Page 81 of The Wrong Boss

Carrie was out there, and even if my father turned his back on me the way my adoptive family had, I would always have her. After all, fate had brought us back together. We were meant to be.

“We broke up,” I confirmed, holding my jacket closed with one hand while I crossed toward the taxi stand outside the door. “We decided that we weren’t right for each other. There are no hard feelings.”

My father sighed. The seconds dragged by, and I reached the first cab waiting in the lineup. The driver nodded to me.

“Well,” Chuck said. “Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t easy. Alba is okay?”

“She’s the one who broke it off with me,” Iadmitted.

My father huffed. “Better to call it off before the wedding. Cheaper than a divorce.”

Snorting, I opened the door to the cab. “That’s one way of looking at it. So…you’re not…mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I just thought…marrying Ted’s daughter…maybe you’d been hoping that I’d slot into the family that way.”

“Nice and tidy, huh?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“Son, you’ve slotted into my life just fine without marrying my best friend’s daughter. I’d be mad if you lost me half a billion dollars on a bad trade. But this? This sounds like it was a good decision for both of you.”

Relief lifted a heavy weight from my shoulders. He wasn’t turning his back on me. He wasn’t excommunicating me simply because I hadn’t married the woman he’d introduced me to. Our relationship didn’t hinge on me always doing and saying the right thing. He cared about me for me.

It wasn’t the rejection of my adoptive family all over again. I still belonged in this life, this circle, even without the wedding ring to prove it. And I had a feeling that once I told him about Carrie, he’d be thrilled that his future daughter-in-law was a golf aficionado.

I sank into the creaking leather seats in the back of the cab, leaning my head against the headrest as I said goodbye to my father. Then I met the cabbie’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Gershwin Theater,” I said. “If you get me there before the matinee show starts, I’ll give you a hundred-dollar tip.”

The man nodded, started the meter, and took off.

THIRTY-THREE

CARRIE

Evie’s handsqueezed mine as we exited the 50 St. subway station into the hubbub of Manhattan’s streets. She wore her favorite yellow skirt-and-top combo under her puffy winter jacket, and I’d donned my best little black dress for the occasion. (“Bee colors!” Evie had exclaimed, beaming.) We’d done our hair together, and she’d chosen my lipstick for me.

So, wearing a bright cherry red lip, I walked hand-in-hand with my daughter the half block to the Gershwin Theater. A small crowd milled outside, and Evie’s eyes jumped from the people to the big letters above the theater’s awning: GERSHWIN. Her hand spasmed in mine.

“Where are we going to be sitting?” she asked me, awe lacing her tone.

“It’s a surprise,” I replied, not mentioning that it would be one for both of us. We crossed the street and entered the building. I perused the signs until I found the right line to stand in topick up our tickets. Evie bounced on the balls of her feet, her head on a swivel as she took it all in.

My heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird. I remembered being Evie’s age, doing exactly this with my hand in my mother’s. It wasn’t Broadway—typically, it was a musty old movie theater that smelled like stale popcorn and fake butter—but it was as exciting and magical as this was for Evie. Thinking about my mother brought a soft smile to my lips as we shuffled forward in the lineup. Evie peppered me with questions about the story, the cast, whether we could buy a snack. I answered them all, feeling grateful to be able to give her this experience.

“When we get home, can you help me practice my words for the district spelling bee?”

My smile widened. “You’ve asked me that half a dozen times so far, Evie. Yes, I’ll help you. We’ll practice every day.”

“And we can get ice cream on the way home?”

“I think I owe you a cone for your win yesterday, right?”

Evie’s smile was wide and bright. “Yeah,” she said. “You promised.”

I curled my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, leaning down to press a kiss to her head. “I’m so proud of you, Evie.”

The spelling bee had gone down to the wire, with Evie going up against Zara in a head-to-head playoff. Evie had come out on top. They’d had to move on to second-grade-level words, and Zara had been tripped up by the word “whine” by forgetting theh. The two girls had hugged it out, but I could tell Evie was thrilled to have won. I figured I could buy her all the ice cream she wanted.

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