Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,73
my heart, but not quite.
I bought her a gift last week. It’s just a silly little thing, an apron that says, Don’t be afraid to take whisks. It’s still under the tree.
After showing me the pictures of Santa last year, Emma scrambles off the couch, grabs Scarlett’s present and chucks it at me. The toss goes wide, but I manage to catch it.
She can’t know who it’s for. Can she? The girls only met Scarlett a couple of times. Then again, it’s not like I bring strangers around. Ever.
I set the present on the coffee table.
Emma comes back next to me on the couch and holds up her iPad again. This time, it’s the video she took of me after my night with Scarlett.
The man in the video grins at his phone like a lovesick fool.
If only he knew. The pain of witnessing my own previous happiness lances through me like a sword in the gut. But I’ve always known the truth, life isn’t about being happy. It’s about being responsible.
If I had only focused on my responsibilities, maybe none of this would have happened.
But then I remember Scarlett—her smell, the way she moves, the way she laughs at herself, the way she takes care of everyone around her and spreads happiness like it’s necessity and not a luxury.
I miss her. The lack of her smile is an ever-present ache in my chest.
I should have fought harder, but the way she was so willing to throw it all away reminded me that love and happiness have never been something within my reach.
But what if it was? What if it still is?
“I know, Emma. I get it. Come on, let’s get ready for Santa.”
Ava helps me get Emma dressed and ready as much as we can manage. Emma is in a goofy mood, grabbing the brush away, poking me in the ear and laughing, and pulling at Ava’s hair, but eventually we are ready to go down to the car.
Breakfast with Santa should be perfect. Two little elves take the girls to meet Santa in the throne room. They get a toy and a personalized ornament. The food is good, brioche French toast, scrambled eggs, pastries and gingerbread men. The setting can’t be better, we’re flanked by glittery angel sculptures and in view of the famous Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
But the whole time, even though I put on a brave face, I’m miserable. I’ve been miserable. I don’t know what to do with myself. But I also don’t know how to fix the problem.
When we get home, I put on Mr. Bean in the hopes the girls will sit still long enough to let the food settle before we go swimming.
And then I turn on my phone to check my messages. Nothing.
On the TV, Mr. Bean is at the pool. He’s hanging onto the side of the diving platform for dear life, his brows lifted, eyes wide, lips twitching in terror.
I can relate.
My phone rings and I tug it out of my pocket.
Oliver.
On Christmas? Really? He probably has no idea what day it is. I leave the girls on the couch and walk into the next room.
“What?” I answer.
What happened with Scarlett wasn’t entirely his fault, but I still have the urge to punch him in the face.
“Why is Emma sending me pictures of you looking like someone kicked your puppy?”
Apparently, my brave face isn’t so brave, after all.
“That’s none of your business.”
He sighs. “I know you’re pissed at me, but I do care about your welfare.”
I laugh. “Because I’m the one doing all the work for our project.”
“A project funded almost entirely by me.”
I shake my head at the reminder. “With my name bringing in the customers.” Damn him. If this whole thing fails, he’ll be out nothing. It’s chump change to him. In his world, this is all a game and the people are just chess pieces.
I can’t do this anymore.
“I want to change the deal,” I say.
“Guy. We’ve talked about this.” His tone is calm and condescending, like he’s talking to a recalcitrant child.
“No. You’ve talked about this. Now it’s my turn. I’ll sign the papers on the real estate, except for the north corner. Large enough for a food truck. If you don’t agree, I’m cutting my losses and pulling out of this partnership.” I say partnership like it’s a dirty word.
“You’re bluffing. You can’t do that. We’ve signed contracts. I’ll—”