different places in their lives. It was best to focus on what was tangible. Furniture. Duchess. The shop. She fantasized about making a replica of the original sign that Grandpa Winston had made himself. Nothing would please her more than returning the shop to its halcyon days, name included—
Winston’s Fine Furniture. Established 1965
.

Her heart beat hard in her chest, and she tried to breathe deeply. This was it. She was going to sign her name to this, give up her safe job at the bookstore and make a real go of it. Even a month ago, she hadn’t been ready, but somehow the events of the past few weeks had taught her that she wasn’t as reliant on security and safety as she had thought. She was ready to take a risk, ready to follow her dream. With her grandpa’s money, she was going to do something that might look stupid to everyone she knew, but this was something she would never regret, not ever.

She parked the car, rolled down the window for Duchess and told her to stay in the car and that they’d go to the park right after the meeting. One last deep breath and a quick lipstick check in the rearview mirror and she got out, briefcase in hand.

Jack Harrington greeted her at the door.

“You’re early,” he said. “The landlord will be here in fifteen or so. Why don’t I show you around?”

“Sure. Can I ask you something? Is there still an apartment attached to the shop?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of small, so I just use it for overstock. Come with me.”

He turned on his heels and walked toward the familiar old door that connected the shop to the outside corridor. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. The stairs leading up to the second floor still creaked like Nadine remembered.

He unlocked the second door to the apartment and gestured for her to go inside. She was overwhelmed by the familiarity of it. The sun through the window cast its glow and though the place was full of boxes and bins that weren’t there when she knew it, there were a surprising amount of items still left from her Grandpa’s time, including the old clock on the wall and the kettle on the old gas stove.