Odd Mom Out (45 page)

“I don’t know, either, and maybe it’s time you had some balls when it comes to relationships. Maybe it’s time you take what you learned about the world and apply it to love.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It ain’t easy.” She smiles wryly, her deep dimples appearing and disappearing. “Being married wasn’t perfect, but I loved being married, and I loved my husband, and I want to have that again. Not because I’m weak. Not because I can’t make it on my own, but because love feels good. Love makes me a better, and happier, person.”

I picture Luke, picture us together and how I feel when we’re apart, and I finally get it. It’s not that two halves make a whole, but that two wholes can definitely increase happiness.

And happiness is worth fighting for, just as Luke is worth fighting for. Now I’ve got to put my biker girl attitude back on and make this work.

Tiana promises to take Eva and Jill shopping while I try to call Luke and have a real conversation with him.

Of course, I remember his number, despite erasing it “forever” from my home phone and BlackBerry.

I dial his number, and he answers. “Marta,” he says.

“Hi, Luke.”

“What can I do for you?” His voice is pretty dang hard.

I take a quick breath for courage. “Could you meet me for coffee?” He doesn’t say anything, so I add, “So we could talk?”

“What are we going to talk about?”

My mouth’s so dry. I’m so nervous. “Us. What happened. With Freedom Bikes and all.”

“You know, Marta, we should talk sometime, but I don’t know that this is a good time. I’m packing, and I’ve an early flight to catch.”

“Where are you going this time?”

“China and Australia.”

My heart tumbles and falls. “For how long?”

“Probably a couple weeks.”

“That’s so long.”

He doesn’t say anything, and it hurts. I can’t bear to think he’s angry with me. “Please meet me for coffee,” I say. “Fifteen, twenty minutes is all I’m asking for. The Starbucks near the mall, the one next to See’s Candy?”

“All right. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

The Starbucks across from Nordstrom’s is always packed, partly because you can park out front and partly because it’s big and has a fire and is famous for its hookups.

Once I arrive at the Starbucks, I don’t even know why I chose this location. There are half a dozen other Starbucks within a mile radius. I should have picked something smaller, quieter, darker.

It’s blustery outside, with steely skies and a whistling wind that becomes a howl every time the glass door opens.

Before I can even find a table, Luke arrives. It’s like seeing him again for the first time. He’s so big, so rugged, he takes my breath away.

“What would you like?” Luke asks, taking a place in line.

“Green tea. Hot, please.” I keep darting glances at him as we wait for our order. He barely looks at me.

When our drinks are ready, Luke finds a tiny table for us near the fireplace. “Your teeth are chattering,” he says.

He’s right. They are. I’m that nervous. “I’ll be better now that I have the tea.”

But Luke still shrugs out of his big leather jacket and drops it around my shoulders. I nod appreciatively. “Thank you.”

He sits across from me, and he’s so big, and his legs are so long, that he looks like a giant at a children’s table. “You walked out on a business meeting and then go weeks without a call,” he says bluntly. “That’s pretty rough.”

I look at him, see the fierce glint in his eyes, and realize the glint’s there because I hurt him. He’s angry because I hurt him. And I hurt him because he hurt me.

My teeth still chatter, and I circle my paper cup to warm my hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you owned Freedom Bikes?”

He focuses that flinty blue green gaze on me. “For the same reason I didn’t tell you I’m a majority shareholder in Trident.”

Luke’s just knocked me sideways all over again.
“What?”

“Marta, whatever contracts you get, whatever clients you acquire, whatever accounts you lose, that’s business, your business, and it doesn’t involve me. But when you walk out on me, won’t talk to me, won’t return my calls—that’s personal. And that didn’t just hurt us, it pretty much killed us.”

The doors open, and a group of teenagers race in to escape the cold wind outside. Their voices are loud as they push one another and laugh at something that happened outside. Several of the older patrons frown at the kids, but I welcome the interruption, as it gives me a chance to gather my composure.

“So there’s no us anymore?” I ask, trying to be brave but feeling rather faint.

Luke shakes his head and takes so long to answer that I’m afraid to hear what he’s going to say. “I don’t believe in games, and I don’t give people the silent treatment. I believe in respect and honesty, integrity and loyalty—”

“I thought you’d lied to me,” I blurt out, my hands twisting. “I thought you’d been dishonest, and I handled it all wrong. I should have asked you before I judged you—”

“Yes. Yes, you should have.”

This just keeps getting worse. I feel like hell, I really do, and I don’t want us to travel down this path, going to an awful place of no return.

“I’m not good with trust,” I say, feeling as though I’m stumbling around in the dark. “It’s my weak link, and I could blame it on someone from my past, someone who did hurt me, but I don’t want to make excuses. I realize I’m wrong, and I’m sorry for not giving you a chance, and I’m asking you now, please, Luke, to give me a chance. Don’t give up on me. Don’t view me as a lost cause. I’m trying to learn. I really am.”

He looks at me a long silent moment and sighs. “Marta, I don’t know. I really don’t know. Just like you, I have a lot of responsibilities. I have pressure. Problems. This whole thing has been really hard. It’s been distracting.”

I suddenly lean across the table and kiss him. His lips are so warm and firm, and it’s Luke, the Luke I fell in love with, the Luke who isn’t sure he wants me anymore. “I goofed,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. “I goofed bad. Please understand that I’m sorry, deeply, truly sorry.” My eyes search his face for any sign of emotion or tenderness. “I want to make this right. Just give me a chance to make this right.”

He shifts uncomfortably, and I slowly sit back, my hands balled in my lap.

“I can try to talk to Frank.” He speaks flatly. “Maybe he can get you on board with the Freedom team again.”

“This isn’t about Freedom. I don’t want Freedom Bikes. I want you.” My chest hurts so much that I can hardly get air in or out. “I love you.”

His head turns. He looks at me, and finally, a flicker of expression in his eyes. “I don’t play games.”

“Neither do I. I’m miserable—
sick
—because I screwed up. And you don’t have to love me back. You don’t have to forgive me immediately, but you do need to know that I’m sorry that I hurt you, and sorry that I humiliated you, and promise you that I will never run away from a problem or conflict again. I’m going to have balls from now on. I’m going to stop being a chicken, and I’m going to suck it up.”

The corner of his mouth very nearly lifts. “You’re too pretty to have balls.”

I nearly burst into tears. “Luke, please don’t give up on me. I need you. I do—”

He cuts me off with a kiss, thank God. For moments it’s just his mouth on mine, and warmth, and relief.

When he eventually lifts his head, his eyes are the most brilliant blue. “I haven’t given up on you,” he says gruffly. “Not by a long shot.”

My hand slides into his, and when he holds my hand tight in his, I finally feel as though I can breathe for the first time in weeks.

“You want to know how you got the Freedom Bikes account?” Luke asks, still holding my hand.

I nod.

“I was in a meeting with Frank a while back, and I happened to mention that I had dinner with you in New York. Frank wanted to know what you were doing in the city, and I filled him in. But instead of being pleased that you had a big new account on the East Coast, he was upset.”

Luke’s eyebrows lift to emphasize the point he’s making. “
Frank
said you were a single mom, and it was wrong for you to be on the road that much, especially when he knew you loved your little girl as much as you did. Frank was the one who put the wheels in motion to bring you back. I just supported him.”

I look up at him, and Luke’s expression is still somber but a little less hard. “And this is the truth?”

“I’d never lie to you, Marta, never, not even to protect your feelings. And something else you should know is that Frank was bitter about the executive committee’s decision from the start. He said the ad agency they’d hired was second rate compared to Z Design and he’d regretted not fighting harder for you when some of the good old boys complained about putting a woman in charge of a motorcycle ad campaign.”

I sit up taller. “They didn’t want to work with me because I was a woman?”

“Some men can be sexist pigs. And some men can be your greatest champion. Frank is one of your champions.”

“And you?” I whisper. “Are you one of my champions?”

“Your biggest.”

He’s just about to kiss my hand when the doors open again, and suddenly it’s Tiana and Jill and Eva walking in loaded down with shopping bags from Nordstrom’s and Gap Kids and Limited Too.

Eva’s wearing a new purchase, a faux spotted Dalmatian coat, no doubt a present from Tiana, and her cheeks are ruddy from the cold, and her hair is a shaggy pageboy around her face, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so alive or so happy or so original. Eva’s going to be okay.

Eva now spots me, and she cries my name. “Mom!”

She’s running over to give me a hug, and she’s just about to fling herself at me when she spots Luke.

Eva freezes and stares at Luke so long and hard, I’m afraid she’ll burst into tears. But then she throws herself into his arms and hugs him harder than she’s ever hugged anyone.

“Where have you been?” she cries, her skinny arms wrapping around his neck. “We’ve been missing you!”

“Maybe China can wait,” he says, looking at me over the top of Eva’s head. His gaze holds mine. “Maybe I need to stay home and spend some time with my girls.”

His girls.

His girls.

I smile back at him, and as I smile I realize, I belong somewhere, I belong with someone. I’m not the odd mom out anymore.

Epilogue

Five Months Later

“I have a birthday present for you, too,” Luke says as I finish opening my last birthday gift, a gift for a Mother-Daughter Spa Day courtesy of Eva, who is still trying to turn me into a proper mom—her lifelong quest, I fear.

“What?” I ask, smiling indulgently.

“Come see.” He stands, extends his hand to lead me to the garage. Eva jumps up, giggling. She knows something, and she’s excited.

“You’re a big girl now,” Luke says, turning on the garage light. “You might as well have a big-girl bike.”

I freeze. My breath catches. It’s my bike, but . . .
better.
The Harley engine is gone, replaced with a Freedom engine, and the handlebars are larger, higher, cooler. The body is shinier. The paint sparkles.

Crouching next to the bike, I touch the chrome finish on the new engine, and I can’t quite catch my breath.

My bike. My bike is a Freedom bike.

I look up at Luke, absolutely stunned. “How did you find my bike?”

He shrugs, smiles that faint, sexy smile. “I have my ways.”

“But it’s been . . . months.”

“Yeah. And you’ve been working on the Freedom account for months now.” His gaze holds mine, and he’s never looked more heroic. “I’ve gotten to know your team at Z Design really well. They coughed up all your secrets. Including Craigslist and Al.”

I nod, completely overwhelmed, because he doesn’t just get it, he gets
me.
He gets that I’m proud, fierce, loyal. A
fighter.
But he also understands that I have a tender side and a strong need to be wanted. “Thank you.” My voice cracks. “I love it.”

Luke extends a hand to me, tugs me to my feet. “Happy birthday, baby.” He drops a warm kiss on my lips. “You deserve it.”

Eva bursts into a cheer, and I laugh. Luke’s right.

I do deserve it.

But don’t we all?

About the Author

I never planned on being a single mom, and I’m one hundred percent certain my boys would
not
want me to be known as an odd mom, but even they will tell you I’m a bit different.

Personally, I like being different.
Different
and
eccentric
are compliments in my book. Which is probably how I ended up a novelist. Ever since I was little, I’ve made up stories and walked around with plots and characters running around my head. I do hear voices, and yet the fact that I get paid to write these voices down convinces me I’m not crazy, I’m just . . . special.

The writing life suits me. Some of the most obvious advantages to the writer’s life include: not getting dressed if I don’t want to; not leaving my house if I don’t feel like it; and being able to drink gallons of coffee and tea, since the bathroom is conveniently close.