Page 148 of The Perfect Mistake

Alec

The work day is bleak.

It’s only been a few days since the interaction in my kitchen, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to Isabel properly again. She had the rest of the Thanksgiving weekend off and spent it with her family. When she returned Sunday evening she’d closed her bedroom door right away.

I stood outside it, wanted to knock, knowing I shouldn’t.

The look in her eyes on that awful evening haunts me. Every time I close my eyes I see her face, her eyes angry but sad, and that tear slipping down her cheek. It’s the proof of everything I wanted to avoid.

Isabel, hurt.

Me, hurting her.

I rub a hand down my face and try to focus on the emails filling my screen. My assistant does a great job filtering most out, but too many messages still seem to trickle in, each demanding a slice of my time.

Those demands have felt never-ending for over a decade. My time is not free to dole out the way I’d like anymore.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t still make things right. I might not know what’s the best course of action to take with Isabel, but I do know what I need to say to Connie.

My assistant confirms that she’s free, and I walk across the floor to the office that bears her name. Constance Connovan. I remember holding her, right after Mom had died, when Connie was small. Wondering if she was the lucky one because she wouldn’t remember our mother, and because she wasn’t feeling the suffocating sadness at the time… Or if I was fortunate because I had the memories, even though the life I knew had collapsed. And I had known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was my job to protect her.

Connie is sitting behind her desk. She’s not a toddler anymore. She’s my grown-up, married sister, brilliant in business and great with clients. Her expression is neutral, but there’s a hint of something soft in her eyes. Maybe she’s not so angry with me anymore.

“Alec? What do you need?”

I brace my hands on the vacant chair across from her desk. “I want to know how to fix this rift between us,” I say. “If you want me to say I’m sorry about Isabel… I am. But not in the way I suspect you’d want me to be. I don’t regret anything, but I am sorry that you found out the way that you did, and that it upset you. That was never my intention.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Oh.”

“You were angry with me. If you still are, that’s fine,” I say. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

She nods and taps her fingers against the desk for a few long moments. “Nate told me about the Thanksgiving dinner. What happened. Well, as much of it as he knew.”

I grit my teeth. “Yeah.”

“What did you tell Dad? I know what happened at the table, but not after.”

“Well.” I run a hand along my jaw. “I know you and Nate joke that I’m the favorite. I doubt that I’ll be after this.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah. I told him to shove his prejudices up his ass.” I chuckle as I say it. Connie’s face goes slack with shock, and that makes my chuckle deepen. “What?” I ask her. “Didn’t think I could get mean?”

She blinks a few times. “No, no, it’s just… um. It’s you telling off Dad, and it’s you laughing about it. Just laughing, period. Been a long time since I saw you do that.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Luckily, an answer doesn’t seem necessary. Connie runs a hand over her hair. “Thanks for saying that, by the way. About Isabel. I appreciate it. I wasn’t angry at… now that I’ve had time to cool off, I actually think you might be a perfect match.”

Now my eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“A perfect match,” she repeats. “Your personalities, your goals, sensibilities… I can see it. The two of you. Not that I try to picture it or anything,” she adds with a smile. “But it’s not the craziest thing in the world.”

Her words feel freeing. They sweep away some of the weight on my shoulders. “You approve?” I ask.

“Absolutely, as long as you make each other happy. But I think there’s a good chance that you do… and judging by your laughter and improved mood these past weeks, I think the answer to that is yes. Isn’t it? Does she make you happy?”

I look past my sister, to the view of a rainy New York outside the window. This one is easy to answer. “Yes.”

She sighs. It’s a soft sound, like she’s happy just to hear it.

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