Surrender

I turned on the Bluetooth speaker on the windowsill and shuffled playlists. The kitchen seemed brighter than the gloom hanging around outside.

I mixed the thyme and sage with the butter before stuffing it under the skin of the chicken. My mother always said that was the secret. I had to use fresh herbs or it wouldn’t work. I sang while I made the risotto next.

I loved the kitchen. I had only used it a few times since we moved in. Not nearly what it deserved.

I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured a glass. As I prepared dinner I started to settle into the rhythm of the apartment. I remembered where the measuring cups were, the stirring spoon, the potato dicer.

“Oh shit,” I looked at the clock over the sink. I had thirty minutes until Aubrey and her husband arrived.

I peeked in the oven one last time to check the chicken before darting to the bedroom to change. It had started to turn a light golden color. I was impressed how well the roasting was going.

It was worthy of a picture. A picture to send to my mom with a caption that read: look what I just did.

For the first time in a long time I let the guilt in. I shut my eyes and pictured my mother. First, I let myself believe she would be proud of the roasted chickens, but I knew that was only a lie I wanted to entertain for a little while. She was at home. Crushed. Devastated. Heartbroken. Because of me. Because I had chosen Vaughn over them.

Every time I thought about her, Garrett, or Dad, I pushed the memories away. I had to make new memories. Create new traditions. A new life that didn’t include a family who was screwed up in more ways than I could list on one sheet of paper. But they were still my family. They still loved me.

The last time I was in New Bern I had helped find Garrett. It was the most time I’d spent with my father in years. Somehow in the middle of Garrett’s crisis, there was healing. It was small, but I knew it was a step forward for all of us. I left believing the chance for all of us to have a long-standing reconciliation was possible.

It was also the time I left for D.C., landed, and learned who Vaughn Hunter really was.

I opened my eyes again. I’d given in for too long already. There wasn’t going to be a funny text from Mom about the chickens. There wasn’t going to be a reunion or an update about the family. I still had a job to do. I knew as I walked to the bedroom that I’d give in again, but not today.

The closet light operated on a sensor. The glow started low before the entire closet was lit. I opted for a fitted white top and black dress pants. The hem of the pant legs brushed the floor once I slipped on a pair of high heels. I threw on a long necklace and fluffed my hair. With a little makeup touch up it would have to do. I didn’t have time to pull together an impressive ensemble.

The bell rang at eight o’clock. I twisted my hands together. Vaughn still hadn’t arrived. Where in the hell was he?

I opened the door. Aubrey and her husband stood in front of me.

I jerked back a little quicker than I intended. I was startled by his appearance. By just how much he contrasted his beautiful wife.

“For you.” Aubrey handed me a bottle of wine. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I stopped at the little shop around the corner. Is white all right?”

“Merci.” I smiled, taking it. “Wine is always all right. Come on in, please. Hi, I’m Kate,” I introduced myself to the much older man next to her. I assumed at one time his hair was quite dark. There were traces of patchy shadows in his mustache and in his eyebrows, but his hair was mostly gray now. He looked to be easily twenty years older than her.

“This is Paul,” Aubrey explained as if she and I had known each other well for a long time. “He’s the one who doesn’t like take out.” She giggled.

“There is absolutely no take out tonight.” I led them into the kitchen.

“Something smells delicious.” Aubrey’s eyes widened.

“Roasted chicken. And some roasted veggies.” I cracked the oven enough to make sure I hadn’t over-crisped the birds. “And we have Risotto. I hope all of that sounds all right.”

“Of course. Of course.” Paul grabbed the bottle of wine from my hands. “Let me serve. You have no idea how long it has been since I ate something that wasn’t boxed and bagged.” I saw him cut a playful glance at his wife.

“You are just grouchy because you’ve been working so late,” she teased.

I opened the drawer for the wine opener and presented it to Paul.

“Ahh, but cherie, I come home as quickly as I can.”

“I know you do.”

Aubrey sat on one of the barstools, waiting for her husband to pour a glass of wine for her. “Speaking of working husbands, where is yours? I promised Paul another guy. Don’t tell me he’s a workaholic too.”

“Oh.” And that’s when it hit me. That was when the realization struck that tonight I might be on my own for this entire dinner. This was why Eloise should have given me more details. I had a right to know why Paul was their mark. I needed information to get information. What was this dinner supposed to accomplish?

But it seemed that if Paul was the mark, Vaughn should be near him, if not with him.