Page 32 of Book Boyfriends
“Nice dodge of my question.” Smirking, I sip my tea.
“I’ve had practice.” She winks and grabs her teacup. “Relationship or not, happiness shouldn’t be contingent on anyonething. Career. Romance. Family. If the twists and turns of my life have taught me anything, it’s that true happiness is about being well-rounded.” She waves to herself. “It’s always the sum of those pieces that brings me joy. Never forget that our lives aren’t justasingle picture, but the entire collage.”
What does my collage look like?I know what I’d like it to look like. The career. The family. The passion for my writing. Someone to share it all with. The knot that winds tighter in my stomach steels me against the truth; there are too many missing pieces to complete the picture of my hopes for my life.
I clear my throat, pushing out the emotion that clusters there. “Jackson wants me to date all three of these men like my own personal dating show.”
“Of course he does.” Her laugh-filled expression sobers. “Is this about the wedding? You don’t need to go.”
“But I do,” I say, my spine straight. “We’re family.”
It’s not the familiar relationship with Lena that pushes me to attend. It’s my mother. Lena is the daughter of my mom’s only sister, Maggie. Twenty-nine years ago, Aunt Maggie died unexpectedly of a blood clot, leaving Lena and her dad behind. My mom stepped in to help Uncle Hans raise my cousin. In somany ways, my mom is the only mother Lena has known. All the mother-daughter things were always done for both of us by my mom. Makeup tutorials. Prom dress shopping. The sex talk.
Thanks to Jackson, I know that Mom helped Lena pick out her wedding dress. Something we’d dreamed about doing as girls together. Not just as girls, but as women. Only now, I realize that at times we daydreamed about the same groom to complete our wedding fantasies.
This whole situation is messy enough. The last thing it needs is for me to make my mom choose between me and Lena. Mom will choose me, which means losing the last tether to her sister, and Lena would lose the sole maternal figure she has. It’s why I’ve never told her or my brothers that Lena and Will’s relationship actually started before we broke up. Though I suspect Jackson’s put the pieces together. That knowledge may solidify this betrayal in their books, snapping any already tenuous relationship.
My heart may never forgive Lena, but I can eat overcooked steak, make small talk with extended relatives, and fake smile, at least for a few hours.
“It’s totally fine.” I tighten my smile.
“You don’t have to do this.” Mom reaches her hand across the small table, threading our fingers together. “If this is too much for you?—”
“It will be okay.” I force an extra sprinkle of sweetness into my voice, hoping it hides the shake in my resolve. “After all, I may have a sexy date and, if that doesn’t work out there’s an open bar.”
The conversation with my mom weighs heavily on me as I walk through the SPN doors. The moment that distinctive disinfectant and lavender aroma fills my nostrils, my muscles relax. It’s Sunday, so the facility’s hustle and bustle is a mere murmur. Most staff, outside of each unit’s nurses and some support staff, don’t work on the weekends, and visitors tend to trickle in later in the day. The serenity I find at SPN isn’t the only reason I’m here.
“Doc.” With a wave, I stride into the courtyard.
“Peach!” He beams, looking up from the stack of board games in front of him.
Each Sunday, Doc hosts a lunchtime board game party for patients. With a lone pair of two men squaring off over checkers at one of the tables and other patients departing, it appears they’ve just wrapped up.
“Here for some chess or, perhaps”—he shakes a small rectangular box—“dominoes?”
“Nah.” I make a dismissive gesture. “I actually have a question for you.”
“If it’s to be the date to that wedding, done. Although my grandson Kenny looks better in a tux.” He winks.
The offer, while sweet, stiffens my spine. Doc’s cupid antics are always done with his good-natured focus on helping, but right now, it pokes at the gaping wound that reopened yesterday.
“I’ve got it covered.” My smile flattens.
He arches one bushy eyebrow, seeming to assess me. Just like Pilar and Jackson, he’s perceptive, and I’m not doing a goodjob of hiding my emotions. The mask I wear in moments like this is cracking.
“What can I do for you, Peach?” He takes pity on me rather than asking the questions visible in his expression.
“You’ve been here the longest of any of the staff.” I fiddle with the end of my long ponytail, trying to figure out how to ask this question. “Um… Have you ever heard of anything strange happening here?”
He tilts his head. “Strange? What do you mean?”
I shift foot-to-foot. “Like supernatural?”
He taps his fingers against the stack of board games. “Like ghosts? We always open the windows after someone passes, and there are some nurses that burn sage from time to time after a particularly pain-in-the-ass guest checks out, in hopes that they don’t linger?—”
“Not ghosts, but magic. Maybe things associated with the fountain? Like wishes coming true…” I trail off, realizing how ridiculous this all sounds. If the book boyfriend-shaped proof weren’t currently at my brother’s place, I wouldn’t believe it myself.
He twists towards the fountain, and then back at me. “There’s folklore about fountains, like the Trevi in Italy, granting wishes.
