Everything I've Never Had (5 page)

Ready to end this conversation, I throw her my Hail Mary of protests, “He's not even thirty years old, Bonnie!”

“So...how old is he exactly?”

“Um...that doesn't matter! He's not even thirty and I'm thirty-seven. Hello? Freakin' cougar, anyone?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Cougars are old bitches with leathery skin, lips like an overinflated raft, and a plastic surgeon on speed dial. Your mother? Perfect cougar material.” I laugh, thinking we have changed the subject. I should've known better. She asks between her teeth, “How old is he exactly?”

“He's twenty-nine,” I mutter petulantly.

Her laughter causes my eyes to cut over to her swiftly. “When’s he gonna be thirty?”

“Not for several months.”

She throws her hands out as if sensing victory. “So, y’all are eight years apart. That is NOT a big deal, especially when you're in your thirties.”

“Which. He. Is. Not. And it
is
a big deal when you're a woman, and he is younger than you, and he is surrounded by gorgeous, conscienceless women who he could take home any time of any day.”

“So is that the real problem? Is he a womanizer?”

I scrunch my face up in protest. “No, he's not a womanizer. I haven't even seen him with a woman since he's been home.”

“Really? Sounds like someone else is pining away...”

“No, no, no, no. When we talked on the porch this morning, it was obvious that it's only a physical attraction for both of us.” At her raised eyebrow, I concede a little, “Strong attraction—we are strongly attracted to one another. His exact words were that he was
really
attracted to me.” She gives me a knowing glare and an even more knowing grin. “Shoot! What am I supposed to do with that? What do I even say to that?” My voice gets higher with each word.

“Well, what did you say?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I shake my head a little, remembering. “And when he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear...mmm...” I mentally shiver. “It's obvious that I'm in real trouble.”

She sits back and drapes her arms across my pillows. “Yep. A lot of things are real obvious right about now.”

IT WOULD HAVE been much easier to resist my Adrian-fueled impure thoughts if he wasn't such a mass of contradictions because those very contradictions were what made him so unbelievably intriguing to me. On the one hand, he was macho and reserved. On the other, he talked to me like there wasn't anything he wouldn't ever tell me and played with the boys like he needed that as much as he needed his next breath.

Having been a performer since a young age, he was adept at making music, partying with the guys, fending off the girls, or sometimes not fending off the girls.
Just the thought of that makes me cringe.
Yet, contrary to all that, he was perfectly content to spend a quiet evening at my house watching movies with the boys and me or to load us all up and go hit baseballs at the batting cages and eat tons of ice cream afterward.

It was almost as if, despite all the things I was supposed to hold against him, he was the perfect man. In my world, the ideal man was supposed to wear suits, argue in courtrooms, and have brandy after dinner while playing a gentleman's game of cards. They didn't attend football games for fun. They didn't eat hotdogs with gusto. And they certainly didn't throw little boys around in the air and give them rides on their shoulders.

All of that and more—that was Adrian. A mass of endearing contradictions, a direct affront to the way both he and I were reared.

We had settled back into a nice little routine. He and the boys and I did practically everything together. Anything I needed, the boys needed, he handled it. Not only did he handle it but also relished in it. I was attached—real attached—to the way he took care of us and cared for us. Craving his presence, his wisdom I never thought to distance myself from him.

I even started going out with him and his band more and more. Bonnie and her drummer, which is what she usually calls him, had long since been dating. They are actually really good together. I’m starting to wonder if she's realized that they had passed the point of just having a little bit of fun about fifty dates ago.

The first night Adrian showed up with his eye-candy was the first night I started to question our little arrangement because feelings of jealousy instantly consumed me. From the second I saw his arm around her shoulders, I wanted to rip the bleach-blonde hair right out of her head. Then, she spoke to me. I realized very quickly that eye-candy about covered all that she was good for. She was completely self-absorbed and fake and vapid. Adrian had to be dating her just to date her. Yes, those are the verbs of my choosing. I don't want to consider any of their other activities. I only had to see
her
once; however, he started to “date” carbon copies of her every weekend thereafter. I couldn't believe that was his type. To each his own, I guess.

After a couple of months of living this safe, enjoyable routine, you can imagine how shocking I found the next series of events.

I'D BEEN SUMMONED to my father's office, which makes me apprehensive as the only two times he's ever asked to see me here were unwelcomed announcements and proclamations. Even though both had been while I was in college, they were firmly entrenched in my memory. The first was to tell me that my dog, Settler, had to be put down due to old age and many debilitating problems. The second, well, was to tell me to quit fooling around with Scott. The first broke my heart. The second humiliated me.

Having no idea what to expect from my father, I dressed to the nines. My crisp linen navy blue sheath dress was topped by my pinstriped high cut, long-sleeved shrug of the same material. I had on my nude Louis Vuitton with the three-inch heels. I'd perfectly coifed my hair and my make-up was flawless; I looked beautiful and powerful but felt everything but that. Like a piece of petrified wood wondering what happenstance would come along to tote it away, I had my hands folded on my lap and sat straight up in my chair with my legs crossed at the ankles. My back is nowhere near touching the leather chair in the illustrious and legendary law offices of Hebert & Hebert.

As I am sitting here wondering what fresh hell my father has to bestow upon me, my second-most feared father figure waltzes in and walks straight to me. I crane my neck to see him because he doesn't give me enough room to stand up. No big surprise here. I think he does it to intimidate me.

“Ah, my favorite daughter-in-law. How are you, Celeste?” Chip Hebert asks me. I stare up at his chiseled good looks and wonder how his wife, Patrice, didn't see past all that for about the billionth time.

“I'm good,” I respond.

“The boys? Eating you out of house and home yet?”

“They're doing well. And yes, eating anything that stands still long enough.” He chuckles at that and brushes a lock of hair from my shoulder. It takes everything I've got to suppress a repulsive shudder.

“Ms. Hebert, Mr. Hebert will see you now.” Saved by my father's secretary and not for the first time.

“Excuse me, Chip. Can't keep my father waiting,” I state. Finally, he gives me the space to stand up, and I will myself to meet his eyes as I rise. Capable of smelling fear, I'm determined not to let my dear old father-in-law sense mine.

“Good to see you, Celeste. Will I see you in the country this weekend?”

“Of course, see you then,” I return. As I pass Gladys, I give her a tight smile; and she gives me one decisive nod.

Closing the double doors behind me as I enter my father's massive office, I allow my eyes to graze over the plaques, pictures, and Navy paraphernalia. My father—so decorated. As was Tripp's for that matter. This was how they met. Two Heberts far from home, almost identical Naval careers. The name Hebert was like Smith around these parts, but everywhere else it was a rarity. This was how they'd bonded and how they'd groomed their younger brothers and eventually their sons. The only one it didn't take with was Adrian's father. Oh, he'd gone through all the motions—college, law school, Jag Corps, respectable practice back home in New Orleans. However, along his path, he'd left a trail of debauchery, debt, and devious undertakings. That was not to say that Tripp's father and mine had not indulged in nefarious deeds. No, they were just quiet about it, making them all the more dangerous.

“Celeste, thank you for coming by,” my father says.
Like I had a choice
, I think.

“Of course, Daddy. How are you?” I smile brilliantly.

“I'm doing well. Your mother has me on a new diet, though, so I'm starving,” he says with a chuckle.

“Well, you're certainly looking fit,” I tell him.

“How is Archer?” My father always starts with the oldest first.

“Archer is doing well. His grades were terrific last year. Seventh grade,” I say with a disbelieving shake of my head. “He got picked up for the fall baseball league. Oh, and he's decided he wants to be a nuclear physicist.”

My father's eyes widen at this. “No law school?”

“I'm sure he'll come around; he's only twelve,” I say with a slight smile.

“Paris?”

“He's fantastic. Just got a new turtle, who he's dubbed Skip. Of course, no one knows quite why that is.” I smile at the thought of my nine-year-old's eccentric nature.

“And Finn?”

“Finn.” I chuckle a little. “Finn is great. He is bound and determined to follow in his father's footsteps. He's playing first-string quarterback in his recreational league. All boy, that one.”

“Ah. Good, good. And how is mom doing?”

“I'm doing well.” I briefly considered telling him about my latest news with all the photo shoots being booked at the house and my design advice being sought after but quickly decide against it. He hates talk of all that.

“Well, that's good. I'm not going to beat around the bush, Celeste.” I brace upon hearing these words. “We've decided that it's time you brought a father figure into the boys' lives.”

My heart beats triple time while I ponder exactly how to handle this with poise and not let myself get railroaded. “Daddy, I'm not really ready for that. I haven't met anyone I'm interested in—”