Chapter Thirty-Two

It took Mom a full ten minutes before her tears stopped rolling down her cheeks and she calmed down enough to say, “That was remarkable, truly remarkable. Beyond remarkable.” Mom being Mom gazed at me as proudly as if I had snagged a Pulitzer. My brothers, Mom’s best friends, the Paradise Pest Control employees, our neighbors—they bombarded me with a hundred compliments and a half-dozen requests for video valentines of their own. I noticed that the only people who remained silent were Dad’s siblings, who looked ashamed and uncomfortable, as if for once they saw the sacrifices he’d made.

Throughout the ensuing hubbub, my father didn’t say a word to me.

Not one.

Maybe I’d made the wrong choice. Maybe these images only magnified what would soon be his loss. Finally, Dad backed away from the screen, held me close, and simply whispered, “Good work,” into my hair. When we drew apart, Dad smiled the same proud smile that had been the hallmark of every one of our photo safaris from the start. “Very good work.”

I blushed under his broad grin, which could hold up the earth, and Mom’s, which could give birth to any dream, the crazier, the better.

When Dad insisted on watching the slide show again, sitting close to the screen so that he wouldn’t miss a single pixel, no one protested.

“Well, well, well. I think dessert just arrived,” Ginny told me, eyes gleaming with mischief. I followed her gaze to the door, where I expected to see Reb but instead found Quattro bearing down on me in the kitchen, not with a dozen apology roses but with a pink pastry box. Just like that, my eyes teared up.

A few feet away, he said, “Bacon maple bar?”

“You’re here.”

“You invited us.”

I flushed, only now noticing Christopher and a young girl with the same up-tilted hazel eyes as his and Quattro’s. I flew over to give Christopher a hug, introduce myself to Kylie, and then finally sink into Quattro’s arms.

“Technically, I invited your dad,” I sniffled, my words muffled in his shoulder.

“Sooo,” said Ginny, scrutinizing Quattro when we finally pulled away from each other. She was literally eyeing him up and down. “You’re—”

Worried about what she would say, I cut in, “The one anthropologists should study. And the CIA. You don’t exist online.”

“But he’s here right now,” Ginny said smoothly, blinking at me expectantly for an introduction.

“Quattro,” he introduced himself.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Ginny said.

In spite of myself, my pulse quickened when Dad spied Quattro in the kitchen. I hadn’t realized how worried I was about his reaction to Quattro. While he didn’t throw his arms around Quattro, he didn’t frown either. Instead, he held out his hand in what must have been a man’s-man acceptance, then drew Christopher to the fridge for a cold beer and said, “So I hear we might be neighbors.”

Standing awkwardly in the corner, Kylie played with the edge of her slouchy gold sweater.

“That is so blog worthy,” I told her.

Her grin glowed brighter than the sweater. “You think so? I thought maybe I should have gone with brown wedges.”

My eyes dropped to her white jeans. “Not even. Those Japanese sneakers are inspired.”

“Winter meets spring,” she said shyly before ducking her head.

My mind whirled. Had I just possibly found a managing editor to take over TurnStyle? Before I could even broach it with Kylie, Ginny asked if she wanted to check out my closet to get a sneak peek at what would be hot a year from now.

“Are you kidding?” Kylie squealed, and the two of them dashed upstairs.

That left me alone with Quattro in the kitchen. I placed my weight on one crutch and swiveled around to face him. “What are you doing here? I mean, really, why?”

“You’ve got a right to be annoyed at me.”

“Try hurt. And mad.” It went counter to every single snag-a-guy self-help book Ginny devoured on a regular basis, but I let my emotions loose: “Why didn’t you call me? I was worried about you. And weren’t you worried about me?”

“More than you know. We called Stesha almost every day.”

“You called her?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.” He raised his hand, palm out. “I know. Lame. But I wasn’t sure if I had totally messed up with you. And anyway, I wanted to tell you in person.”

“What?”

“We were able to scatter Mom’s ashes over Machu Picchu after all.”

That revelation was a lightning bolt strike to the long three weeks of silence, a direct hit that burned my hurt clean. I forgot the pain of being ignored and let go of all my fretting that I had blown it with him by messing up his plans. A few of Dad’s employees spilled into the kitchen, so I grabbed my jacket hanging on a hook in the mudroom and led Quattro out to our tiny backyard patio.

“How?” I asked him as I leaned my crutches against the bench before maneuvering to take a seat. I noticed that Quattro stood nearby until I was safely sitting.

“The helicopter pilot,” he said, dropping down next to me. “He totally got into it when I showed him Mom’s ashes and told him what we had wanted to do. He flew us right over Machu Picchu. A woman said a prayer in Spanish. And then the clouds parted and the sun came through.” His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “It was way better than what Dad and I had planned. You were right. There was a reason.” His voice dropped an octave. “I wish you had been there.”

“Me, too.” There, I’d said it. Words that revealed my true feelings. Words that were practically “I do” for a commitment-phobe, reformed pest control guru girl like me. Words that propelled Quattro to tug me close, his arms ringing around me. I didn’t protest.

His eyes were unwavering, as though he would never look away until I really heard him. “After my mom died, I started taking care of Kylie and making sure Dad ate. I paid the bills and went grocery shopping. And shopping for Kylie. And then you fell.”

“I thought you blamed me.”

“No! Myself for letting you get hurt. But I couldn’t deal with feeling responsible for one more person when I’d already messed up with Mom.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“I know, but I did. And I do. Sorry, I’m just wired that way.”

I bit my lip, the echo of every single one of my frothing declarations of independence to Reb and Ginny ringing in my ears until it pealed with one truth: I liked feeling protected and cared for and nourished.

“After we were done with Mom’s ashes, I had this feeling up in the helicopter. I know, weird, but I just knew Mom wouldn’t want me to blame myself for the rest of my life.” He drew a cell phone from his jacket pocket, so brand-new the burnished silver glinted in the outdoor light.

“You got a phone?” I asked, stunned.

That action was practically “I do” for a guy who had been determined to remain a devout and devoted single on his way to college. “And in case you still said no, I brought this.” And now he placed a plastic bag in my hand. From it, I withdrew a napkin wrapped around the tiny SD card from my lost camera, more precious than any diamond.

“I forgot you had it,” I whispered.

“I didn’t.” He unfolded the napkin and said, “Look.”

From Voodoo Doughnut, the napkin had just one item written on it: “1. Inca Trail.”

Blinking back tears, I found myself staring blurrily through the kitchen window at the original napkin, my parents’ adventure manifesto of the fifty trips they wanted to take before they were fifty. For years, the napkin had presided over the kitchen table, but it was now framed in a shadow box that I had bought for my parents and commemorated in the video I’d created.

Quattro held the napkin, signposting this decisive moment that I didn’t need to photograph to remember. It would be etched in my mind forever.

Reach for this napkin and I’d be committing to end my history of flirt-and-run. Holding hands at a movie, casting a sultry look over dinner at an Italian restaurant—that was easy. Holding each other through fear, standing at the other’s side through the worst bad news, that was tough. Maybe that’s why Mom’s romance novels only asked the will-they-or-won’t-they-get-together question. The much harder challenge is will they or won’t they stay together.

“What’s next?” he asked softly.

From what I’d seen on the Inca Trail, the difference between romance and relationship is the courage to meet every What’s next? with one answer: Who knows… but I’ll be there with you.

Maybe it was finally time to dare a real relationship of my own.

So I closed the gap between us on the bench. And I lifted my face to his. And before his lips touched mine, I whispered, “Adventure number two. Us.”