CHAPTER 24
CASSIE
A few days after my birthday, Mom takes me and Tate out to dinner on the boardwalk. That in itself is a shocking development, but she continues to surprise me once we’re seated at the Italian place and she generously hands over the leather-bound wine menu to Tate.
“Why don’t you pick the wine, Tate?” It’s a big honor coming from Mom, and I can tell he’s fighting his amusement over the ceremonial tone with which she makes the offer.
I’m equally surprised Tate agreed to this dinner at all, considering he hasn’t been my mother’s biggest fan since the night she bimbo-shamed me. But Mom’s been badgering me about it for the past couple days. I suspect a part of her still doesn’t believe Tate and I are seeing each other and she wants visual proof.
I don’t entirely blame her. I mean, let’s not kid ourselves—Tate is probably the best-looking guy I’ve ever been in the same room as, and I’ve been surrounded by cute college boys for the last three years, so that says a lot. He surpasses them in looks. The perfect golden boy with his perfect face and perfect body. Even Mom can’t stop checking him out. It’s both creepy and validating, two things I didn’t think could coexist in my mind. But I like knowing I’m not just some foolish girl blinded by a crush. That he’s actually as hot as I think he is.
“I’m not a big wine drinker,” Tate tells her. “You’d be doing yourself a disservice if you put me on wine-picking duty for the night.” He hands the menu back. “But if you’re interested in beer, then I’m your man.”
Mom proceeds to do another shocking thing. “You know what? Let’s have beer tonight.”
My jaw drops. “You’re going to drink beer? Here?” This is one of the nicest restaurants in the Bay. Normally she wouldn’t be caught dead drinking anything other than the most expensive wine in the restaurant’s cellar.
There’s something different about her. Even her outfit gives off a different vibe. She’s clad in an expensive sleeveless dress, a sky blue that complements her red hair, which she’s uncharacteristically wearing down. She doesn’t seem so uptight tonight. She’d even complimented my dress when Tate and I met her outside the restaurant.
And don’t get me started on that perplexing exchange. Mom had greeted Tate with a warm smile and said, “Nice to see you again, Tate,” and he’d responded with, “Nice to see you again too, Tori.”
Tori.
My eyebrows almost jumped off my face as I turned to Mom to clarify. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call my mother Tori. Dad called her Vic sometimes, but mostly Victoria. Even Grandma always uses her entire name.
“All my friends call me that,” Mom had responded, rolling her eyes at me. “Where have you been, Cass?”
To be fair, I always kept a safe distance whenever she had a friend over to the penthouse. It was much easier than putting on the whole mother/daughter act, the one she’s so skilled at. When new friends, acquaintances, or strangers are around, she pretends we’re the bestest of friends. We’re Lorelai and Rory from Gilmore Girls, giggling together in our pajamas and casually chatting about our crushes.
Which has never happened, nor will it ever.
But I guess we’re pretending again tonight. Me and Tori. Best buds. Luckily, I know Tate can see through it.
When the waiter arrives, Tate orders an obscure-sounding beer, which he explains is locally brewed. Mom tells the server to make it two, but I beg off when he looks toward me. Instead, I order a Diet Coke. I need to keep a clear head. I don’t know why the three of us are here and it still feels like a trap.
“This is nice,” Mom remarks, only deepening my suspicions. What is she up to? “So, Tate. Cassie said you’re a sailor?”
“Not professionally, but yes, I love to sail. Used to compete in high school.” While he talks, he plays with the edge of his napkin, and I watch the way his long fingers move.
Heat tickles my core when I remember the feel of those fingers moving over me. Stroking my body. Biting into my ass, my hips, as I rode him.
Oh no. Don’t blush, I tell myself.
He catches my eye and grins. Damn it. I’m blushing.
“I don’t compete as much I’d like to anymore,” he continues, while reaching for my hand.
He links our fingers together and I try not to smile. Holding hands during dinner? He’s making a statement, and I notice Mom gazing on in approval. Now that’s a rare look on her.
“Too busy these days with work,” he says.
“You work at the Manor?” she prompts.
“Part-time, weekends mostly. The rest of the time I’m at the family business.”
“And what would that be?”
“Bartlett Marine. Dad and I run it. It’s a dealership, but we handle rentals and charters too.”
I just listen to the conversation. Mom can be very charismatic when she wants to be. Disarming. I used to have friends from high school come over and look at me like I was crazy for even insinuating that my mother could be a raging narcissistic bitch. They all thought she was fabulous. I can’t entirely gauge Tate’s opinion of her. He was a bit reserved when we first sat down, but he seems to be warming up to her.
“Cassie showed me the newspaper article about your father,” Mom says, smiling. “Sounds like you hail from a family of celebrities.”
“Man, do not tell my dad that,” Tate replies with a groan. “He’s already walking around the dealership thinking he’s hot stuff because they ran a profile on him. Like, dude, it’s the Avalon Bee, not GQ.”
As Mom laughs, I come to poor Gavin’s defense. “Have you ever been featured on the front page of a newspaper? Any newspaper, for that matter?”
“Uh, yeah,” he shoots back. “I’m in the picture on the front page of the Bee, in case you forgot.”
“For an article about your dad. Jeez. Get your own achievements.” I give him a taunting smile. “You can’t complain about his excitement until you’ve experienced your own fifteen minutes of fame. You’d probably be even worse, too. Accepting fake Oscars in front of the mirror every morning.”
“Cassie,” Mom chides, but her eyes twinkle with humor.
“What?” I protest. “Look at him. He looks like the guy who delivers fake speeches in the mirror. Don’t deny it.”
He snickers. “I would never.”
Mom’s gaze shifts toward him, assessing. Lingers a little too long, but when she turns back to me, her expression still contains humor. “He does seem like the type,” she agrees.
I can’t believe my mother and I sided on something. And even crazier, that I’m genuinely enjoying myself. At dinner. With my mother present. People in hell must be wearing parkas right about now.
Whether or not she’s putting on an act remains undecided. But I’m still relaxed, my guard down. I end up ordering a cocktail. And now that I’m twenty-one, I can do that without stressing that someone is going to ask for my ID.
Dinner is excellent, which is to be expected from the most expensive restaurant in town. This place gets the freshest lobster and the best cuts of meat in the Bay. As we eat, Tate tells us funny stories about working at the yacht club. Seems like during every lesson, something ridiculous happens.
“Couples are the worst,” he insists. “Any time we take out a sailboat that’s bigger than thirty feet, at least one half of the couple demands to act out the king of the world scene from Titanic. Then I have to stand there taking pictures, like, a thousand of them, because the first nine hundred and ninety-nine are apparently never good enough for the ’gram.”
“Oh dear,” Mom says, giggling into her beer. She just shocked me by ordering a second one. “You poor thing.”
I suppose I can overlook the way she’s blatantly flirting with my sort-of boyfriend if it means she’s not frowning at my outfit or talking about breast reductions. Over dessert, she even shares some stories about her own days at the country club.
“There was this golf instructor—Lorenzo.” She sighs dreamily. “I had the biggest crush on him. Almost fainted with excitement when he asked me on a date. I think I was twenty-one, maybe? It was right before I met your father, Cass.”
I almost spit out my drink. “Mom! You dated Lorenzo? The immortal Italian vampire?”
Tate snickers into his beer.
“I don’t even know what that means,” she says.
“It means he’s worked at the Manor for five hundred years because he never ages.” I suddenly feel the color draining from my face. “Oh my God, he could have been my father.” I glare at her, aghast. “You almost got me sired by Lorenzo.”
“No chance,” she replies, lips pressed tight together as if she’s fighting an onslaught of giggles. “Let’s just say Lorenzo had some … performance issues.”
I gasp.
Tate groans. “No. Why did you have to tell me that? Now I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.”
When the bill arrives, he tries to reach for it, but Mom firmly divests him of that notion. “It’s on me. I’m just glad you were able to join us. I wanted to meet the boy who’s been sneaking into my daughter’s window this summer.”
He winks at me before answering her. “No comment.”
“I’m glad you two are spending time together. It’s so nice to see you with a boyfriend,” Mom says to me, and I don’t think she’s mocking me.
What planet is this? Are we in another dimension? Either that, or I’ve snagged a guy so hot and perfect that even Mom can’t find fault in him.
“Thank you. This was great,” Tate tells her. “We should do it again while you’re in town.”
“Of course.” She takes the black AmEx the waiter returns to her, quickly signing the check. “And you’ll be accompanying Cassie to the Beacon’s grand reopening in a few weeks?”
He glances at me. “We haven’t really talked about it. I was planning on going, though.” He flashes an awkward smile. A little bashful. “Wanna go together?”
I feel my cheeks reddening. “Sure.”
“Excellent.” Mom pushes her chair back and stands. “I assume your parents will be there too? According to my mother, the Cabot girl invited nearly half the town.”
“I’m not sure,” he replies, helping me out of my seat. “I don’t know if there’s an official guest list. I’ll ask Mackenzie.”
Mom waves a hand. “Your parents are welcome to come as our guests. The Beacon was in the Tanner family for decades.” She winks. “We still have a bit of clout left.”
We reach the door, Tate once again thanking her for dinner before we part ways. He and I have plans to go to the Hartleys’ house, and Mom sashays off toward the Mercedes parked across the street.
Uneasiness swims inside me as I watch her drive away.
“You okay?” Tate asks, interlacing his fingers with mine.
“Yeah. I’m just … baffled.”
“Baffled.”
“Yes. Like, what the hell was that?” I gesture toward her disappearing taillights.
“I don’t know. I thought it went pretty well. I was expecting a lot worse, but it ended up being kind of fun.”
“Exactly. That’s the baffling part. My mother is never this nice. Something’s going on here. First she apologizes to me and buys me a crop top, and now this? This pleasant, condemnation-free dinner without a whiff of tension or a shred of criticism? No. I don’t trust it.”
He grins at me. “Aren’t you the silver-lining girl?”
“This doesn’t qualify as a silver-lining situation. This has never happened before. I told you, she’s not this nice. Especially to me.”
“You’re saying there hasn’t been a single genuine moment between you two in your entire life?” He sounds dubious.
I stubbornly shake my head. “There’s always an ulterior motive with her. An agenda. The last time she buddied up to me this hard, she was going through her divorce with Stu and it turned out she wanted me to sign a written statement from her lawyer claiming Stu emotionally abused her throughout their marriage and she therefore deserved to have their prenup dissolved. Then when I refused, she told me Stu had never even liked me.”
“Damn. Seriously?”
“Seriously. My stepbrother assured me that wasn’t true. But still. That’s why this—” I vaguely motion toward the street and the restaurant. “I don’t get it.”
He goes quiet for a moment. “Have you considered the possibility it’s genuine this time?”
“Fool me once…”
“I get that. And I’m not saying you should blindly trust it. But…” He hesitates. “Maybe she’s realized that having a combative relationship with her daughter isn’t ideal.”
“And when did she have this epiphany?”
He shrugs. “Who knows. Could be because you guys are selling your grandmother’s house, the family business. It’s the end of something, and endings make people nostalgic. Even narcissists. Sometimes it causes them to look inward and take stock of themselves. Triggers self-awareness they may have been lacking before.”
“Maybe.” I’m still not convinced.
“Look, we never truly know our parents. They lived entire lives before we ever came along, you know? All those experiences shaped them, made them who they are, and sometimes people become set in their ways and their personality defects, and it takes something major to jar them into making a change. Who knows what triggered your mother, but maybe she’s ready for that change.”
We start walking down the sidewalk, which is crammed with tourists even on a Wednesday night. It’s so busy we had to park nearly a mile away.
“I think you should give her a shot,” he says. “Be open to the possibility this olive branch is sincere.”
I bite my lip. The problem with Tate is, he doesn’t understand toxic parents. His family is perfect. As a couple, Gavin and Gemma are madly in love. As parents, they’ve always been there for him. He’s the only guy I know who can proudly say that his mom is his best friend. And his dad too! If anyone has a Gilmore Girls relationship, it’s Tate. He’s Rory, and both his parents are frickin’ Lorelai.
I envy him. Truly. I’d love having that sort of relationship with my parents. Hell, even just one of them. But I don’t.
Tonight was nice, though. I can’t deny that. My guard was nonexistent, and Mom didn’t strike. I’m unscathed. Happy, even.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” I confess, albeit reluctantly.
“Then you should give her a chance. It’s never too late to repair a relationship with somebody. To try and build the kind of relationship you want with them.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do.” His hand tightens around mine. It’s comforting at first, but then he rubs the inside of my palm with his thumb, and the tone instantly shifts.
“You did a sexy thing,” I accuse.
He nods in agreement. “I did a sexy thing.”
We reach the parking lot, where he does another sexy thing by moistening his lips with his tongue.
“So.” He licks at the corner of his mouth. “I know you lost your virginity less than two weeks ago, and, well, I don’t want to throw everything at you all at once, but … how do you feel about car sex?”
“Yes,” I say instantly and tug his hand toward the Jeep.