Kimbra bumps her shoulder into mine. “I told Beth all about you, but I didn’t have a chance to fill you in on Beth. Did Trevor?”
My cheeks warm. “We didn’t get the chance to talk...”
Beth and Kimbra laugh in a way that makes me blush while at the same time feel like I’m talking with two friends instead of just one.
“I’m not that exciting,” Beth says.
“Don’t let her fool you. Beth is a teacher. She works for a public-school system upstate, specializing in reading comprehension.” Kimbra gives her mother-in-law a knowing smile. “When it comes to patience, she’s right up there with Job.”
“My boys gave me all the practice I needed.”
Her boys.
Earlier she’d said your men.
It’s funny to think they’re the same.
While the three of us talk and laugh, I realize that Duncan’s success and wealth isn’t the status quo of how and where he and Trevor were raised. In many ways, the Willises are similar to the Prices or even Kimbra’s family, hardworking and loving, wanting nothing but happiness for each other.
As Kimbra fidgets with the last of the dinner preparations, Beth fills me in on some stories about Duncan and Trevor as children. She mentions how they coexisted but were never as close as she’d wanted. Being two years apart in age, they were more competitive than she would have liked.
“Christopher and I did our best to keep the competition to a minimum. It was pretty obvious early on that they had different interests and strengths. We tried to promote those strengths in each one.
“Trevor is more like his dad,” she says after refilling her wine glass.
“He’s quieter than Duncan,” Kimbra explains.
Beth shrugs. “The thing some people don’t see, especially if they’re around people like Duncan and me, is that men like Christopher—and Trevor, I would presume—save their words for when it’s important, for when they’re with the person they truly want to have hear them.”
Her observation returns my smile. I’d heard for over a year from Kimbra how quiet and shy Trevor was, but from our first meeting, my assessment was completely different. In Beth’s words, that makes me the one person for whom he’s saved his words.
Beth smiles at Kimbra. “And then there’s Duncan, who does take more after me. Sometimes people like us don’t know when to be quiet. It could be said that we talk too much or are too demonstrative.”
“I like demonstrative,” Kimbra says.
“And, honey, we’re all glad you do.
“I’d guess that you’re talking too much now.”
We all turn as Trevor enters the kitchen. Putting his arm around me and pulling me to his side, he asks, “Has my mother scared you off yet?”
I smile at Beth. “Actually, the opposite.”
Before we know it, all three men are in the kitchen and everyone is carrying plates and platters to the dining room. The talking and laughing barely ceases, despite the fact that we’re all eating the delicious meal.
It is as Trevor and I are leaving their penthouse that he gives me a kiss. “I’m sorry you had to put up with my family.”
“I like your family.”
He shrugs. “You know, after thirty-three years, they’re starting to grow on me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shana
Emerging from the subway tunnel near Rockefeller Center, I squint as the sunshine fills the street. As the crowd pushes forward, I’m like a salmon in a stream. Thankfully, we’re all swimming the same direction.
Looking at my watch, I calculate that if I can walk the rest of the way at a swift pace, I’ll make it to the tenth floor of Saks with over three minutes to spare. Considering that Trevor and I woke later than planned, my decision to take the subway instead of aboveground transportation may have saved the day.
When I went to Trevor’s apartment Friday night, I didn’t intend to stay until Monday morning, but plans change. That’s my new attitude.
Adapt.
After spending the afternoon with his family, I didn’t want to leave him and go back to my hotel alone. Continuing our no-plans weekend, we went back to his apartment, laid a blanket on the living room floor, picnicked with cheese and fruit, and continued our Netflix marathon with a few intermissions for exercise. Thank goodness we had the cheese and fruit for needed nourishment.
Who knew watching television was so taxing?
I giggle to myself as I make my way over to Fifth Avenue and up toward Fiftieth Street, trying not to think about how easy it would be to get used to spending my time away from work with Trevor or how nice it would be to go home to him each evening. Nevertheless, as the ideas creep into my thoughts, I find myself relishing them instead of dismissing them.
Maybe it’s a new attitude for a new week. Kimbra is right. Numbers are what matter in sales and after all, that is the essence of what I do. I sell.
“Good morning, Shana.”
“Good morning.”
I smile as I make my way back to the temporary office Stephen and I are using. As soon as I enter, Stephen’s expression takes away my newly obtained optimism. “What’s up?”
“Check your email.”
“That sounds ominous,” I say as I fling my purse into the bottom desk drawer, turn on my computer, and notice the steaming grande cup of cappuccino sitting in the middle of my desk. Prying the lid from the tall white cup, I say, “You’re the best.”
“I am.”
The screen before me comes to life, displaying too many unread emails. I guess that’s what happens when my phone is turned off. “Before I jump into whatever this is, how was your weekend with your parents?”
His expression lightens. “It was fabulous. I got to see my sister’s kid. He’s this giant baby.”
“Giant?”
“Well, he’s something like months old. You know how parents never use years. I think I figured I’m now nearing my 361st month birthday.”
I laugh, thinking how right he is. I have Facebook friends that post pictures of their children with little month signs on the baby’s tummy. For only a second, I imagine Stephen holding his sign. “So are you a giant baby?” Before he answers, I add, “And what do you want for your 361st month birthday?”
“Nothing. I’m not a giant baby. I think it’s somewhere over 30 months when you cease to be a baby and become a kid.” He points at his chest. “I’ve moved into man status.”
“Yes, I’m glad to hear that.”
“It’s my nephew, Landon. He’s this little football player.” Stephen lowers his voice. “He’s only like ten or eleven months—not quite a year—and he has all these adorable wrinkles on his chubby arms and legs. His dad thinks he’s going to be an offensive lineman. But little Landon and I had a talk.”
“Oh no.”
“Yes, girl, we did. He wants to take after Uncle Stephen. He’s already interested in the arts. He kept pushing the button on this toy and playing the same song over and over. I see show choir in his future. Then of course, the costumes will instill a love for fashion. In fashion design he’s going to be king. We’ll start our own design company.”