The Heartbroker (15 page)

“It was easy, really.” I laugh at the huge gulf between our gifts. “I rang them and ordered a copy.”

“It’s going on my desk at work. Thanks, Brooke.”

I look at my watch. With a jolt I realise we need to get Logan to the airport. “We’ve got to go.”

Once checked in, I walk Logan to his gate where boarding has already begun.

“I hope your stepmom’s surgery goes really well.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He takes my hands in his. “You know this isn’t goodbye, don’t you?”

“I know.” I smile up at him. Oh, my—he’s gorgeous. “I’ll book something for the weekend of the fourth.”

He looks down at me, his eyes filled with what I now know is his love for me. “Meeting you has been the best thing to happen to me.”

“Me too.” I know it to be true with all my soul.

We hug, kissing one another one final time.

“I love you, Logan.”

“I love you too.”

He picks up his hand luggage and walks towards the security checkpoint. I hug myself with my arms as I watch him leave, willing him to turn around once more. He does so with a smile and a short wave, and I have to fight back the tears as I watch him hand over his boarding pass and disappear around the corner.

IT’S TEN HOURS AND thirty-seven minutes since Logan left—yes, I’m counting—and I’ve dragged myself out of my bed to meet Laura and Alexis for a drink. My body had demanded some serious sleep once Logan had gone, having been deprived during the past couple of weeks thanks to our rather fantastic nocturnal activities, so most of my day has been spent in the land of slumber.

Laura, Alexis, and I have settled into a table at Hummingbird, a chic restaurant in downtown Wellington. Laura reaches into her bag, pulling out two light blue envelopes, handing us each one. “Take this as a clear threat: you had both better be there.”

I take mine and pull out a birthday party invitation. “Oh, Laura. A cocktail party? How fun.”

“I know. I can’t wait,” she replies, eagerly.

“Thanks, Laura. Tim and I will definitely be there,” Alexis says.

“Me too. On my own, that is.” I feel a sting of sadness Logan won’t be there with me. He’s barely left the country and I’m already experiencing the pain of a long distance relationship.

“Great! I figure if we have to turn thirty, we may as well do it—” she pauses.

“What? In style?” Alexis asks.

“Drunk,” she pronounces with a wicked glint in her eye.

“Thirty? Laura, please don’t mention it.” I bury my head in my hands.

“Turning thirty isn’t bad,” Laura protests. “It’s just a number.”

“It’s fine for you. You have it all worked out,” I reply.

Alexis nods. “You do. Great husband, gorgeous kids.”

Laura beams. “I guess. You do as well. You’re about to get married, Alexis, and you run your successful business, Brooke.”

I don’t know what it is about turning thirty, but it feels like a significant watershed moment. I’m standing at the edge of a high cliff, about to jump and—if I had done what I was meant to have by now—I would have my career, husband, and family as a safety net, ready to catch me. I might have my career sorted out and have fallen in love with Logan, but I have a long way to go.

“Let’s see your beautiful ring again, Alexis,” I say, deciding a change of subject would be helpful about now.

Needing little encouragement, Alexis extends her left hand with pride and Laura and I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over its sparkling beauty.

“Have you set a date?” Laura asks.

“Not yet. We’re too busy basking in the excitement of the engagement, I guess.” She looks like she could practically brim over with joy, and I’m so happy for my dear friend. “I don’t want it to be too long, though.”

“What’s the rush?” Laura asks. Her eyes widen. “Any
other
news you want to share with us?”

Alexis laughs. “I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’d like to be.
After
the wedding. Can you imagine my mother if I had a baby ‘out of wedlock’, as she would call it. Blimey O’Reilly, she would go ballistic!”

Being from a large Irish Catholic family having a baby exactly nine months after your wedding day is acceptable. Anything less? Well, let’s just say Alexis’s life wouldn’t be worth living.

I laugh. “She would send a personal letter to the Pope, having you excommunicated.”

“Exactly,” Alexis replies. “It’s
so
not worth the family grief. We’re going to do it in the traditional order.”

Laura turns her attention to me. “So? How about you, missy? Any news?”

“We’ve agreed the contract and I am now officially moving
Live It
into new markets.” I beam with pride, thinking about how my plan has come off.

“Oh, yay!” Laura exclaims as Alexis says, “How fantastic.”

“Thanks. I’m so excited about it. But you have to keep it to yourselves for now. I’m not announcing it to the team until Monday.”

“Mum’s the word,” Laura replies. “You must have been working hard on that over the last week or so. I haven’t seen or heard from you.”

“Umm, yes. Really hard. I’ve been putting in long hours, umm, securing the, err, deal.” Even I can tell I’m thoroughly unconvincing.

Alexis bursts into laughter and I blush every shade of red. “Some deal.”

“What?” I try to appear indignant.

And fail.

Laura’s eyes dart between Alexis and I. “The deal isn’t all that you’ve been up to, is it? I can tell.” She assesses me through narrowed eyes and I squirm under her gaze. “And you know about it too, don’t you, Alexis?” she accuses, Alexis looking sheepish in response.

Finally, I can almost see the light bulb blaze above her head as she exclaims, “You’ve had
sex
, haven’t you, Brooke?”

Several people at neighbouring tables turn to look at us, their attention piqued, and I’m tempted to slip under the table.

“Laura!” I berate through gritted teeth.

“Deny it if you like,” she challenges, sitting back in her chair, folding her arms.

“How did you know?” I ask in disbelief.

“I didn’t. But ha! I was right,” she replies, a satisfied look spreading across her face. “You can’t hide anything from me, Brooke Mortimer. I know you too well.”

“You may as well confess,” Alexis chimes.

“Is it the American guy we met at the restaurant? The one you’re doing that deal with? Logan something?”

I blush instantly at the mention of his name, confirming Laura’s suspicions.

“Good work,” she replies, impressed. “He was cute. Way to go having a fling with a totally hot guy. And no strings attached, either. Good for you. He’s back in the States now, is he?”

“He stayed for an extra week.
For Brooke
,” Alexis adds.

“Really?” Laura widens her eyes. “Tell me everything.”

I flush with pleasure as I tell Laura about everything: from our bungy jump kiss through to our declaration of love for one another.

“Needless to say, I have a
lot
of work to catch up on now he’s gone. Oh, and, he gave me this.” I touch my diamond solitaire necklace. I had been wearing a scarf, so I pull it off in order to show the necklace to its best advantage.

“Oh, my god, it’s gorgeous!” Laura exclaims.

“It is. Lucky you,” Alexis adds. “He must be so into you.”

“Either that or he’s stinking rich,” Laura adds.

“I think he does okay.” Actually, I have no idea whether he’s rich. It never occurred to me to ask. Come to think of it, I didn’t ask him a whole lot of things.

“I’m going to see him next month in San Francisco, then he’s coming back to Wellington the following month.”

I’ll put together a list of all the things I need to know about him then.

“So you’re doing the long distance thing?” Alexis asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes.” I feel a surge in confidence at our ability to make it work. “We are. We’re in love.” I grin from ear to ear.

“Wow!” Alexis exclaims. “Really?”

“Yes.” I flush with joy at the thought of Logan. “I wasn’t looking for it. It just happened, you know?”

I catch Alexis dart a look at Laura out of the corner of my eye.

“Sweetie, I’m so happy for you. But this is moving pretty fast,” Laura says.

“How long was he here? Was it two weeks?” Alexis asks.

“Twelve days,” I reply, suddenly struck by how short a time I’ve actually known him. And how fast our feelings for one another have developed.

I’ve never really believed in love at first sight, but I’m now a happy convert, kicking my cynical butt to the curb.

“Sure, it’s not long, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.
Ever
. It’s like we’re meant to be.”

“But you’re just starting to get to know each other in that time,” Laura says, shaking her head. “It’s the lust phase.”

“I remember that,” Alexis comments, smiling wistfully. “Loads of sex, anywhere, any time.”

“That was a long time ago for me and Kyle. Bliss.” She sighs.

Clearing her throat, Laura gets back on track. “Are you sure it’s not just lust, Brooke? I mean, he’s hot and you hadn’t had sex in a long, long time.”

“Don’t rub it in,” I protest.

“She’s right,” Alexis adds, nodding. “It’s very easy to confuse love with lust when you meet someone new.”

“Come on you guys. It’s not like things had died down there or anything. I know it’s fast, but when you know, you know.”

I smile to myself. I
know
this is love. I
know
Logan is the one. It’s as simple as that.

“And anyway, we don’t all have the luxury of meeting our future husband at the tender age of fifteen, you know, Laura. Some of us have to take what we can get.”

Why do I have such stick-in-mud friends?

“Can you please be happy for me? You wanted me to meet someone, to fall in love. And now I have.”

Sensing they’re pushing me too far, Alexis tries to placate me. “Babe, we’re so happy for you. Really. You’re an amazing woman and you deserve every happiness. We just remember what happened with Scott and we don’t want you to go through that again.”

“You were a total wreck when you broke up with Scott. We want you to be with a great guy, one who will make you happy.”

I smile at them both, touched at how much they care. “Logan
is
a great guy. You have to believe me. I can see how you might be concerned. Hell, I was. But it feels different with him. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It just . . . feels right.”

“Well if you ever have any problems with him, just let me know. I’ve got a brother or two who could help you out,” Alexis jokes.

“Thanks,” I reply, laughing. “Oh, and speaking of Scott, just to show you how over him I am, I’m thinking of meeting him for a drink.”

“You are?” Laura asks in surprise.

“Yes. He called, said he was coming to Wellington for a while and wondered if I’d like to catch up.”

“Hmmm,” Alexis says, clearly considering this new information.

“And you know what? I feel like I can see him and be absolutely fine about it, knowing I’ve found someone who leaves him for dust.”

“Cheers! I’ll drink to that,” Laura says, raising her half-empty glass. “Here’s to moving on.”

“To moving on,” I repeat. Thinking about Logan I add, “And to finding happiness.”

“GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE.” I’M standing in front of the
Live It
team in the boardroom, dressed in what Stefan refers to as my ‘kick ass’ suit—a sharp, tailored Trelise Cooper number—my new diamond necklace sparkling at my neck. “I have an exciting announcement to make.”

I’m facing a small sea—probably more of a pond, really—of eager faces, including our senior trainers, who have come in for the meeting.

“As of today,
Live It
is officially in partnership with
You: Now
.”

The news is met with cheering and clapping, and I lap it all up, basking in the success of our initiative.

  “What this means is a lot of hard work. We entered this relationship with
You: Now
so we could break into new markets. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do, starting with Australia.”

I had received an email from Geoff Friedlander’s executive assistant, advising they were sending someone from their marketing team over to New Zealand next week to get the ball rolling. They seem as keen as we are to get started on this new adventure, which suits me just fine.

“Before we start all that hard work, I think we need to celebrate. Drinks at The Tasting Room on Friday night, if it suits everyone?”

There’s a general murmur of approval in the room.

“First round’s on me,” I add to further cheers from the assembled masses.

After people have wandered back to their desks, Stefan walks over to me, giving me a high five.

“Awesome news, boss.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

We walk together into my office.

“They went for the clause, the one that allows us to get out of the deal whenever we like?”

“They sure did. But of course I’m hoping we won’t ever have to use it. It’s just a safeguard.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll be spending a fair bit of time with this
You: Now
sales and marketing person. And they’re not messing about with this. Apparently she arrives next Tuesday.”

“Bring it on,” he replies, happily.

I grin at him as I reflect on how much work we’ve put into achieving this goal, and how good it feels now we have.

“What’s her name? I’ll check her out online.”

“Oh, it’s—” I scroll through my emails until I find the relevant one. “—Lana Tomkinson.”

I’m secretly relieved they’re not sending over another good-looking man. If Logan’s and Brad’s time here is anything to go by, people at my company could well do without the distraction.

“Cool. I’m on it.” He turns to leave my office.

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

“You know it.” He grins cheekily. “And, hey. I’m glad that whole Logan and Brad argument thing was just a storm in a teacup.”

“Me too,” I reply. “Me too.”

* * *

Later that day I arrive at Dad and Jennifer’s place for dinner. I’d offered to bring takeaways to save them having to cook, but Jennifer insisted, announcing she was serving her famous chicken cacciatore, a Mortimer family favourite.

“Hey, Jennifer.”

I walk through the front door and straight into the kitchen, giving her a hug.  She hugs me back quickly before returning her attention to her cooking.

“Lovely to see you Brooke,” she replies.

Is it just my imagination or does she say that a little fast?

My stomach does a flip-flop as I think about her impending surgery, and I’m finding I have to work hard at staying positive and bright right now. I need to keep my shit together: for me, for my family, and especially for Jennifer.

The excitement of falling in love with Logan and signing the partnership contract has provided me with a welcome distraction. Now it’s almost D-Day, though, I’m becoming increasingly worried for her.

“You’re just in time for dinner. Any later and you’d have missed it. Imagine that?” she says in a ridiculously bright tone.

I regard her with uncertainty. Her eyes are shining, wider than usual, lending her an almost feverish look I haven’t seen before. It’s unsettling.

“Well, what are you standing there for? Go and call the others. Go on.” She hurries me out of the kitchen.

“Sure. Whatever you say,” I reply, then pause before I add, “Are you okay?”

“Me?” She looks at me as though I’ve just asked her the most outlandish thing. “Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.” I back carefully out of the kitchen. “Where are they?”

Without looking up from her cooking, she replies, “Grace and your Dad are in the living room and Dylan’s probably in his bedroom. He’s been even more of a monosyllabic teenager than usual this week, that boy.”

Teenagers are a law unto themselves, and Dylan sure does seem to have bought into that whole awkward, moody cliché lately.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Dinner’s not going to get eaten by itself.”

I turn and hightail it away.

I walk through the rabbit warren of their house, opening the door to the living room. I notice Grace and Dad sitting quietly on the sofa together. She’s holding a box of tissues, which, by the looks of their puffy eyes, they’ve both been utilising.

“Hey there.” I go straight to them.

“Brooke,” Grace says in a wavering tone. She stands to hug me, Dad joining in after a moment.

“It’s going to be all right, girls,” Dad says.

“Ib it? How boo doo doe?” Grace asks before blowing her nose.

I grab the cane rubbish bin next to the sofa, and she drops her used tissues in it, darting me a grateful look.

“I don’t know,” Dad replies. He looks crestfallen.

A shot of worry runs through my chest.

Dad shakes his head. “All I know is Jennifer is strong and determined to fight this. We have to support her, we have to love her.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I just saw her. She’s a bit… out of sorts tonight.”

Dad gives a grim laugh. “She’s been a bit manic for days. She won’t admit to being worried about tomorrow, though. She keeps saying she’s fine and I shouldn’t fuss. I have to, though. She’s my wife.” His voice cracks.

Sadness shoots through me as I regard Dad with fresh eyes. He lost his first wife to cancer, and now he’s having to go through it all again with his second. Life can be so cruel.

“She asked me to come and get you for dinner. It’s ready.”

Grace nods, taking a steadying breath. “I’ll just clean myself up. You go ahead.”

I walk down the corridor to Dylan’s room and knock tentatively on the door. “Dylan, dinner.”

There’s no reply. I knock again. “Dylan,” I say, louder.

Still no reply. I steal myself to face the teenage disaster of his bedroom and crack the door.

“Dylan! It’s dinner time.” I push the door open and take a couple of steps inside.

His room is dark and dingy, with piles of clothes on the floor and posters of bands I’ve never heard of on the walls. But what hits me between the eyes is the distinctive smell of marijuana hanging in the air.

Dylan is lying on his bed with his headphones on, nodding his head to music as he air drums to the beat, breaking occasionally to drag on the joint in his hand. He has yet to notice me.

“Dylan!” I shout, shutting the door behind me, reasoning there’s no need for anyone else to have to witness his illegal, brain-stunting activity right now. They’ve got enough to deal with.

He finally notices me, ripping off his headphones and looking at me in surprise. He stubs out his joint on a saucer, pushing it behind his prostate body as he tries to arrange his features to look innocent of any wrongdoing.

“Too late, mate.” I shake my head at him.

“What?” he says, his hands in the air. “I’m just burning some incense.”

I laugh. “You can’t pull that one on me. I was the queen of ‘incense’ when I was your age.”

“You were?” He regards me in disbelief, seeing his boring older sister in a new light.

I pull the curtains and open the window to air the room.

“Hard to believe, I know, but once, many years ago, I too was teenager.” I smile weakly at him and he relaxes as he realises I’m not about to rat him out to his parents.

“You’re not going to tell Mum and Dad, then?” Hope flashes across his eyes.

I sit on the bottom of his bed, levelling him with a firm stare. “Not this time, Dylan. But don’t do it at home again, okay?”

“Okay.” He looks thoroughly relieved.

“And you know that crap is bad for you, don’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I do it all the time, you know? Carl got some from his brother and this is the first time I’ve really tried it.”

I regard him with doubt. “Next you’ll be telling me you didn’t inhale.”

He has the decency to look abashed. “Well, no. But I don’t do it all the time.”

“Just as long as you don’t. And you were lucky it was me who caught you and not your mum.”

He shivers involuntarily. “She’s been kind of crazy lately.”

“Yes, she does seem a bit anxious today, that’s for sure. How long has she been like that?”

“Oh, a few days. That’s why this is good.” He nods at the makeshift ashtray. “I needed some chill time.”

“Well, she’s about to go through something big tomorrow morning. She’s nervous. It’s completely understandable.”

“She’s got this weird look in her eyes, though. Like she’s going to knife someone.”

I guffaw. “That’s rather specific, Dylan.”

“A guy at school knifed someone, and he had the same look.” As though that explains it.

“Really?” I’m shocked. Things might have been rough when I was a teenager, but the only knives we used were verbal. “Hey, I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think she’ll be knifing anyone any time soon.”

He smiles at me, but I can see the sadness in his eyes. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

“I do,” I reply with considerably more conviction than I feel. “She’s a tough old bird, that mother of yours.”

“O
urs
,” he corrects me.

Wow. Out of the mouths of babes.

I look at Dylan and realise for a teenager, he’s pretty clued up. Jennifer may not be the woman who gave me life, but she’s been there for me through thick and thin, through bullies and braces, through best friends and boyfriends. She’s loved me unconditionally—she still does—and I know she always will.

Yes, she’s my mother. I love her so much it hurts. And these last weeks have shown me just how important she is in my life.

“Ours.”

I smile and he smiles back at me.

“Anyway, I came to tell you dinner’s ready.” I stand up.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll be right down.”

I walk to the door, then turn to face him. “I get that you’re going through some stuff right now, but you need to be careful. Bad stuff can happen when you mess with drugs.”

He grins at me and I’m struck by how handsome he’s becoming. It can be hell navigating through your teenage years, but the light at the end of the tunnel is close for him, and I’m confident he’ll turn out just fine. “Sure, sis.”

Dylan follows me into the dining room where Grace, Jennifer, and Dad are already sitting. Jennifer has pulled out all the stops tonight. She had mentioned she was cooking chicken cacciatore but has also cooked elaborate vegetable dishes and no less than three different types of carbs to go with it: a pasta salad; roasted kumara, potatoes, and carrots; and a large bowl of sticky rice.

It’s a truly carb-tastic feast.

I’m going to have to work extra hard tomorrow morning to run it all off. As the saying goes, a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips, and I’m not exactly blessed with the naturally skinny genes Grace and Dylan got. It can be exhausting, quite frankly, but the alternative doesn’t thrill me.

“Now, eat up, eat up,” Jennifer instructs, her voice going almost nuclear, her eyes wild.

“It looks great,” I say, as Grace, Dylan, and Dad repeat similar positive things.

There’s no mention of the looming surgery tomorrow morning, and, other than Jennifer’s frenzied insistence we finish everything on the table—I’ve mentally added another three kilometres to my morning run—the evening goes well enough, all things considered.

By the end of the meal I’m so full I could roll down the hill to my Thorndon house.

“Are you feeling a bit better about things now?” I ask Grace as I stand at the basin, washing the endless dishes Jennifer’s feast created.

“I guess,” she replies unconvincingly.

I give her a side-on hug and she hangs her head.

“Are you visiting her after?” I ask.

“I’m going to spend the whole day at the hospital. Sod work.”

“But she’s adamant we don’t come,” I protest. “We need to respect her wishes.”