Page 12 of Now That It's You
“Right.” Meg big her lip, resisting the urge to fire back that the marriage might have happened if Matt hadn’t felt the need to play hide-the-salami with his acupuncturist. This wasn’t the time to start dragging skeletons out of the closet and throwing their bones around, especially not with Kyle sitting five feet away with his arms folded over his chest. He hadn’t said much of anything, and Meg wondered why he was here at all. She didn’t dare let her gaze stray to his corner of the room as Sylvia continued her lecture.
“So it seems perfectly reasonable that my son—a sought-after commercial photographer—would bill you for those photos after you failed to uphold your end of the wedding plans,” Sylvia said. “Can you explain to me why you haven’t paid your debt?”
Meg swallowed and clenched the tissue tighter. “Because he decided to charge me ten thousand dollars. And between that and paying off all the debt from the wedding, I didn’t find that many nickels between the cushions on my sofa.”
The words came out snarkier than she meant them to, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Kyle shift in his chair. She desperately wanted to look over at him—for strength or reassurance or just the sight of those ash-flecked green eyes.
But she couldn’t get distracted right now. She couldn’t afford to let Sylvia see a chink in her armor. A trickle of sweat slid between her shoulder blades, and Meg wished she’d thought to smear her whole body with antiperspirant before setting foot in Matt’s childhood home again.
“I see.” Her former-future-mother-in-law looked back at the paperwork. “Well, you haven’t made very good progress paying off your debt.”
“I have, though. It’s completely paid off. The wedding planner was paid in full last July, and I made my final payment for the reception hall back in?—”
“Not for the wedding,” Sylvia interrupted. “For my son’s photographs. For his time, talent, and hard work on your little cookbook project. According to these records, you still owe more than three thousand dollars.”
Meg wiped her palms on the legs of her jeans. “With all due respect, I think you’re mistaken. I’m pretty sure it’s less than half that. Maybe fifteen hundred dollars? I can have my bank pull up the canceled checks if you want proof.”
“Please do. In the meantime, the fact remains that regardless of the amount, you still owe money to Matt’s estate.”
Meg gritted her teeth, biting back the urge to argue. It wasn’t worth it, not now, not when she’d already paid off most of the ten thousand dollars she probably shouldn’t have agreed to pay in the first place.
“I’m working on it,” she said. “If I get this new catering contract with?—”
“I don’t care how you get the money, Meg. We need this debt paid in full by the end of the month so we can settle up Matt’s affairs.”
Matt’s affairs are what started all this, Meg thought, but bit her tongue. Speaking ill of the dead wouldn’t do anyone any good right now, and besides, it wasn’t fair to lay the blame at his feet. If she hadn’t cut and run, maybe he wouldn’t have lashed out by billing her for photos he’d taken as a favor to help her achieve her dream of publishing that damn cookbook.
For all the good that did.
Meg cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, not entirely sure how she meant it. “I’m sorry for everything, Sylvia. For your loss and for the way I handled things two years ago, but most of all for?—”
“We’re done here,” Sylvia said, looking away as her eyes turned dark and glittery. “You can mail the check to our attorney. His name is on the card I gave you.”
Meg nodded and stood up, grateful her legs seemed capable of carrying her all the way across the room and to the door. Feeling eyes on her back, she turned to see Kyle watching her. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t look away.
“Meg?”
She tore her gaze from Kyle’s and looked back at Sylvia. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” Her voice was tight and she kept her gaze fixed on a far corner of the room, but Meg could see the tears she’d been holding back had started to spill down her cheeks. “For making him happy during the early years.”
Meg swallowed hard, fighting the urge to read it as an insult. As an implication she’d failed to keep making him happy for all ten years of the union.
Is that why he cheated?
“You’re welcome,” Meg said softly, pushing the words up past the lump in her throat. “I was lucky to be with him for such a long time.”
She turned and walked out of the room, determined not to look back at Kyle.
Kyle stood on Meg’s doorstep the next evening with a clay pot of daisies in one hand and the unsettling feeling he was picking her up for a date instead of showing up to apologize for his mom or his silliness in the park or his gruffness at the hospital or?—
Hell. He had a lot to be sorry for.
Before he could figure out where to start, the door flew open and Meg stood there barefoot and wide-eyed. “Kyle! What are you doing here?” Her gaze shifted to the daisies. “You brought me flowers?”
He shrugged and shifted the pot from one hand to another. “People have been sending flowers nonstop for the last few days. My mom suggested I bring you some.”
“Daisies.” She reached out to touch one of the feathery white petals. He pushed the pot toward her, and she seemed to hesitate before wrapping her hands around it. She stared down at the sunny yellow centers like they were foreign and befuddling instead of something that grew in half the yards on her quiet suburban street on the outskirts of Portland.
