“What are you doing here, Evelyn?”
She tips her head. “Did I interrupt your kid-free coffee? I owe you an apology,” she says.
I blink. “You flew to Texas for that?”
“Yes,” she says. “I prefer to keep my worthwhile conversations face-to-face, and I thought you deserved it sooner rather than later.”
I wait. Because I’m not sure what else to do.
Evelyn Wheeler doesn’t apologize for anything, or to anyone. Least of all me.
“I was wrong,” she continues. “About you. About the marriage. About what I thought was at stake.”
In the aftermath of the new will discovery and my mom’s phone call, our conversation slid to the back burner of my mind. But it flares fresh now, the sharp way she used her words to tear me down.
My fingers curl around my mug. “You called me a solution.”
Her jaw tightens. “I did. And I regret it.”
Her honesty is staggering, and it takes me a minute to recover from it. But I don’t say a word, because we need this.
“I thought if Aiden lost you,” she says quietly, “he’d lose himself again. And I didn’t think I could survive that. So I tried to… contain things.”
“By pushing me away,” I say.
She nods. “Yes.”
I bring my fingers to my lips and stare out the window, watching someone replace a gold tinsel garland that met an unfortunate end.
Part of me wants to let it lie. She said what she needed to say, and I’ll accept it. I can understand her reasons. But it cost her to come here, because I know Evelyn.
And it wasn’t money she paid with.
I owe her something back, and not because I think it will “fix” whatever is broken here. It just feels like the grown-up thing to do is meet her halfway.
But she’s Aiden’s sister and Phoebe’s aunt. For now, we all live in the samemassivehome, and we work together.
It’s uncomfortable. We’re adults. We can survive uncomfortable.
“You were watching out for Aiden, so I think I’ll forgive you for that. He deserves people watching out for him,” I say quietly. “But calling me a solution was uncalled for.”
Evelyn’s jaw works, but to her credit, she doesn’t say anything.
“I don’t know how to put this into words.” I blow out a breath. “I want to remove Aiden from the equation for a second. And he knows what I’m about to tell you.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding.
“Phoebe’s dad taught me that the second people stop serving their ‘purpose’, they also stop being important. Visible.” I shrug. “I don’t know. But Aiden is the first person I’ve felt safe with. The only one.”
Her gaze softens. “My batting record is pretty low right now.”
“It is.”
She exhales. “You deserve better than the way I’ve treated you. And I promise to do better.Muchbetter.”
“It might make the first coffee of the day more peaceful,” I say.
“You never sit and drink coffee. You’re always moving.”
