Page 43 of All Tied Down

EMERSON: Even better

“Are you all right?” Garrett asks from the driver’s seat, his hand on my leg with his thumb stroking softly against my skin.

Tucking my phone away, I give him a tired smile. “Today is always hard. Dad and I are constantly in motion.” Swallowing hard, I add, “Except for today. We’ve always made it a point to stop and remember today.”

“Are you sure you want me here? I can drop you off and then⁠—”

“Mom would have liked you,” I tell him honestly, cutting off his well-meaning protests and only feeling a little bad as he looks from me to the road and back again.

There was never another Mrs. Andrews for either of the Andrews brothers—at least not here in Chicago. My uncle is happily married now, but he’s so far removed from the boardroom I’d almost expect him to stroll in wearing a graphic T-shirt and jeans.

The thought makes me smile.

I like seeing him softer now—enjoying his life instead of living it at the office.

I ignore the little voice that insists I’d been doing the very same thing before I married Garrett.

What will life be like when our arrangement is over?

“Is this it?” Garrett asks as he pulls up to the curb, the little white building with the bright-red door and window trim making my breath catch in my lungs.

It was the last place we ever went out to eat, just the three of us, before she got sick. Sometimes I wish we picked somewhere new—somewhere that didn’t hurt as much—but then the guilt starts creeping in because this was our place.

“It is.”

“Emerson.”

“I just need a minute.”

I gave Garrett the overview of my mother before tonight—the things that you could find online in the articles from when she was alive.

But not the things that made Naomi Andrews her.

“She loved cherry tarts,” I admit without looking at him, my hands clasped together in my lap. “She thought they were fun and decadent and way too much work to make at home. My dad used to bring her one as often as he could manage. A random Thursday. Because he thought of her. And she’d laugh and pretend like she was put out by him spoiling her like that.”

“That sounds really nice,” he says quietly, his hand moving over mine, the pressure and warmth grounding me in this moment.

“It was. Dad and I only eat them here. Today.”

“What else?”

“They used to dance in the kitchen all the time. For all the hours he worked, he almost always made it home for dinner, even if he had to go back afterward. He wanted to talk about our days and enjoy that small bit of reprieve. He kept up with it after she died and then Isla and I made it a point to do it at least once a week when we got older.”

“I hate that you lost her.”

“People lose people all the time.”

“Yeah, but I chose my life over the quiet life my parents have. Your father built an empire and still made it home for dinner, and I barely see my parents a few times a year.”

“It doesn’t make you a bad person, Garrett, and it doesn’t make your parents bad either. Maybe I wouldn’t have stayed if my mom had lived. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so terrified of what would’ve happened if I left.”

The admission slips out and hangs in the silence between us as my father appears in the doorway of the restaurant and waves, his smile wide as I try to force one to my lips.

I can feel Garrett shift in his seat as my father walks back inside. Every ounce of me dreads the inevitable sound of my name but it never comes. Instead, Garrett’s hand cups the side of my face as he presses a sweet kiss to my mouth.

The relief is immediate, but it’s nothing compared to the bone-deep gratitude at being seen.

Heard.