Treat You Better (The Family Stone Book 3) Page 2

  "That's twice as many," she returned, wearing a serious, wide-eyed expression that made me smile.

  "Vi came to the very first show," I said. "And then she came to my last one. There were three other shows in between. One time, there were only like four people in the audience—and two of them talked the whole time."

  "I can't believe you've done five shows," she said. "What's it like? What do you sing? Who do you perform with? Is it a band? Do you play any instruments?"

  "Wait, what was the first question?"

  "What do you sing?"

  "I do jazz standards. Etta James, Billie Holiday, and people like that. I don't sound anything like them, so I put my own spin on it. Honestly, it's almost a form of comedy in my mind. I see her as a character, for sure—kind of a twenties-era, razz-a-ma-taz vibe. My version of a Jessica Rabbit."

  "You're not giving yourself enough credit with the singing," Mark said. "It's not comedy. I've heard you sing. And Vi said your style and voice are cool and classic. She said the whole performance is the coolest thing she's seen in a long time. I'm a little surprised you don't want your dad's endorsement," he added, looking at me. "And Vi said Blue and Taylor invited you to sing at their hotel and you turned him down."

  "They wanted me to be down in the lounge for the Christmas dinner," I said.

  "And what's wrong with that?" Mark asked.

  "There's gonna be like three hundred people there. It's for guests and employees and everything. Taylor's going all out. I'm not ready for that yet. And I don't know any Christmas songs that I could pull off with Fiona. Santa Baby, maybe, but all the other Christmas songs seem too heartfelt and sentimental for her."

  "Why'd you name yourself Fiona?" Aunt Kelly asked.

  I shrugged. "I just liked the name. I've always thought it sounded cool."

  "What about White?" Mark asked. "It's Fiona White, isn't it? Where'd you get that last name?"

  I let out a laugh as I shrugged.

  In all honesty, the first thing that crossed my mind when I began brainstorming for a character's last name was:

  I need something mysterious.

  Clue.

  The game Clue.

  Ms. Scarlett.

  Fiona Scarlett.

  No.

  Fiona Peacock.

  No.

  Fiona White.

  That's not bad.

  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Fiona White.

  (That part I heard in an announcer's voice in my head.)

  White is a color like Indigo.

  It's almost the opposite of indigo.

  Being opposite would be fun.

  White.

  Fiona White.

  Fiona White, it is.

  Maybe I should have been ashamed to admit how simple my thought process was. Maybe the name should have had greater meaning or been something I truly identified with, but that was the honest-to-goodness truth about how it came about. It was a first name that I just liked, and a last name that came from thinking of the game Clue. It was as simple as that.

  "I just made it up," I said. "I figured, what did I have to lose, anyway. It was just a name and persona I made up—a mask I can hide behind, sort of."

  "That's the real reason you don't want to," Aunt Kelly said, shaking her head like it was a crying shame.

  "Don't want to what?" I asked, feeling slightly defensive because of her expression.

  "You don't want to sing at the hotel. It's not because of the Christmas songs. It's that you're afraid. You're afraid they'll actually like you."

  "Call it what you want," I said, knowing she was at least partially right. "But I like singing in those little dive bars. It's neat in those places. It's dark and intimate. It feels really old school—helps me get into the role."

  "I thought Taylor and Blue's hotel was old school," Mark said.

  "Hey, who's side are you on?" I asked, scrunching my face at my cousin and causing him to chuckle.

  "Blue's," he said with no hesitation. "Definitely Blue's. She and Vi were both telling me about your act. They said it's awesome. It'd be silly of you to waste your talent on some little piano bar with six people."

  I shrugged as I absentmindedly continued to sort puzzle pieces. I was happy that my sisters liked what I was doing, but I wasn’t totally convinced that I wanted to sing for more than six people at a time. I was doing it for myself, after all.

  "Who do you perform with?" Aunt Kelly asked.

  "Collin Thatcher. A friend of mine from high school. He saw on social media that I moved back to L.A., so he got in touch."

  "Have you been hanging out with him?" Aunt Kelly asked the question while raising her eyebrows, and I just smiled and shook my head.

  "Not like that," I said. "I mean, we hang out, but only to practice. He's a nice guy. We used to mess around with a little music when we were in high school. That's the reason he got in touch. He asked me if I was still singing. He's a really good piano player."

  "I bet he likes you," Mark said. "He probably just used the whole music thing for an excuse to contact you."

  I shrugged. "I don't know. There's definitely no attraction on my end. He's a nice guy, but I'm not attracted to him. Besides, I'm not ready for that yet."

  "You probably won't have time for a relationship, anyway," Aunt Kelly said. "Your mom said you were going to go back to school."

  "I am. It's a technical program for jewelry and metalsmithing. The school has bachelor programs, but I'm just going to start with a class—one of their non-degree courses. It's only two terms."

  "Two terms, huh?" Mark was nodding like he was intrigued. "That'll go by fast. How many hours a week?"

  "Thirty."

  "Wow, that's pretty intense," Mark said. "Will you know how to make jewelry after that?"

  I shrugged. "We shall see."

  "Your mom said you were getting really into jewelry," Aunt Kelly said. "I can't believe you're doing that and singing."

  I smiled as I nodded. "I had been trying to learn some jewelry techniques on my own, but it was overwhelming. It's way more complicated than I thought it would be. Part of me feels like I want to just come up with ideas for designs and not actually be the one who makes the jewelry. I don't know. Dad could definitely hook me up with someone who could carry out ideas for a brand if I wanted to do that, but I thought I'd maybe be missing some kind of fulfillment by not trying to make the pieces myself. It's a tough call. I can't tell if I'm interested or not. I'm gonna give it twenty weeks and see how it goes. I might change my mind and decide to do something completely different."

  "You got a lot going on, girl." Aunt Kelly reached out and rubbed my back.

  "Right now, I'm just working on a few sketches for some jewelry ideas and practicing singing while I'm at it. I'll be busier in January once school starts."

  "Thirty hours a week is a lot. Is your mom gonna watch Leo for you?"

  I nodded. "Between Mom and Dad and my sisters, I don't think I'll have to get too many babysitters."

  "Aw, that's perfect," she said. "I know your mom's been loving living with you and helping out."

  I nodded. "She'll be at Dad's place now, but they're not far."

  We shared a few seconds of silence where the three of us stared down at puzzle pieces.

  "Are you gonna be okay being alone?"

  "Of course, she's gonna be okay," Mark said to his mom.

  "I'll be fine," I said, smiling at Aunt Kelly like she was cute for even asking.

  I was exuding fake confidence.

  It wasn't that I was scared to be alone—I just didn't like it.

  "You need to get some pepper spray," she said. "Maybe even a gun."

  "Mom, she probably has cameras and an alarm system," Mark said.

  "Yeah, but that's not gonna help her if…" she trailed off, looking a little apologetic. "I just don't like Kai writing you those letters. He's the one who got you into this mess. He needs to move on."

  "Kai's not gonna do anything," I said. I thou
ght it was funny that Kai was the one she was worried about.

  "What'd he say in that letter?" she asked.

  "Which one? The last one?"

  "See what I mean?" she said. "He just needs to leave you alone."

  "He's not dangerous," I said. "He just says he has regrets or whatever, and he wishes he could turn back time."

  "Did he say those exact words… I wish I could turn back time?" Mark asked the question with a scowl like it was the lamest thing he had ever heard.

  Truthfully, it was pretty lame.

  All of Kai's letters had been pretty pitiful.

  It did give me some kind of sick satisfaction, though, knowing that he wasn't happy. I was relatively sure that made me a terrible person, so I kept those feelings to myself. When I told someone about my divorce, I just told them the facts. I had long since learned to leave my personal speculations or feelings out when I talked about Kai.

  I shrugged and nodded at Mark's question, figuring I didn't need to get into discussing Kai's exact words.

  "He's lucky you don't go to his new wife with those letters," Aunt Kelly said.

  "He probably wants her to," Mark said. "He probably wants an excuse to break up with her."

  "Indie wouldn't have him back even if he did."

  "She better not," Mark said.

  I grinned at my family for having this conversation in front of me like I wasn't even there.

  We saw movement and looked up to find that my mother was heading our way. "What's my family doing way over here?"

  The lodge boasted a huge central kitchen with two separate living and dining areas. It was quieter on this side than the other. Some people had gone to their rooms for the night, but most of the others were on the other side of the house, watching television. Blue and Taylor were on our side, but they were in the living room.

  "Did Leo go down pretty easy?" Mom asked.

  I nodded. "He was exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open."

  "I figured," she said. "He didn't get a nap today." She came to sit next to me as she spoke.

  "Congratulations, sister," Aunt Kelly said in a soft, sincere tone that was somewhat unlike her. "I was just telling Indie how impressed I was with Alec's speech today."

  Mom stared dazedly and with a half-smile at the puzzle pieces, taking a deep breath like she had stars in her eyes. "Sweet, huh?" she asked.

  She was smitten with my father, and I felt simultaneously overjoyed and jealous. It wasn't that I was jealous of my mother—just the position she was in. At least I did a good job of pretending I didn't have any feelings about it other than happy ones.

  "I wasn't surprised he did that," Mom added. "He's gotten to be more sentimental as an old man."

  "Hey, I heard that!" Dad had gone to sit with Blue and Taylor on the couch when they came downstairs together. It was a huge room, which meant he had been listening closely to Mom in order to be able to hear her. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he made a silly, wide-eyed face back at her.

  "He really has," she said in a softer tone while looking at those of us who were sitting around the table.

  "You're so in love," Aunt Kelly said. "You look like you're nineteen."

  "I feel like I'm nineteen," Mom said. "He bought me a car. He gave me the key and showed me pictures of it just now when we were in the bedroom."

  "I knew about it," I said. "He told me he was doing that."

  "I'm so excited," Mom said.

  I smiled. "I knew you would be."

  "What kind of car?" Aunt Kelly asked.

  "A little convertible BMW," Mom said. "Black."

  "You'll look good in that," Mark said.

  "I know," Mom agreed, nodding in amazement as if she was surprised to admit it. "I've never driven a black car. I always pick white. I'm excited about it, though. I saw the pictures, and I think it's better than anything I would have chosen for myself."

  "Where are the pictures?" Aunt Kelly asked, looking curious. "I need to see this."

  "Upstairs," Mom said. "I'll text you later."

  Chapter 3

  We stayed up for another hour after that conversation about Mom's new car.

  We were all exhausted by the time we went to bed, and the following morning passed in a blur. Those of us who were going back to L.A. traveled in a group. There were about twenty of us, and we flew in the exact same chartered plane we had taken on the way over.

  The rest of the guests—the ones who were going home to somewhere that wasn't Los Angeles—had to 'slum it' on commercial airlines. They also had to be at the airport a little later than us, which meant they were all still at the house when the L.A. crew left at 10am.

  Leo had a flimsy suction-cup bow and arrow toy that Dad bought him at a gift shop near the airport. He had been running around the living room with a couple of his cousins, shooting them at the floor-to-ceiling windows. Thanks to his older cousins who were more capable marksmen, several of the arrows were stuck to the windows so high that we couldn't retrieve them. I loved the trip and it was wonderful catching up with family, but I would be somewhat relieved to have Leo back home where all of my child-proofing precautions were in place.

  The lodge was so fully stocked that none of us went to the grocery store. Not even once. There was no need. Even the ceremony was right there at the house. The gift shop near the airport where Dad got Leo's bow and arrow was our only stop. Caterers and chefs came into the house, and there was just no reason to go anywhere. We didn't leave the lodge except to walk around outside.

  It wasn't until we landed and I got into my car with Leo that real life hit me. I was back in the city where I had to navigate traffic and take care of my own grocery shopping.

  Shopping was something I had to do sooner than later. I needed oranges posthaste.

  Yes, oranges.

  There was a wonderful selection of food at the lodge, but the one thing they were short on was good old-fashioned oranges.

  This was a problem for no one except my son.

  Leo absolutely loved oranges.

  His day was better if he started it with an orange, so he had definitely noticed that there was a shortage of them in the lodge. We were going on day three that Leo hadn't had his favorite fruit, so it didn't surprise me when he said, "Can I eat an orange when we get home, Mama?"

  He was in the backseat of my car when he said it, and I glanced back at him in the mirror. "We don't have any," I said. "I need to go to the grocery store later."

  "When?" he asked.

  "Later," I said. "I want to get home and unpack—relax and watch a few cartoons or something."

  Leo didn't say anything, but I watched him as he turned to stare out of the window. His precious, dirty-blond curls framed his disappointed face. The subtle movements in his expression let me know that he was trying to hold back tears. Sure, he was a little tired from the trip, but these were I really miss my favorite snack tears. He wasn't throwing a fit. He didn't even know I was watching him. That was what made it so hard to resist.

  I let out a resigned sigh. "I guess we can go by Whole Foods on the way home."

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot. It was a Saturday in early December, so lots of people were out and about doing Christmas shopping at nearby stores. There were wreathes with red bows on a display right outside the store, and it smelled like pine and cinnamon as I walked inside.

  Leo loved to ride in grocery carts, so he eagerly and expertly fished his legs through the holes as soon as I picked him up and held him over the seat. I would inevitably pick up a few other things we needed, but first, I walked straight to the produce section.

  Leo liked any kind of orange, but standard navels were his favorite. I would slice them into thin circles before cutting the stacks into fourths, and he would sit there and savor every bite-sized slice, leaving me with nothing but a pile of clean rinds. It often took him twenty or thirty minutes to finish one, and he was content the whole time.

  For this reason, I loved
having oranges in our life as much as Leo did. I chose five that I thought looked the best and carefully placed them in a thin, plastic produce bag. I started to close it up, but I saw a couple more that looked nice and juicy, so I reached out and took them, adding them to the bag. There could never be enough oranges in our house, after all.

  The bag (which now contained seven hand-chosen oranges) was heavy, and I put it into the cart near the corner before beginning to walk down the aisle. The bag was partially underneath Leo, and he shifted and looked behind him, craning his neck and searching for it.

  "Can I see?" he asked.

  "You mean you want to see the bag of oranges?"

  He nodded, still peering down through the wires of the shopping cart.

  "You can't eat one yet," I said. "I'm going to cut it for you when we get home."

  "Can I just hold it?" he asked.

  "One of them, or the whole bag?"

  "All," he said, still peering down.

  It struck me as incredibly sweet that he loved oranges so much that he wanted the bag to ride next to him in the shopping cart.

  "Sure you can," I said, smiling.

  I leaned over and retrieved the bag from the cart. I loved the way his face lit up when I set them next to him. It made my heart feel full to see him take pleasure in something so simple. I stared at him for a second before turning around to choose a package of baby spinach from the cooler.

  "Uh-ohhhh."

  Leo delivered the sound in a tone that meant he had just had an accident. That sound, and the repetitive thudding sounds that accompanied it was enough to strike fear into the heart of any parent.

  I already knew what had happened before I turned. What I didn't know was how in the world my son had managed, in three seconds, to spread seven oranges out in such a multitude of ways.

  Two or three were rolling in opposite directions.

  Some were hitting the floor with a thud.

  One had even got caught in the bag, which was now somehow dangling from the shopping cart, trapped between his leg and the seat and swinging like a pendulum.

  There were about ten other people in the produce section with us, and most of them heard or saw the spill. I glanced around and was happy to find that, for the most part, they tried not to look or act like they had even noticed.