Rom-Com Collection. Kristan Higgins

“Are you kidding, Ma? You’re not serious, are you?”

      Mom glanced at the girls. “Ah, Louis … would you mind taking the girls elsewhere for a few minutes?”

      “Of course,” he said. “Girls, would you like play vampires in the showroom?”

      “Typical,” Bronte muttered. “I am so old enough to hear this, but I get booted anyway.”

      “I call the Windsor!” Josephine said happily, grabbing her sister’s hand. “I love bronze.”

      “I’ll be Van Helsing,” Bronte said, resignation dripping from her voice. Louis closed the door after them.

      “I’m sorry,” Hester said, “but uh … this is fucking ridiculous.”

      “Hes,” I began.

      “Please, Callie,” she said. “I’m not like you, singing rainbow songs and letting fucking bluebirds flutter around my head. Dad. You cheated on Mom when she was pregnant. I think we can see that I’m emotionally scarred from that. I mean, I’ve spent my whole life avoiding men like the bubonic plague because, Mother, that’s what you taught me!”

      Mom’s mouth was hanging open. “Oh, honey … I never meant to—”

      “But you did!”

      “And yet here you are, sleeping with the Prince of Darkness,” Freddie commented.

      “Shut it, little boy,” she snarled. She turned to my parents, who’d been beaming just a few seconds ago. “And now you’re marrying him? Again? Are you insane? What if he cheats on you again?” Her breath came in jerking little fits, and I could honestly say I’d never seen her so upset.

      My mom’s face was pale, and Dad’s smile had vacated the premises.

      Then he put his glass down and walked over to stand in front of his eldest child. “Hester, I want you to forgive me,” he said gently.

      “No fucking way,” Hester answered.

      “Forgive me,” he repeated.

      “Dad …” Her voice broke a little. “No.”

      “Please.” He stared right in her eyes, no smile on his face, no twinkles, his eyes steady and sad. “Everything you said is true.”

      “I know that!” she sputtered.

      “Please forgive me, Hester. Give me another chance. Please, Bunny.”

      At the sound of her long-ago pet name, my sister’s mouth wobbled. Her eyes were no longer dry. She looked at my mother, then at Fred and me.

      “Come on, Hes,” Freddie said gently. “It’s true, they fucked us up, but isn’t that what all parents do? Imagine what the girls will say about you. Stop stepping on kittens and let Mom and Dad be happy.”

      My sister looked at me, and our eyes locked, sunshine and butterflies against the rhino. Then I smiled, gave a little shrug, and the butterflies won. My sister heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’m outranked, anyway.” She looked at my father. “You’re taking the girls and me to Disney World. God knows you owe me.”

      “Name the day,” he said. Then he put his arms around her, and after a second, she hugged him back, and if it was awkward and less than wholehearted, it was, nonetheless, a start.

      “This family is not normal,” Hester said, releasing Dad to wipe her eyes. “Not fucking normal.”

      I found that I was crying (surprise!). Going to my mom, I hugged her long and hard, then went to my dad, my dear old dad, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You did it, Daddy. You got her back,” I whispered.

      “Thank you, Poodle,” he said, tears in his own eyes. “Thank you for never giving up on me.”

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      IT WAS FULLY DARK when I left the funeral home, as we’d all ordered celebratory pizzas and started planning the wedding.

      The night was cold … cold enough for frost, maybe. A thin slice of moon hung in the sky, and leaves rustled and fell from the trees as I walked down the hill. I checked my phone. No messages. I wasn’t sure what that meant regarding Ian and me, but as I said earlier—time for wild monkey make-up sex. Heck, if my parents could get together after all that, Ian and I could certainly get past this bump. I’d just nip home, check on Noah and Bowie, throw on some slutty underwear, then trundle out to Bitter Creek Road.

      The lights of Georgebury were dark, as the sidewalks rolled up around 8:00 p.m. The Whoop & Holler showed signs of life, but the other storefronts were dark. Only Green Mountain Media had its lights on. Mark was still there. I could see his dark head in the window as he sat at his desk in the apex of our iron-shaped building.

      I stopped, looking up at the office, the light golden and inviting. And then, just like that, I decided. Tomorrow, I was giving notice.

      It was time.

      A weight lifted from my heart. Yes. It was definitely time. I’d find something else soon enough. Could even start my own business, maybe, or help Noah for a few months ‘til another opportunity presented itself. But it was time to cut whatever tattered strings kept me near Mark. He’d been in my life forever, always clouding the waters one way or the other, and finally … finally! … I was sick of it.

      “What do you say to that, Michelle?” I asked aloud. The First Lady didn’t answer, but that was okay. I didn’t need her voice of reason when I’d finally found my own.

      When I got home, Noah’s truck was in its customary space. As I went into the kitchen, I snapped on the light … the house was pitch black. And quiet. Where was my doggie? He usually greeted me at the door, alerted to my presence at the first whisper of my footsteps, quivering in joy. Tonight, though, there was nothing.

      “Bowie?” I called. “Mommy’s home, buddy!”

      There was only silence.

      “Noah?” I said. My voice seemed to echo.

      He must be out with Jody, I thought. And he took Bowie, that’s all.

      But bile rose in my throat. My purse slipped from my suddenly sweaty hand. “Bowie?” My voice was quavery and weak.

      Then came a small sound. It’s probably Noah, Betty Boop said. He’s in his bedroom with Jody, and they’re having geriatric sex, so make a lot of noise.

      But I knew it wasn’t that.

      The sound came again, a small, keening cry. It was my dog.

      Turning on every light as I walked, my legs wobbling—because I knew, I already knew—I made my way through the kitchen, the great room. Then, my hands shaking violently, I opened the door to the workshop. Bowie whined again, louder now.

      My hand hesitated as I reached for the light switch. I was absolutely certain I didn’t want to see what was in here. Without turning the overhead light on, I stepped into the workshop. I knew the way, after all.

      “Grampy?” I whispered. Bowie’s tail thudded against the floor, the only answer.

      Slowly, carefully, I made my way to the worktable in the corner and then, after a moment’s hesitation, turned on the old copper light. Its gentle light was more than enough to show what I already knew I’d see.

      My grandfather sat in his old recliner, Bowie lying at the foot of the chair. My dog’s tail thumped once, but he didn’t get up.

      Noah’s eyes were closed. More than ever, he resembled a skinny Santa Claus, the white beard and hair, the gentle, capable hands. Without his customary scowl, his face was sweeter and more relaxed. Those lines around his eyes … they were laugh lines. My grandfather had a wonderful smile. He’d always tried to pull off that grumpy old man persona, but I’d never bought