Chapter 12 - Heather

Chapter 12

Heather

Cusco, Peru

Her dad was just a total fuck boy, Heather thought in disgust. And her mom had gone into their relationship knowing it. Not just knowing it, but kind of loving it.

It was infuriating. Heather wished she could go back in time and shake some sense into her mother. And maybe slap her father upside the head and tell him to get a therapist.

The worst bit was when she'd asked her mother if she'd take it back. If she'd have stayed with Scott instead.

"Of course," Mom had said, but the thought made her cry. "I mean, I should have stayed with Scott. He would have been a good husband."

She didn't sound convincing, not even to herself, Heather thought.

"But I wouldn't change any of it," Mom blurted it. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me." She wiped her face. "I can't even describe it properly . . . the feeling. Of being young and alive and in love."

"In lust," Heather countered, her stomach sinking. Mom hadn't said anything about her and Chris. That falling in love had led to them. But that was the thing about Mom and Dad, they were so intensely focused on themselves and their feelings for each other, that the rest of the world fell away. Including their kids.

Mom had shrugged. "Whatever it was, it was magic." And then she started crying again.

It wasn't any kind of magic Heather wanted in her life. It sounded like textbook acting out childhood trauma to her. And her mother was a social worker. She knew about this stuff. But she was still sitting there, getting misty about it.

Where she'd been wrong about her parents, Heather thought as she left Mom to her memories and took herself off for an angry walk through Cusco, was in thinking of Mom as a victim. Mom had chosen the shitshow knowingly. She wasn't Dad's victim so much as his accomplice. Their version of love was nothing but codependency.

Heather tried to walk off her feelings, but they weren't walking off. She was immune to the charm of the old imperial city, barely registering when she reached the main square. She was still thinking of her parents. Of their car crash of a relationship and of her father's total narcissistic need.

But . . .

Ah hell. Heather felt like crying as a thought pushed toward the surface. But . . . she kind of understood why her mom had fallen for Nick Russo. Because Dad was charming, and openly affectionate, and when he pulled you into a hug you felt like you were the center of his whole world and that he adored you. Dad made you feel like you were his secret treasure. And Heather missed it.

He had fucking issues, he'd said. No joke. He was nothing but issues. There was a hole in Dad that could just never be filled, no matter how hard he tried to screw his way to wholeness.

But as Kyle had said, they were all human, weren't they?

Dammit, she was going to cry. Heather scrubbed her face with the sleeve of her sweater as she walked the streets of Cusco. Why did people have to be such hot messes? Why couldn't there be a single person out there who had their shit together? Someone she could trust and not have to defend herself against; someone who didn't adore you, then ignore you; or demand you put their needs over yours; or make you be the grown-up to their child. Someone who cared what she wanted, who . . .

Heather stumbled to a halt, shocked.

Because, walking toward her across the square was a familiar long-legged figure.

Romeo.

She felt like she'd summoned him. And then he lifted his hand in greeting, and her heart felt like it lifted a couple of inches in her chest.

"Hey," he said as he approached, and he was smiling. "I saw you from across the square."

Heather burst into tears.

"Whoa." He looked surprised. "Hey." He took her shoulders and bent down to peer into her face. She saw her reflection in his sunglasses. "Hey, what's going on?" He didn't look impatient, or put off, or annoyed, or any of the things people usually looked when she cried. He didn't tell her to calm down. He just made a low noise of sympathy and pulled her into a hug. "Bad day, huh?" He rested his cheek on the top of her head and squeezed her close, rocking a little from side to side.

"You're going to think I'm nothing but drama," she hiccupped.

"Maybe. It's too early to tell." He kept rocking. "But maybe I just think you're human."

"Kyle said something like that."

"And who's Kyle? Another ex-boyfriend I have to contend with?"

Heather cried harder. She burrowed into his chest and wished all the feelings would go away. "I miss my dad," she said helplessly.

"Right. That's new." He pulled away and bent down again so he could see her face. He lifted his sunglasses so she could see his eyes. "Want to fill me in?"

Heather nodded, rubbing the tears away with the heel of her hand. "I'm not usually like this," she apologized.

He smiled. "You know your lips go all swollen when you cry? It's sexy as hell."

"Stop it," she groaned. "No one is this perfect. I know you're going to be an axe murderer or a Moscato drinker or something."

"I have been known to enjoy a Moscato from time to time."

"I knew it."

"And while I'm drinking Moscato, I might also spend my life on the road, neglecting people," he said seriously. "Come on, let's go walk around the square and I'll tell you the history of things and you can tell me why you're missing your dad."

The weight of his arm around her shoulders was soothing. Heather leaned into his body.

"Take a breath, Juliet. Look around. The sun is out and you're in the ancient city of Cusco." He rubbed her shoulder.

She nodded, taking a shaking breath. "Okay. Bore me about this square thing we're in."

"Square thing?" He was appalled. "This is the Plaza de Armas. The Incans called it Huacaypata or Aucaypata."

Heather let the sound of his voice wash over her as he went through his encyclopedia entry on the square.

"And up here we have the cathedral, flanked by the churches of I-can't-quite-remember."

Heather laughed, delighted he'd forgotten. Then she tugged on his shirt. "How did you know I needed you?"

"I didn't," he said, still holding her close to his side. "I was just out for a walk." He rubbed her arm. "But tell me about this needing me thing. Has it got something to do with the dad thing?"

Heather told him, the words coming in a flood. They sat on the steps of the cathedral in the sun, watching the flow of tourists crossing the square and picking their way along the paths through the gardens. She told him about her charming, feckless, fuck boy of a father, and her adoring, permanently wounded mother. About her childhood of keeping secrets. About her dad's impending wedding, which he hadn't bothered to tell her about. About how it felt to be forced onto her mom's "side." About how it felt to be collateral damage. About how much she'd distrusted Shawn's adoration as a result. About how even if she'd liked Shawn, which she didn't, she wasn't sure if she'd have accepted being loved anyway.

And when the deluge of words trickled to a stop, Owen made a thoughtful noise. And then all he said was, "Yeah, that's a lot." But he was holding her hand in both of his, and he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. And then he changed the subject. "Fancy some street food? Hungry?"

"That's it?" she said, astonished. "That's all you've got to say? ‘That's a lot.'" She paused. "And yes, I'd like some street food."

"Cool. There's a guy down that street over there grilling something that smells great. Some kind of beef on a stick." He stood and pulled her to her feet. And then kissed her lightly. "And yes, for now that's all I've got to say. It's a lot."

He was compassionate and kept hold of her hand, but he said nothing more. He left her holding her own feelings. This was what having boundaries looked like, she realized. This was what it looked like not to be enmeshed.

"You'll work it out, Juliet," he told her kindly, pulling her to her feet.

And then he took her to eat beef on a stick. And to see Cusco. Because he was there, and she was there, and Cusco was there. And for now, that was enough.

* * *

When Heather got back to the room, Bon was lying in wait. She was sitting on Heather's bed, Junior's wooden box sitting next to her. Mom wasn't there, but Heather could hear the shower running.

"Hi," Heather said carefully, closing the door behind her.

"This whole thing is supposed to be about me," Bon told her sternly.

"I thought it was about Mom being some kind of emergent cougar."

"Don't be smart." Bon lifted Junior and put him on her lap and patted the bed beside her for Heather to sit down.

Heather sighed. She just wanted a shower and some rest. But she went and sat next to her grandmother on the bed.

"Nothing ever goes to plan," Bon complained.

"Seems not."

They stared at each other, and then Bon tapped Heather lightly on the cheek. "A wise man once told me that when times are hard, it's better to run to something."

Heather nodded, as though that should make sense. Maybe it would make sense after a shower and a nap.

"We came to see a wonder of the world," Bon said firmly. "And instead we're dealing with your harem of men." She sighed. "It's probably my fault your mother did this. Or her father's. It's always the parents' fault, isn't it? Well, if that's the case, we can probably go all the way back and blame my pa. Or possibly his pa . . ." Bon gave Heather the side-eye. "Feel free to disagree with me."

"I just feel like there are so many traps," Heather blurted, and she wasn't talking about Bon's grandfather. "I mean, inside me. I'm full of traps: mousetraps and bear traps and trap doors—all lying in wait for me to take a wrong step. What if I put a foot wrong? What if I fall into loving the wrong person, because of Mom and Dad and the mess they made of me?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake." Bon was exasperated. "First of all, your parents didn't make a mess of you. You, honey, are all you need to be, and I, for one, like who you are. And second, there are no wrong people. Or right people. There are just people. You're overthinking things. Trust me, there's no rulebook and no map of traps. You meet people, you love them or you don't—or you love them and you don't—you stay with them or you don't. Sometimes they leave you and sometimes they stay with you, and sometimes they leave and stay all at once. Stuff is just stuff."

"Romantic."

"It is romantic. When you see people for what they are, not for what they could be to you, then you love them. That's what love is. Trust me, because I didn't learn this lesson the easy way."

"You think Mom and Dad only loved each other for what they could be to each other, not for what they were?" Heather was crying again. Her parents' split hurt worse than she'd thought it would. She'd expected it her whole life, and in a weird way had wondered if it might not be a relief when it finally happened, but it wasn't. It was bad.

"Oh, honey." Bon stroked her hair.

Heather leaned into her. It felt good to be comforted.

"I have no earthly idea. Who knows what happens in the secret terrain of a marriage?" Bon pulled her closer. "But I like to think they loved each other. That they tried. Your dad isn't all bad, you know. He's just in a lot of pain and incapable of seeing past himself."

"And Mom?"

"Your mom doesn't even know how much pain she's in. She got hurt so young she grew up with it and thinks it's normal."

Heather closed her eyes and just enjoyed Bon's one-armed hug for a while. It felt so nice to surrender.

"You're okay," Bon said, dropping a kiss on the crown of Heather's head. "But we do need to fix this Love Island situation of yours."

"Yes, well, Shawn's going home." Heather opened her eyes and reluctantly sat up straight. She was glad Bon kept her arm around her; she wasn't ready to relinquish the comfort yet.

Bon cleared her throat. "Did you know they brought their hiking gear? Him and the big bear of a friend."

An ice-cold wave swept Heather from head to toe.

"And they're booked on the exact same trekking tour that we are."

Heather could have screamed. She glared at the closed bathroom door. Goddamn her mother.

"That's one besotted little stalker you've got there," Bon said dryly, pulling away from Heather.

Heather let the words sink in. "Thank God you can see it," she exhaled. "Mom seems to think it's romantic."

"Romantic is a man listening when you say no," Bon sniffed.

Heather groaned. "What do I do?"

Bon put her hand on Heather's knee and squeezed. "Stop sleeping with him."

Heather flushed.

"The big, shaggy one told me you keep leading him on. And so did your mother."

There was no way in hell Heather was ever sleeping with Shawn again, and she certainly wasn't trekking up to Machu Picchu with him. Especially not with Owen here—it was deeply unfair to him. "I'll talk to Shawn," she said grimly.

"No," Bon said shortly. "That's what he wants. You need to suffocate the energy out of this thing. You don't sleep with him, and you don't talk to him. You put an iron curtain between you and that boy. He needs to know you're done. Stop running around trying to manage him. You're not responsible for other people's feelings—especially when those other people are your exes."

"But I don't want him here," Heather said, appalled. "I have to talk to him."

"How are you going to stop him by talking at him? He hasn't listened to you so far."

Heather didn't know.

"Besides," Bon continued, "I've already sorted it."

Heather had a sinking feeling. "You what?"

"I've sorted it. So, it's lucky you didn't want him, because you're not getting him. I've sorted all the distractions. I came here to spend some time with you and your mom. And with Junior," she added, stroking the lid of his box. "I can be very resourceful," Bon said mildly, but the look in her eye wasn't mild at all.

"What are you going to do?"

Bon gave a sharp laugh. "Do? It's already done."

"You mean Shawn's going home?" Heather felt relief so strong it stole her breath. She went to hug her grandmother, but Bon put a hand on her shoulder and held her back.

"Hold it. I don't want you in a strangling position when I tell you the next bit."

Heather had no idea what Bon was about to say next, but she knew it was going to be bad, because Bon had her imperious expression on. The one that brooked no discussion.

"I called the tour company," Bon said, her hand still on Heather's shoulder, in preparation for an attack. "And upgraded us. It cost a fortune, so you're welcome."

"What do you mean, ‘upgraded us'?" Heather asked suspiciously.

"We're getting the private trek experience. Just the three of us." Bon pursed her lips. "No Shawn and his furry friend."

"But that's great!" Heather didn't see what the catch was, or why Bon's hand was keeping her at bay so strongly.

"Just us," Bon repeated.

And it sank in.

Just the three of them. And no Owen.

* * *

"You're telling me I'm going to be trekking with your boyfriend?" Owen wasn't taking it well. "Without you."

"My ex-boyfriend," Heather corrected.

"While you three go off on your own . . ."

"Don't take it out on her," Mom said sharply. "This is my mother's doing."

"No, it's your doing," Heather growled. "And he's not taking anything out on me. He's justifiably angry."

Heather had planned to have a quiet drink with Owen so she could explain the situation as calmly as possible. But, of course, Mom and Bon ruined it by crashing. They'd followed Heather to the bar, refusing to be shaken off. And now the four of them were crammed around an intimate little table in a romantic little bar, and Owen quite literally had his back to the wall.

"I'll take the blame," Bon said stoically. "Even though Heather is right, Sandra is actually to blame."

Sandy ignored her. "Shawn was with Heather long before she met you, Owen. They were still together the night before she flew out."

"I think that's Heather's private business," Owen said firmly. "And I'm not angry at anyone. I'm . . . surprised." But there was a muscle twitching in his jaw. He played with his beer bottle and maintained his careful quiet. Heather wished she knew him better and could read him. She didn't know what he was thinking—she only knew what she would be thinking in this situation. And it wasn't good.

He glanced up and met her eye.

"It's a pretty weird situation," he said quietly.

"No," she disagreed. "It's not pretty weird. It's batshit crazy and totally out of line."

He nodded. "Yeah, that's more accurate." He pushed his beer away. "Look, you ladies have a lot going on."

Another radical understatement.

He ignored Mom and Bon and leaned forward, clasping his hands together and staring Heather straight in the eye. "I had a great time with you in Barranco," he told her.

The hair rose on the back of Heather's neck.

"But I really don't do drama," he told her firmly.

Heather's heart sank.

"I don't know this guy you're talking about, and I could probably not care less if he's trekking at the same time I am," he admitted. "So long as I'm not tangled up in his bullshit." He leaned back in his chair.

Heather felt tears prickling.

Owen took her hand, unhooking her fingers from the stem of her wineglass. He linked his fingers through hers. "You've got to listen to the universe's hints, I suppose," he told her wryly. "And they've been pretty clear today."

"You were in the square when I needed you," she reminded him. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Mom sighed gustily. "You'd think we were in some kind of Shakespearean tragedy. We'll be back here in Cusco within a week."

Heather felt a blast of shame at her mother's rudeness. "Alright," she snapped. "That's enough. No one invited you to this drink, so off you go."

Bon pursed her lips. "Sorry," she apologized, mostly to Owen. "I just wanted to tell you that this is my doing, not Heather's. She's innocent in all this."

"Noted," Owen said coolly.

"Come on, Sandra." Bon grabbed Sandy by the arm and all but hauled her out of her chair.

"Your family's not great at boundaries, huh?" Owen said after they'd left.

Heather shook her head. "I'm not sure they even know what boundaries are."

"That's why you moved to Chicago?"

"Yeah. Only now I'm going to have to leave Chicago too."

"Because of this Shawn guy? The ex you were still sleeping with right up until you flew here?"

Heather sighed. "Yeah." She had no defense to that.

"You know you get to sleep with someone and not owe them anything, right?"

"I know," she said bluntly. "And I know it wasn't fair to him. That I just confused things."

"And your mom? You know even though she's your mom you don't owe her anything either?"

Heather felt that stomach cancer ache again. "She's . . ."

"A lot?"

"Messed up about this stuff." Heather gave a helpless shrug.

"We all are. But you get to have privacy, you know. You're allowed boundaries."

"I know. I'm just not good at it. I'm better at running away."

"Practice makes perfect." He took a sip of his beer and did that delicious lower lip suck again. "And I can't judge. I run too." He slid into his thoughts, looking troubled.

"So, I guess our Barranco magic ran out." Heather didn't understand the scale of her sadness. She hardly knew him and yet she felt like she was losing something precious.

He shot her a look. "You always give up this easy?" He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "You know when I run, I don't run away, despite what everyone thinks. I run to." He met her gaze, his eyes midnight dark. "And I keep waiting for someone who'll run with me." He drained his beer and gave her one of his twitchy almost-smiles. "We're only at the trailhead, Juliet. There's still a whole mountain to climb, so don't go giving up yet."

"You said you don't do drama," she reminded him.

"I don't," he acknowledged with a shrug. "But you might not always come with drama."

Heather felt the world turning upside down. What did that mean? Was he saying they might have a future?

"Enjoy your trek," he said huskily. He stood and looked down at her with those sultry eyes. "Who knows, maybe the trail will help. And, like your mom said, I'll see you back here in a week or so."

"You will . . . ?" Heather's heart was swelling up.

"Adios. Heather." He bent down and gave her a brief, fierce kiss. And then he was gone.