After all, Lizzie would be getting what she wanted. The assurance that Stella would grow up full-time with her. That’s all that mattered.
She’d tol
d herself so many times.
So why, with her daughter sleeping in the very next room, was she struggling so hard to find her joy?
* * *
Nolan could have called for a car to be waiting for him at the airport. He’d flown first-class, as usual. He could have messaged from the plane.
He took a cab instead. He was going to do this on his terms. From his arrival to his departure, he was the one in charge. So he was the youngest of four boys, he was a grown man.
And the first of them to become a father.
Thinking of that little baby girl, at home in her Pack ’n Play, in her car seat, on her changing table, in his arms, he knew it was time for him to adjust his thinking about his place in the family once and for all. He didn’t have to work harder than the rest. Didn’t have to prove a damned thing to them.
He’d always carried his weight, and then some, and would continue to do so.
He was also going to provide for Lizzie and Stella. Period.
With that thought firmly in mind he skipped the stop-off at his own luxury condominium and instructed the cabbie to take him straight to the mansion he’d grown up in. He walked in the front door unannounced, letting himself in with his own key.
He’d told his mother not to expect him until after the family dinner that preceded the small party with close friends every year—a sit-down meal at one table that included only Miles and Sarah, his parents, and their seven children. He’d lingered at the airport bar after his plane had landed so that he timed his arrival accordingly.
Or would have, had he not suddenly opted to skip the condo part of his plan. He’d thought he’d drop off his suitcase, shower and change. The horn had to go with him.
Showing up for Christmas Eve in pants and shirt wrinkled from travel wasn’t all that respectful, but he was there in New Orleans when he wanted to be in Austin with Lizzie and Stella, so that was enough.
And dinner with them all together suddenly seemed like the time to make his appearance. Better than the private sit-down with his father he’d been envisioning all along.
His father had just finished saying grace when Nolan made his appearance at the French doors leading into the dining room. His parents and six siblings, all dressed appropriately—the women in expensive red or black dresses that looked the same to him every year even though he knew they’d die before they wore the same dress to a party two years in a row, and the men in dress pants, shirts and ties in some shade of red or green. His mother had a diamond Christmas tree pinned to her red dress. And his father’s tie—red with little Christmas trees all over it—was one Belle, the youngest Fortune, had picked out for him when she was little. He’d worn it every year since.
The table, resplendent not only with the traditional ham, potato soufflé, various veggie dishes and bread baskets, was adorned in holiday decor, too, right down to the dishes and silver.
He’d never thought twice about eating on china that was only used two days a year. Paper plates with Lizzie would have suited him.
“Nolan!” His mother, Sarah, jumped up, her napkin falling to her chair as she ran over to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You made it in time for dinner! And you brought your saxophone! I’m so glad. Come on, have a seat,” she said, indicating his normal place at the table. It had been fully set.
Because he’d become that predictable? Was he that much of a “good son”?
Or maybe it was just out of respect for his place at that table.
The second he moved to his chair everyone started talking at once. His sisters at him. His father to his mother. Sarah to Diana, the woman who’d be serving at the party later that evening, as well. She took his bags and returned with a glass of wine, for which he thanked her, giving her a smile and a “Merry Christmas.”
It wasn’t until she was out of the room that everything changed. Silence fell and all of the food still lay untouched on the table.
Savannah, next to him, nudged him in the thigh under the table with her hand. Younger than him by a year, closest to him in age, she’d been his table mate his entire life. And she was letting him know he was the subject of the silence.
His father cleared his throat and Nolan’s grew tight.
He glared to his father’s left—Sarah was always on his right rather than at the end of the table—to his oldest brother.
Austin met his gaze with a shrug.
“I presume Austin broke his word to me and told you my news,” he said, meeting his father’s eyes straight-on.
“Hell, yes, he told me!” Miles’s booming voice boomed louder. Banging his hand on the table, he didn’t seem to notice the silver and china rattle as he continued. “How could you be so careless, son? I just don’t get it.”