Page 94 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

“Maybe, it’s me and not you. I’m the one who needed the pie.” I see a small smile, even in the dim light. She sets the fork back down and wipes it off with the napkin. Caught up in the menial task, she keeps her eyes lowered to it. “I owe Nick Christiansen an apology for treating him the way I did. It will be a tough pill to swallow, considering I’m not sure how innocent he is, but your dad seems to think things will work out how they’re supposed to.” When her eyes reach mine again, she adds, “Last night we finalized the deal to get your loan back. Your dad and I are your sole investors now.”

“Really?” I sit up so abruptly that the fork clatters from the plate. “All ties are cut from the Christiansens?” As much as that makes me happy when it comes to business, I feel the sever to my heart over losing the last connection, even if it was a tenuous one at best.

“Yes, and now that we have cash from the sale of Manhattan Financial, we have set up a fund for you and Jackson. As for you and Nick, I met him momentarily during the contract stage, and your father has only said nice things. But Jackson has changed my mind.”

Ugh.That limo ride was torture. I can only imagine what my prank-loving weasel of a brother has to say about him. “What did he say?”

She smiles. “That he’s one of the good guys. That’s high praise coming from him.” Pausing, she searches the room as if she’ll find the words she wants to use hidden in the décor. “I want to leave you with a little food for thought.”

“More?” I tease. “You already brought pie.”

Her laughter can be boisterous at times or quiet like now, but it’s hers alone. I hope mine makes others smile the way she makes me grin. “Don’t judge my pie-loving ways. As for love, Natalie, our hearts, our intuition, our souls know the truth. But the pain, the pain you’re in now will make the love that much sweeter when you find the right one for you.”

I study her eyes, her words music to my ears, but I’m afraid to let them sink in. “What are you saying?”

“Dad told me he talked to you.” Even though Dad and I have talked a lot over the last week and shared nightly family meals together, he hasn’t brought up Nick or the sale of Manhattan Financial to the Christiansens since last week. He believes in me and has given me time and space to work through my next course of action. She reaches over and covers my hand with hers and gives it a squeeze. “I was in so much pain myself. I thought I was going to lose your dad. I don’t even know who I am without him, and I never want to find out.”

I reach over and hug her. “I know, Mom. I’m glad he’s recovering. I don’t want to ever lose either of you.”

“What I knew was that he’d been on the phone arguing, fighting with the CWM lawyers.” I sit back, and our gazes connect again. “I wrongly assumed Nick was one of them.”Wrongly.

I’ve done a lot of assuming, and it makes me wonder if it’s wrongly as well. But hearing her offer the hope that maybe I can find my way through this darkness gives me a new perspective. She’s able to acknowledge her errors. I think it’s time for me to do the same. “The healing begins when the truth is heard. Do you think it’s time to talk to him?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

Patting my leg, she then gets up and goes to the door. “Well, if nothing else comes of it but answers, then you’ll get closure, and that’s something we all wish for in these types of situations.”

She’s not wrong. “Thanks, Mom.”For the pie. The support. The love.

Stopping as if something just occurred to her, she asks, “Before I get caught up in cooking, what do you think you’ll do?”

“The pie? Eat it. Have you ever known me to pass up dessert, even at nine in the morning?”

Laughing, she says, “No, what are you going to do about Nick?”

“Ah.” Lying back down, I stare up at the ceiling. The sun has started to peek through the gray day, shedding more light on everything—the room, my life, and the decisions I need to make. Tilting toward her, I finally reply, “I promised Dad I’d stay for Thanksgiving.”

“He shouldn’t have guilted you that way, but I’m not upset you’re here.” She winks.

“How crazy do I sound if I admit that I’ve been waiting for a sign?”

That draws her back into the room. She remains distanced at the door, but her interest appears piqued by the raised brows. “If you get a sign, how do you know it’s a sign or just a coincidence?”

I recognize the skepticism in her voice. “I used to feel the same, but now I believe everything happens for a reason. We just have to learn to read the signs.”

“You always were my silver lining girl. It’s a great trait to have. But don’t let life pass you by while you’re waiting. There’s nothing wrong with forcing the hand of fate sometimes. I sat at that coffee shop for two weeks, waiting for your dad to return.”

My mouth falls open as I see a devious glint enter her eyes. “What? There goes my whole childhood. If you lied about that, what other lies have I been told?”I’m teasing . . . partially.

“I once modeled nude for an artist being compared to Jackson Pollack. He even shared the same first name.”

“A painter?”

She nods. But suddenly pieces are falling into place . . . “Wait. Is my brother?—”

“Natalie!” She scoffs. “No. I just liked the name.”

Thank God.Images of the famous painter’s work populate my mind. “Did he splatter paint on canvas because I didn’t know Pollack painted figures, much less, nudes? I thought he only painted those splatters.”

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