Page 85 of Clean Sweep
Somehow, there had to be a path to apologizing that didn’t leave both of us in an awkward position. I’d jumped the gun on being angry with him, and after all he’d done for both of them, I wouldn’t fault him for being ticked at me in return. I should have given him more of a chance to explain. He hadn’t spoken for himself. He’d answered my questions about Landon and Starla and then respected my request for him to leave.
That hadn’t been fair to him.
The shuffle of feet coming down the stairs drew my gaze away from the bubbling butter on a griddle ready for pancake batter. Nicholas, still sleepy-eyed, headed toward the kitchen. He sat on one of the stools at the counter.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey kiddo.” I eyed him in between dropping batter on the griddle. Never mind that he was an adult now, he’d always be my kiddo. “How did you sleep?”
“Good.”
“You ready for the wedding today?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Seems pretty simple. Show up at the Frolicking Moose at 3:00, watch them get married, eat a lot after.”
I laughed. “That about sums it up.”
My hilarity was short-lived. By the time I’d flipped the bubbling pancakes, he’d worked through the remaining sleepiness and asked, “Areyouready for the wedding today?”
Trust Nicholas, my most in-tune and introspective child, to ask the walloping question. I drew in a breath, not certain how to answer that. On some level, absolutely. This was a hurdle that could easily be overcome, and usher a new phase of life to my oldest. It’d take a lot off my plate, and give everyone a reason to be happy in the New Year.
On the other hand . . .
“I think so,” I replied. “It’s certainly strange marrying my oldest off, but . . . had to happen sometime, right?”
“Right.”
“How did Christmas go?” I asked. “Did you spend it with your friend since you didn’t go to your Dad’s? What is her name? Stacey?”
Nicholas’ lips tightened into a thin line. “Not really.”
He looked down, the curls at the base of his neck giving me a little pang. They reminded me so much of him as a little boy.
“Did you spend the day alone?” I asked as I lifted up one of the pancakes and inspected the underside. The forced nonchalance probably didn’t fool him.
He shook his head. I paused, glanced at him, and dropped the pancake.
“So what did you do?”
His nostrils flared. “Don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Really?”
“Really.” He shrugged. “Things with Stacey just didn’t work out and I dealt with it.”
“But you’ve liked her for—”
“I know.”
His clipped tone startled me, but I let it pass. A wounded Nicholas was an angry Nicholas. It tilted my head to the side. On instinct, I pushed my luck.
“What happened between you and your Dad?” I asked quietly.
Nicholas opened his mouth, closed it, and eventually said, “We had a falling out and I’d rather not go into details.”
“Okay.”
Something fractured between Nicholas and his father ever since the divorce, but I hadn’t been able to peg down what. Blake claimed not to know, and any questioning of Nicholas led to stony-walled silence.
