BY THE NEXT MORNING, I was wired. Jasper had finally called around midnight to tell me that some other artists from his label had showed up to surprise him with a night out on the town, and he couldn’t say no. He’d tried to text me a few times, but “the boys,” as he called them, confiscated his phone to free him up for fun. Luckily, he hadn’t posted any pictures online, so I had no clue what said “fun” had entailed—I didn’t think I wanted to know. We’d talked for at least an hour, and I’d felt somewhat better, but Morrisey Blue’s sarcastic good luck kept echoing in my mind. Why did it feel like Jasper only wanted to be around me if it could result in a photo op?
I’d tried to sleep, but there was too much in my head. On top of everything else, I’d realized that Jasper was living his dream. Right here, right now, he was living his dream. And I wanted that for myself, too. So around two a.m., I’d flung off the covers and decided I was not going to give up. No matter what boring-ass decorations my mother wanted, no matter who was or was not willing to help, I was going to apply to the Tennessee School of Design and I was going to get in. Somehow. So after a frenetic work session that had kept me up nearly until dawn, I had a plan for the décor for the gala and a checklist of all the things I needed to finish for my application.
First on the list were recommendations. I had fired off an e-mail to my favorite English teacher at Worthington early this morning—Mr. Frangipane, who had taught poetry and said I was a talented writer. Poetry counted as a creative pursuit, right? It was a stretch, but it was the best I could do. Next up was Tammy—the only person who could reasonably speak to my abilities in a visually creative field. I walked into Second Chances at nine a.m., head held high, and she looked up from the morning paper.
“Hey there, Fiddler! You look like you’ve got a bee in your bonnet this morning.”
“Tammy, would you write a letter of recommendation for my design school application?” I asked. My heart pounded as if I’d just downed a gallon of espresso. “Please?”
Tammy’s face lit up. “Of course! Are you kidding? I’d be honored!”
She got up from her stool and headed for the back room.
“Where’re you going?” I asked.
“To get a pen! I already have some ideas and I don’t want to forget them.”
“Thank you!” I called after her.
Suddenly I felt guilty for questioning our friendship last week. Of course she’d write a letter for me. She was one of my biggest fans. We weren’t using each other, we were helping each other, and it felt nice to have a friend who was there for me, no hesitation. I walked around the counter and picked up one of the freshly baked blueberry muffins. It was halfway to my mouth when my mother walked through the door with Tash. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating.
“Good morning, Cecilia!” my mother said cheerily. Her eyes twitched almost imperceptibly and she pointed at my muffin. “So we’re doing this now, are we?”
I dropped the pastry onto a paper plate and shoved it away. My brain was refusing to process the fact that my mother was visiting me at my tiny little place of work. I’d told her my boss wanted to meet her—that Tammy was a big fan and that she had some ideas to share with the senator, but I hadn’t thought she’d been listening, let alone that she’d show. Outside, her bodyguards dealt with a few hovering fans and photographers.
“You work here?” Tash asked, wrinkling her nose. She touched the sleeve of a sheer chiffon blouse, then retracted her hand as if stung.
“Oh, Tash, I think it’s charming. And I love the name—Second Chances. It’s so . . . hopeful.”
My mother looked me right in the eye as she said it, her expression pointed.
“I’m glad you chose to take a position here, Cecilia. I like that you’re working in a quality establishment.”
“Um . . . thanks,” I said, trying to figure out what was going on and how I felt about it.
“Senator Montgomery!”
Tammy walked out of the storage room and almost tripped backward when she laid eyes on my mother. Her hand fluttered to her chest, covering the huge shell that centered her arts-and-crafts necklace.
“It is such an honor to have you in my store.”
Tammy dropped the pen she was holding and offered her trembling hand, which my mother shook warmly, clasping her other hand over the top of their joined fingers. If there was one thing my mother had down, it was the politician’s handshake.
“The honor is mine,” my mother said. “There’s nothing I love more than to see the small businesses of America thriving.”
“Well. Thank you, ma’am.”
“There’s no need for that,” my mother said. “Call me Rebecca.”
Tammy snorted a laugh. “I couldn’t.”
“You’re going to have to,” my mother replied, walking along the wall of vintage dresses, touching a collar here, checking out a price tag there, “if we’re going to be friends.”
Tammy looked at me as if I’d just handed her the personal number for Coco Chanel in heaven.
“Mom, Tammy had some plans she wanted to show you,” I said. “Remember? For the school?”
“Yes! Right!”
My mother walked over and waited at the counter while Tammy fumbled out the plans and flattened them, using jewelry trays to hold down the corners.
“I’ve always wanted to turn it into artists’ studios,” Tammy explained, running her finger along the blueprint. “But the first floor would be occupied by businesses, with Second Chances as the anchor store.”
“Will you be calling it Third Chances, then?” Tash asked.
Tammy laughed, but my mother didn’t look amused.
“Tash, kindly keep your commentary to yourself,” my mother said.
Tash’s skin reddened and it was all I could do to hide my smile behind my hand.
“I think this is a fantastic idea,” my mother proclaimed, slapping a hand atop the plans. “Bring this by my office tomorrow at four, and Tash, have the mayor meet us there. We’ll get this whole thing sorted out. Provided you don’t mind me using the building for the next year and a half or so.”
My mother gave Tammy a wink, and I swear, I thought she was going to faint. Tash, meanwhile, typed furiously into her iPad.
“Of course. Are you kidding? It will be an honor to take it over after such an esteemed tenant,” Tammy replied, breathless.
“Fantastic. Now, show me what you’ve got when it comes to wide-brimmed hats,” my mother ordered. “The sun down here is wreaking havoc on my delicate New England skin.”
“Of course!” Tammy swept around the counter, showing my mother to the back of the store, where the hats were displayed on two tall racks. Within fifteen minutes, my mother had amassed a collection of hats, along with a black pearl brooch and a chunky wool cable-knit sweater. I knew she’d never wear any of it—that she was just throwing my boss a bone—and I felt oddly proud of her for it.
“Please come again,” Tammy said as she handed my mother’s packages to Tash.
“I will,” my mother said confidently. “And I’ll see you tomorrow at four.”
“You sure will!” Tammy replied.
I followed my mother as she and Tash made their way down the stairs to the sidewalk. My mother slipped on her sunglasses and, much to my surprise, placed one of the big straw hats over her hair. It looked perfect on her. How did she do that?
“Mom, I just wanted to say thanks,” I told her. “That was really . . . kind of you.”
“Kind? Are you kidding? That’s the only worthwhile clothing shop in this town. And the woman’s plans for the building are not only sound, but smart.”
My mother adjusted her bag on her shoulder and held up a hand to the paparazzi, who were keeping a respectful distance across the street now. Probably a zillion pictures were snapped in that millisecond.
“I’m not the fake you think I am, Cecilia,” she told me. “Nor am I the monster you make me out to be.”
Then she turned and strode off toward her offices, Tash keeping pace just off her right shoulder.
* * *
When Jasper showed up at my door at four o’clock that afternoon, I was in my pajamas. I’d just shot off an e-mail to my mother and Tash with a huge zip file full of new, simple, and understated but also lame and expected patriotic ideas for the gala décor, and I felt spent. Britta had left early that morning for a flight to Dallas. She was covering the Blake Ralston concert for her blog, and Jasper had gotten her backstage access, but he hadn’t been able to score her a seat on the private jet he was taking to get there—his plus one was all mine. She was crashing on a friend’s couch afterward, so I had the entire place to myself. Which was nice. I’d spent most of my life alone, so now, every once in a while, it was a relief to have some peace.
“I realize the lounge look is in, but that’s kinda taking it to the extreme,” Jasper commented, taking in my pink plaid ensemble.
He was wearing distressed jeans, a white shirt, and a black suit jacket. The collar was popped to reveal a red paisley pattern underneath. He looked hot. And for the first time since I’d remet him, I didn’t care.
“I’m not going,” I told him, sitting down in front of the TV and drawing a pillow into my lap. “I need a night off. I’m sorry, I should have texted you, but I only just decided.”
This wasn’t technically true. I’d been 95 percent decided up until about ten minutes ago, but I hadn’t texted him. I was still smarting over being stood up at the diner and Morrisey’s warning.
“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Jasper asked. “We had a plan. Everyone knows you’re going to be there.”
I shot him a glare. I didn’t even mean to. It just happened. Because, really? He was going to start lecturing me about plans and saying you’d be somewhere and then not showing? I mean, hell, even my mother had shown up somewhere for me when she said she’d be there, but he couldn’t?
“What?” he asked, looking baffled.
“Nothing,” I lied. I didn’t want to get into a fight, even though my body temperature was skyrocketing. “I just sent some new gala plans to my mom and I’m sure she’ll call me to go over them soon. Besides, you don’t need me.”
“Yeah, I do,” Jasper said, putting his hands on his hips. “I told Evan you were gonna be there and he set up all these interviews for us and—”
“Oh, so it’s not that you want me to be there, it’s that Evan needs me to be there,” I blurted, standing up. “You know what, Jasper? If you only want me around to attend events with you, then we might as well end this right now!”
Dead silence. I couldn’t believe those words had just come out of my mouth. From the look on his face, neither could Jasper.
“I don’t only want you around to attend events with me,” he replied evenly. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I don’t know, am I?” My voice was kind of veering into shriek territory, but I couldn’t help it.
Jasper shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, Lia, I told you I was gonna be busy—”
“Yeah, too busy to show up for me, but I’m expected to be there for you whenever you snap your fingers?”
“I did not snap my fingers!” Jasper shot back. “You’ve known about this concert for a week!”
“Whatever,” I said. “I’ve been in a relationship like that with my mother my entire life, and I don’t want to be part of another one.”
I sat down again and crossed my arms over my chest, staring pointedly away from him.
“Oh, really? So instead of coming out with me, you’re gonna sit around and wait for her to call? How does that make any sense?” he shouted.
I flinched and my eyes stung. Jasper had never raised his voice to me like that before. But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking over at him.
“Well, at least she seems to be taking an interest in my life right now,” I muttered.
“What life?” Jasper cried.
My jaw dropped, and I looked up at him. One tear spilled over and I wiped it indignantly away. “Excuse me?”
His face went white. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not like it sounded. I mean it. I . . . I really want to know what’s going on with you. I only said it because . . . because we’ve barely had a chance to talk lately.”
“Yeah, well. That’s not my fault.”
I returned my attention to the TV—or at least pretended to. I couldn’t have concentrated on anything right then if I’d tried. My whole body vibrated, and a little voice in my head screamed at me, asking what I was doing, telling me to take back what I’d said. But I was too angry, too hurt, and too stubborn.
“Lia . . .”
“You can go. I wouldn’t want you to miss your private plane.”
“Lia—”
“I’m serious, Jasper. Just go.”
He stood there for maybe another minute, the air between us charged with unsaid words, and then he turned around and walked out, slamming the door behind him.