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“You’re a mess, Preston.” I stifle a laugh. He leans into my ear, his lips close enough to feather over the shell of it and give chills up and down my spine. “But I happen to be an expert at messes. Something dumb fuck-ups have in common.”
My body surges with something kind of unfamiliar to me. It’s not lust, and it’s not the electric pulse I usually feel around him. It’s more like a fuzzy blanket. He’s the calm and comfort I deny myself.
Our attention snaps to the front when Chelle speaks. His arm stays firmly planted around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder. He weaves his fingers in and out of mine in a languid and slow pattern. The repetition stretches out all the tense parts of my brain and soul, like a good yoga pose.
“There will never be another Lana. And that sucks. She lit up the world and my life when I thought there wouldn’t be anything to look forward to after my husband died. She was a kindred soul always wanting to find the fun and good in a situation. And it’s goddamned unique to be this age, when you’re finally past the bullshit. Past the worry about what sags where or will there be traffic to get to that meeting that I really don’t care about. I fucking love being eighty-five, and she made us all remember we’re not dead yet. No need to sit around and wait for it, it’s coming at some point. Get your ass up and go do something. Today, I’ll take a moment to be sad, then Julia and I are getting on a plane and flying to Puerto Rico to sit at one of her houses and have one last cocktail for her. And then we’ll go looking for some cock. Some stranger danger that might get us in the best kind of trouble.”
Everyone erupts in laughter, and Chelle places her hand on Lana’s sparkly box of an urn. The girls in craft hour bedazzled it. She kisses her hand and touches it one more time, squeezing her eyes closed as if telling her tears, this is it, get out. She exhales and heads down the aisle. She squeezes Tony’s shoulder, then grins at me. And I don’t know what to make of all of this.
The party moves down the street to the wine bar, where I’ve arranged with the owners for a little reception. Being in Twisty Acres village, the wine bar does exceptionally well and has plenty of scooter parking and wheelchair tables. I should run and check on the arrangements, but I’m afraid if I move, the spell will be broken, and he’ll disappear.
Everyone has cleared out, and he removes his arms from me. I knew it would happen at some point. We can’t live entwined. We will have to eat, sleep, and bathe, but I’m still not ready to face all of what he has to say.
He turns toward me, and I scoot over, putting a chair’s distance between us.
I wipe my eyes and fix my dress. Then I gesture to him to start talking.
“Go ahead. Hit me.”
He laughs. “You’ve got to be kidding. Little witch, you’re the one with the tale to tell.” I shift my weight, and he stares at me while he crosses his legs. He extends his hand and I shake it, not sure where he’s going with this.
“Hi. I’m Tony Ladd. Of the Ladd Media Group. A division of Ladd Industries and Technologies. A company founded by my great-grandfather and built by my grandfather, maintained by my father. I grew up in Boston and Martha’s Vineyard. I prepped at Xavier Academy in New Jersey. I have one brother named Dax, who doesn’t talk nearly as much as I do, and had the balls to basically reject the life he was groomed to lead. My friends, Hayden, Robbie, Lawrence, and Colton are like blood to me. I’ve known them since I was little. I had nannies, drivers, and vacations that were photographed for major magazines. I’ve been engaged twice, married three times, and am currently at the end of a media-heavy, nasty divorce. I love modern art because it speaks to the chaos inside of me and is still beautiful. I own several paintings and sculptures worth millions. I will inherit in the billions. I’ve never felt like I deserved any of it, that I was always the fuck-up who lucked into a life he didn’t deserve. But now I’m learning how to accept my advantages and use them for the greater good. And to get a fucking life of my own.”
“Amen to that.” I hold up my hand and he high-fives me with a grin.
He recrosses his legs and cocks his head. “I’m a good person, and one who has always been determined to succeed, even if I didn’t feel like I was doing it right. I was the one running to catch up with proving myself. I’ve never felt like I was good enough, smart enough, or completely myself except in one place for a brief time that changed the core of who I am as a person. I need none of the things or trappings or houses or pieces of art. Nothing matters except that one thing I used to have, and I thought I got back. That’s who I am on paper, but that’s not who I am. Now. Who are you?”
I laugh as I see Julia approaching us. She’s all shiny and sparkly. She grins and hands us each a giant glass of wine.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Tony, why didn’t you tell us you were him?” Julia says, and squeezes his shoulder. He covers her hand with his.
“I didn’t realize you knew Mak.” He shrugs and she kisses him on the cheek and toddles off.
“I’m so sorry about Lana.” He looks at me.
My voice catches in my throat. “Thanks. Did you know her? Is that why you’re here?” I’m so freaking confused.
“No. I never had the pleasure. But I met Chelle and Julia three weeks ago at Mailboxes R US when they began shipping Lana’s items.”
I lean forward with my eyebrows high on my head. “Wait. Like Henderson Mailboxes R US?”
He nods. “You really should pick up your mail more often.”
“You’ve been to my PO box!” I smack his arm.
He laughs and says, “I’ve been camped in front of it every day for three weeks.”
“YOU’RE THE WEIRD DOUGHNUT GUY who brings the good coffee at the mailbox place? Everyone was talking about you at work.”
“Start there.”
“Start where?”
He asks, “What do you do for a living? We’ll get to my postal stalking in a minute.”
I hesitate, and he pulls at my hand. “Tell me. It’s ok.”
