Page 74 of My Favorite Bad Decision
“Fuck,” he whispers. He pulls me closer and presses his lips to the top of my head. “It’s going to be okay. You get dressed and pack. I’ll get us back to New York.”
My hands shake as I pull on jeans and a T-shirt and throw my stuff into the suitcase. I shut my phone off because I knew my mom would keep texting and calling and there was some vindictive part of me that felt as if I deserved the break. Because a piece of me was and stillisso outraged that I can’t keep Miller, though none of that was her fault.
I pick up the phone and force myself to open her messages now, sick to my stomach. If this goes badly, these may be the last words I ever hear from her.
Mom
Do you know how much work I put into this party? I gave up MY birthday in order to make your special day a surprise. Maren gave up a trip to Aspen to be here for it.
I’ve tried to call and you’re not answering. Call as soon as you get this.
Why are you not calling? I need you to talk to someone at the IRS on my behalf. They’re saying I didn’t file my taxes. There’s something in this letter about taking the house.
I can’t believe you haven’t replied. I can’t go to the accountant because then Roger will find out, and he’ll be furious with me. You’ve got to fix it before it gets that far.
Call me this instant. Or is your father the only person good enough to be included in your life now?
If she dies, she’ll leave the world thinking I just didn’t care enough. She was in an unbelievably stressful situation, and I made it worse. My ambivalence didn’t cause her heart attack, but it sure didn’t help.
I text Maren to tell her I’m on the way and drag my suitcase into the family room. Miller’s in the clothes he was wearing the night he arrived at the club—jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. His jacket sits beside his bag.
I’ve gotten accustomed to shirtless Starfish Cay Miller, but I love Winter New York Miller just as much. I’m pretty sure I’d love all the versions: On The Way to Work Miller, Off To The Gym Miller, Black Tie for a Wedding Miller.
I’d love all of them, but this is the last one I’m going to get.
“It’s gonna be okay, Kit,” he says, pushing my hair behind my ear.
“She was having some issue with the IRS she needed me to fix.” My voice wavers. “I never even saw the texts.”
“Your mother is a fifty-five-year-old woman who’s been working since she was sixteen. She also has a husband and an accountant. She didn’t need you to fix anything.”
I shake my head. “She didn’t want Roger to know, though.”
His jaw clenches, then relaxes. He presses his mouth to the top of my head. “Kit, she was asking you to fix a problem she’s just as capable of solving because she wanted to lie to her husband about the whole thing. You’ve gotten so accustomed to taking care of her stuff that you don’t even see how insane that is.”
Maybe he’s right, but that doesn’t change the fact that I played a role in what happened to her. I contributed to her stress and then wasn’t there for her when it worsened.
Miller slides the back doors shut. I take one final look out at that white, white sand and the endless blue water.
He joked about me coming back as his guest, but there’s no way. It could never be as a friend now, and to continue this behind Mare’s back…it’d just be going too far. Even for me. Even with what I’ve already done.
Miller carries my bag and his and tucks them into the trunk of the waiting car. I spend the entire ride to the airport with my head against his chest. Because we’re about to be in public, so it can’t ever go there again.
* * *
He’s bookedus beside each other in business class. I wouldn’t have taken the risk, but I suppose the odds of being seen are slim. When he reaches over to squeeze my hand, I don’t have the heart to pull mine away, because this day consists of so many lasts. The last time I’ll sleep with him, the last time I’ll shower with him, the last time we’ll sit together over a meal, that he’ll kiss me, that he’ll carry my bag or hold my hand.
I couldn’t have treasured them more than I did, but I still wish I had. Maybe if I’d known it was going to end today, this goodbye wouldn’t feel as hard as it does.
When we land at JFK, we walk toward the exit a few feet apart, just in case we’re seen. I’m the daughter of one famous model, the sister of another, and the eventual heir to a fortune. It’s enough to merit the occasional photo, and I need to make sure Miller isn’t in the frame if it happens.
We climb into a waiting limo and head straight to the hospital. Occasionally, I get the sense that he’s about to say something, but when I look over, his mouth closes.
And what is there really to say? We both know it’s over.
The limo pulls into the hospital’s circular drive and he squeezes my knee. “Do you want me to come up?” he asks. “I said that wrong. Iwantto come up, but I know that will lead to questions.”
I want him to come up too. I would give anything to have him there with me, but of course I can’t. I lean over and place a kiss to his cheek. “That’s okay,” I tell him, “but thank you. Thank you for all of it. I will never forget this.” I turn, reaching for the door, but before I can open it, his hand is sliding around the back of my neck and pulling my mouth to his.
