Page 86 of The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

“I think I’m not going to give up before I’ve even tried. Sounds like you didn’t give Worth a shot. Life never turns out quite how you expect, but we have to make sure we revel in the good parts.”

It’s absolutely bizarre to me that after twenty-five years of betrayal by her husband, my mom could even think about dating. She’s had a long time to process things, but she’s also never given up. Is that what I did? Gave up on Worth and me without ever giving us a chance? I let what happened withmy dad erase the possibility for a futurenotbuilt on lies and disaster. I never believed an alternative could be possible. But if Mom can still believe in love after all this time…

Shouldn’t I?

THIRTY-ONE

Worth

As I round the corner on Ninth Street, I take a sip from the unexpectedly excellent coffee I got on the way out of the bowling alley. Before today, I hadn’t bowled in over a decade. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be. Obviously we all wanted to win, but that’s not why I had fun. It was probably something to do with Bennett’s hyper-competitiveness or how entirely terrible Jack had been. We teased him relentlessly, but he took it in stride. I guess if you’re hanging out on Martha’s Vineyard every summer, there aren’t many opportunities to practice bowling.

Bowling, of all things. My friends’ support means the world, especially when my heart is breaking.

Avril’s half running, half walking up the street. I check my watch. She’s not even late. She must really want me to go the hotel route on this place if she’s prepared to be on time not once, but twice.

“Hey,” she says, beaming. She envelops me in a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Not a problem.”

“I just want you to keep an open mind. I had some plans drawn up.”

It’s only then I realize she’s got a cardboard tube in her hand.

“I thought it would be good to see the plans in situ.”

I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s determined. On any other day, I would have said yes just because she’s on time and clearly committed to the project, but today I’m going to figure out if I genuinely want to be involved with this hotel redevelopment. If I do, the decision’s easy. If I don’t, I’m not sure how to proceed. I might say yes because I can see how badly Avril wants this.

“Lead the way,” I say, holding out the keys for the place.

“Oh, I have my own set. How do you think I got architects in here?” She opens the doors and I resist the urge to ask how she managed to get a set of keys cut. I’d rather not know.

Inside there’s a folding table where Avril spreads out the plans she’s had drawn up. “You’ve seen the financials, so you know it works from a business perspective.”

“I’ve seensomefinancials. But I haven’t stress-tested them. There’s no such thing as a cut-and-dried, guaranteed win in business.”

She groans. “Let me show you the plans. We’ll start with floor two, which is a standard bedroom floor. Because of the shape of the building, the architect says it will be easy to maximize the space. We’ve ended up getting five more rooms than we projected in the financials, so it’s an even better proposition.” She keeps talking about square footage and the average hotel room size in New York City. She seems to have every fact and figure memorized.

I’m only half listening, busy imagining the space and how it would look. I’m trying to picture myself in here. How would I feel being part of the renovation, the owner of a hotel? Would it make me happy?

“And what are the plans for down here?” I ask.

Avril pulls out one of the huge sheets of paper and smooths her hands over it. “Here,” she says. “The main entrance would stay in the same place. This would be the lobby.”

I vaguely remember some of the things she said in her presentation. If I’d said yes to the hotel then, it wouldn’t have had anything to do with Avril’s vision for the space or the financials. I would have done it to make her happy.

“When you presented the financials, I wasn’t really thinking about whether I wanted to take on the project to make me happy.” I’m thinking aloud.

Avril stares at me as if I’ve just started reciting limericks.

“That’s not normally a consideration when I make a decision. About anything really.” I shove my hands into my pockets as I realize it’s true in other aspects of my life, too. “Even the brownstone. I bought it because it was close to my office and had enough space if you and Poppy wanted to live with me at any point.”

“I’m lost. Are you saying you don’t like your house?”

I pull in a breath as I think. “I’m saying I’ve never really thought about it. It fulfilled the criteria I set out, so I moved forward.”

“Worth, you have money. Why don’t you live somewhere you like?”

“I’m not saying I don’t like living at the brownstone. But if I had to start from scratch, would I pick that place?” I shrug. “Maybe.” It’s like I’ve unlocked a part of my brain I’ve only just discovered. I’m always so focused on whether something makes practical sense and whether it benefits the people I’m trying to make happy. I don’t think further than that.

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