“I sense a but,” Ida Jane said.
“But he told me he’d never get involved with an employee, and I respect that.”
“Oh, pish. He’s just being rigid,” Paloma said.
“And it’s clear he wants more,” Vivian whispered. She offered a smile. “I may be one of the newer CATS, but I’ve seen how Gunnar lights up when he talks about you. His eyes go…”
“Warm,” Millie finished.
The waiter walked over, dropping off waters and taking orders. I was so overwhelmed that I requested what Vivian had chosen, without understanding what it was.
“We’re here to support you and your relationship with Gunnar,” Paloma said. “Whatever you need, you can come to us.”
“Not only will we make your dreams come true—like sexy, smart fairy godmothers—we’ll offer a shoulder or an ear when Gunnar undoubtedly does something stupid,” Naomi added.
“Because he’s a man.” Paloma sighed.
“And these men, especially hyper-competitive men, are ridiculous when it comes to feelings,” Ida Jane added.
“I…” Dropping my gaze to my lap, I decided to take the leap of faith. I missed having someone to talk to. For a long time I’d been so close to my parents that I hadn’t needed many friends my own age, but that wasn’t the same anymore. These women were all interested in me. Their care was genuine, and they wanted Gunnar and me to succeed. Though I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Everything had been so tense and weird since the team-building retreat that I was desperate for advice.
So I spilled every detail of my time with Gunnar, from Lydia’s resignation to my karaoke evening, to waiting out the storm in the planting shed and Jay’s strange and snarky behavior. I even told them about my mother’s illness and my need to help her.
Vivian turned out to be an oncology nurse who cared for Lennon Cruz’s mother. She made me a list of questions to ask my mom, and Ida Jane probed a bit—no doubt psycho-analyzing me, as she was a therapist—while the rest of the women offered encouragement and insights into Gunnar’s life. They said he was a workaholic who always managed to make time for his players and their families but seemed to hold himself apart from the exuberant get-togethers Cormac and Keelie liked to host.
By the time I finished my salad topped with the most delicious salmon, I was full and flush with that good feeling of friendship. “I need to get back to the office?—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Paloma said, all business as she signed for lunch. I offered to pay, but she waved me off. “It’s something we do whenever we can get the Glam Team together. Too bad Hana’s presenting her rocket design this week.”
“That’s Paxton Naese’s wife. She’s an actual rocket scientist,” Vivian said. “These women are all amazing. And so kind. I can’t believe I get to be part of this group. Much as I love Lennon—and I do with every fiber of my being—being part of the CATS is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I returned her smile. I could already see what she meant.
“Now that that’s settled, we’re going to get our nails done for tomorrow’s game,” Naomi said. “You must join us. Oooh! You could use it as part of the social media campaign to show off how the hockey partners support and cheer on our players. That is, if you want to. We’d have so much fun. Even though Adam’s now a coach, I wouldn’t miss these days for anything.”
Not only did I have lovely Wildcatters-themed nails and some very fun photos for the team’s pages at the end of it, but spending the afternoon with the CATS gave me the courage that evening to ask my mother the question that had been simmering between us all week. I sat in the ladderback chair next to hers at the kitchen table, taking a page from Vivian’s book and squeezing her hand as I asked, “What’s wrong, Mom? Can you please talk to me.”
She looked up and held my eyes a moment. “I…don’t feel great,” she said with a pained expression.
“Let’s go to urgent care,” I said, rising from my seat.
She shook her head. “Thank you, darling, for looking out for me, but I already know what’s wrong.” She patted my hand and waved me back into the chair.
I hesitated, gripping the chair’s back, terrified of what I was about to hear.
“Sit, Zaila. Please. I know you’re worried about me, but it’s all right.”
I returned to sitting and sucked my lower lip into my mouth, a bad habit I’d never been able to break. Much as I wanted to ask another question, I couldn’t. My vocal cords froze, while my legs jittered with too much tension.
“My darling girl. Please believe me when I say you will be fine, and I’m okay right now.” She patted my hand again. I noted that her skin was dry and cool—like a piece of paper left in a freezer.
“Mom…” Tears welled.
“The moment I looked into your sweet little face, when I saw those big, dark eyes, everything clicked into place. You were mine, Zaila. You were always meant to be mine.” She smiled with a soft, loving sweetness that made me both warm and deeply sad. My tears spilled over, blurring Mom’s image. “I’m so scared.”
“I know, Zaila.” She swallowed. “I am, too. That’s why…” She shook her head. “The prognosis isn’t good.” She took a breath. “I have coronary microvascular disease. Basically, plaque has built up in the small spaces, the linings of my arteries.”
“So you have surgery,” I said. “A—a bypass or something.”
