She's All That (26 page)

“I'm good. Better. What's going on?” Morgan asks, immediately sensing the tension in the room.

“Poppy is a traitor, that's what's going on. Why don't you ask her what she's just done?”

“Lilly, what did
you
do?” Morgan crinkles her nose. “You smell awful!”

My cell phone trills, and I reach for it. “Lilly Jacobs Design.”

“Lilly? It's Nana. I need you to come home, dear. As soon as you can. I've had a phone call.” Her voice is trembling.

“What is it, Nana?” She is not the type to be rattled by anything.

“Someone called.” She pauses.

“Yes, I know, you just said that—”

“It's your mother, Lilly. Your birthmother,” she corrects herself. “She's here.”

I feel as if I've been sucker-punched.
Like I need this right
now?
“I'll be right home, Nana.” I look at Morgan and Poppy. “I've got to go to Nana.”

“I'll pack my bags,” Morgan says, sensing the gravity.

“No, no, you girls stay. Morgan, you need to grieve properly. Poppy, you've got to be with her. And you have a date to keep with Stuart and Caitlyn.
Sorry, I couldn't resist.
I'll find a way home. If there's one thing I've learned in my years of taking public transportation, it's that where there's a will, there's a way.”

“I'll run you a bath first,” Poppy says. “If your clothes aren't here yet, you can take something of mine.” She heads into the bathroom, and I hear the faucet knobs turning.

I gaze after her, imagining the gauze skirts; and let's just say, my desperation is not quite that deep yet. I look at Morgan, my eyes pleading. “Yes, I have something you can wear, Lilly. Don't worry. Is Nana okay?”

“Yes,” I reply, my mind racing. “It's just that she received some…news. It appears my mother, or rather the woman who gave birth to me, is in town.”

Poppy hurries out of the bathroom, and she and Morgan both gasp.

“No way! What does she want?” Poppy asks.

“I have no idea, but I've been waiting for this day all my life, so I have to find out.”

“Well, I'll say one thing for us. When our lives get screwed up, at least we do it together.” Morgan smiles at me.

“Speak for yourselves.” Poppy grins, and we all grab hands. Poppy leads us in a prayer, and I try to still my mind, which has taken off in a thousand different directions. I have a mother. Will she like me? Where has she been? Suddenly, none of the work deadlines or Sara's directives matter. I'm about to find out who I am.

Poppy finishes, and I turn and head for the bathroom, shut the door, and step into the steaming bath against the backdrop of the rain coming down outside. It's heavenly as I lower myself into the tub. The heat sears my skin, and I watch the steam rise off the water surrounding me.
My mother. I have
a mother
, I think again as I smell the lavender-honey bath soap. I've always known I had a mother, but I stopped thinking about her so long ago. Now all those old questions are back. What does she look like? Do I look like her? Is she gentle? Is she interested in fashion? Does she have an eye for color? Is she healthy? Why didn't she want me all these years? What kind of car does she drive?

I soak for a few minutes, but I need to get going. I leave my hair wet and slip into a Juicy Couture sweatsuit that Morgan had brought and slipped into the bathroom. It feels like pure luxury, but I don't have time to focus on good gym wear.
I've got to get home.

I come out of the bathroom devoid of garbage and actually refreshed to see Morgan tearing up again. “I'll be back,” I announce as casually as I can.

“Go, Lilly. You've waited a lifetime for this day. We'll be fine,” Morgan assures me.

I brush out my hair and look at Morgan who's still a bit ashen. “Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

“I'm fine. I knew this might happen someday.”

I look into her gorgeous eyes, and I can't say I'm too disappointed she's not getting married, but I wish the man hadn't died to free her from the commitment.

I take my hugs all around and dash to the lobby to find transportation home. The clerk behind the counter is obviously upset at my appearance. I am Garbage Girl and certainly not the image they're looking for here in the wine country. Of course, my hair, starting to wave already, is straggled around my face, and it's so thick that it won't be dry before I reach home.

“Going somewhere?” Stuart appears behind me, and I feel my lungs fill up with air at the sight of him. If he truly is the creep Morgan makes him out to be, I see none of it.

“Home,” I say in a rasp, trying to find my voice. “I was just getting a taxi,” I say, not adding,
which I can't afford, but credit
cards were invented for emergencies, am I right?
Of course, mine were also invented with this horrible thing called a low credit limit too. But how much could it cost to get home? It's only an hour or so. “Can you call me a taxi?” I say to the desk clerk.

“I'll take you home,” Stuart says, his deep voice dripping with that heavenly English accent. “I've been called away for an urgent business meeting.” Stuart tosses his bag, complete with zippered tennis racket compartment, over his shoulder. My stomach betrays me, doing that butterfly thing again at the sight of him.

If I have such incredibly bad taste in men, why can't I truly see
it at all? See, he seems nice. He is offering me a ride. White knight
rescues the princess and all that. Right?

“So what do you say, Miss Lilly? May I offer you a ride?”

“You're going home? I thought you were having dinner with us.” I thrust a hand to my hip.
He was going to stand me up!

Stuart brings his hand to my chin. “Does dinner with the woman you're trying to leave behind along with the woman your heart cries out for sound cozy to you?”

I'm embarrassed to say that this cheesy line completely works on me, and I'm putty in his hands.
He is just so incredibly
gorgeous!
And he says it with that English accent.
Did you hear
that? His heart cries out for mine!
I think back to Nate's kiss. Excuse me—Stuart's kiss that I accidentally wasted on Nate Goddard—and I just don't know which way is up any longer.

“No, I suppose it wouldn't have been cozy,” I whisper back, sort of breathy like Caitlyn. Maybe that's why she talks that way—it's Stuart!

“Where are your bags?” Stuart asks.

“Long story. I'm ready.” I look into his chocolate brown eyes, and I see nothing that Morgan warned me about. Not one thing. If Stuart Surrey is bad to the core, I only see a plump, delicious red apple hanging in front of me, ripe for the taking. No core in sight.

“Does your having no luggage have something to do with your being in the garbage bin?” Stuart asks.

“Let's leave that alone, shall we?” The last thing I need is to relive my worst no-Lysol nightmare. Even the thought makes me crave a good spray of Green Apple Breeze!

Stuart leads me to his car, and I notice when we get outside he does look back over his shoulder. Sort of like Lot's wife. I cringe, as I feel incredibly like the “other woman.” Morgan's voice is suddenly ringing in my ear.
You're not the best judge of
men, Lilly.
Clearly. I wonder if my mother had that problem too.
Yikes! I'm meeting my mother.
The reality of that has yet to sink in because right now, I'm trying desperately to see what Morgan means about Stuart.

I'm having second thoughts. Being alone with Stuart is not the best idea because, although I see nothing that Morgan is warning me about, I do trust her judgment and know she's really on my side. I just believe with my whole heart that Stuart wants to leave Caitlyn in the past, and she won't let him go. He's just trying to let her down gently, surely.
And playing
a round of golf while staying comfortably ensconced in her daddy's
hotel is letting her down how?
I try to ignore the niggling voice in my head.

“Are you sure you're ready to leave the hotel, Stuart? If not, I can catch a—”

“I'm ready, Lilly. I told you, I have a meeting.” He looks down on me, my skepticism apparently obvious. “Caitlyn and I are taking a break. Really.” He gives me a sideways smile.

“Why?” I allow my eyes to narrow threateningly at him.

He simply laughs. “Pardon me?” Stuart helps me into his BMW and leans over the open door.

“Why are you taking a break? How are you taking a break? Are you breaking up with her? Are you afraid to commit? Or are you worried there might be someone better out there?”

Stuart slams the door, comes around to the driver's seat, and slams his door behind him. “My, aren't you straightforward?”

Really now, what do I have to lose? Except my heart and my
good reputation.

“Stuart, you asked me out. I see you at a hotel with another woman, playing golf. Then you're in her room. You owe me nothing, so I don't know why you'd bother with the façade. I appreciate the compliment you've just given me, but my life is complicated, and so is yours. I've enjoyed our little flirtation—”

“Wait a minute.” Stuart slams on the brakes at the stop sign at the hotel's exit. “I think perhaps I've made myself unclear.”

“Granted, you can't really dump someone that you don't actually have a relationship with,” I ramble. Then I remember Robert. “Well, technically, I guess you can, but I'm not dumping you. I'm just saying you're good-looking, you're charming, and you have a rich, beautiful girlfriend. I think you should stick with that. A bird in the hand, and all that—” I gaze out the window at the lovely vineyard on the rolling hills, proud of myself for my very mature stance.

Majestic oaks dot the canvas, and I wonder how on earth I get myself into these things. Although Morgan got herself into an engagement, Poppy got herself in a bad-fashion ditch, so maybe it's the three of us together.
What does a Christian call
bad karma?

“Lilly, I think perhaps you've misunderstood. I was looking for a friendship, not a romantic entanglement.”

I'm gonna die.

“Well, with you, I mean,” Stuart continues. He drives out onto the main Napa road with a thrust of German engineering. “Maybe I do want something better for myself, but I just felt like I knew you, like I could confide in you.”

“About?” My heart is aflutter. I have the distinct feeling this is not something I want to hear.

“You really are unlike anyone I've met before.”

And haven't I just made for a very long, uncomfortable ride
home?

“So,” I clap my hands together. “Then what shall we talk about? Are you a Forty-Niner fan?”

“Not really, no. Rugby, actually.”

I'm now having a visualization of Colin Farrell in mud-drenched shorts. So wrong.

“Rugby. I don't know anything about rugby, other than it's violent.”

“It is,” Stuart agrees.

“So, how did you meet Caitlyn?”

“I met her at church. Lilly, I really feel I should explain something.”

“Must you?” I mumble. “What did you like about Caitlyn when you met her?” Bringing up the old girlfriend definitely serves my purpose. It reminds me that Stuart is a bit of a louse and helps me avoid whatever dire news he seems anxious to share with me.

“Her confidence. Do you want to know what I liked about you when I met you?”

“No,” I answer severely. “Not really.”

“I'm not the player you think I am. I've been seeing a woman that I think highly of, but I don't think it has the potential for much more than that. Do you understand what I mean?”

I laugh. “Men who don't see potential? They move on quickly.”

“That's what I'm trying to do. That's why Caitlyn and I were here today. I had no idea you'd be here with Morgan.”

“I was up last night working. I'm a little tired,” I say, changing the subject. “I think I'll just take a little nap.” And I lean my head back against the BMW's lush leather seat. My eyes are fluttering, as I'm far too nervous to sleep, but I can't bear to hear what Stuart wants to tell me. Not today. Not right now.

chapter 23

W
here are you headed?” Stuart asks. I open my eyes and see we're on the Golden Gate Bridge under a crisp blue sky with the bright W red bridge thrust into the scattered clouds. The ocean to my right, the San Francisco Bay to my left, the world's most beautiful city before me, and the heavenly cliffs of Marin County behind me. I breathe in deeply.
I'm home.

“Where to?” he asks again.

“I'm going to my grandmother's. She lives in the Marina.”

Stuart turns toward me. “Your grandmother lives in the Marina? Impressive.”

“She rents a room there.” I have to admit, I never once thought about Max Schwartz, television critic, owning a home in the Marina. It's one of the most posh areas in San Francisco, and
why
did it not occur to me that a newspaper salary and that home didn't go together? Sometimes I think I'm the most selectively nonobservant person alive. I can notice the tiniest stitching detail on a Coach handbag but miss an entire mansion—pardon me,
estate
—that Max shares with my grandmother. My fears are confirmed.
I am an imbecile.
What is Max going to think when I drive up with a man in a BMW? When he knows I've been in the wine country for a respite. That's all I need—him telling my Nana I've been on some sort of sordid getaway with a man in a great big foreign sedan.

I give Stuart directions from the bridge to my grandmother's place. I'm completely paralyzed at the thought of meeting my mother.
Will she like me? Will she think I'm loose for
coming back with a man to meet her?