The Rest of the Story(95)

Suddenly there was a soft tapping on the other side of my closed door. When I opened it, Nana was there, a Bly County News in her hand.

“Come have some food,” she said, giving it to me. “I want to talk to you.”

When I nodded, grateful, she smiled, pulling her lavender robe a bit more tightly around herself as she made her way down the hallway. There, on the table by the window, was her daily breakfast—already delivered and arranged by a Tides employee—as well as a plate of toast and butter for me. Lately it was all I’d been eating each morning, and of course she noticed.

“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the chair beside her.

“You’re more than welcome,” she said. “I just feel like we haven’t had a proper catch-up since . . . everything happened.”

She was right: after the night of Taylor’s party, I’d only left my room a handful of times, and each one I’d been so concerned about how my dad would react—not speaking to me, as it turned out—I hadn’t had time to think about anyone else. Nana and Tracy had basically been tiptoeing together in the spaces between us, shooting me sympathetic looks he couldn’t see. This also meant I hadn’t formally apologized to her for causing all this trouble and tension, something I wanted to remedy now.

“I’m sorry,” I told her as she poured coffee into a mug. “I know you hate conflict and seeing Dad upset. So this must be your worst nightmare.”

She reached over, giving my hand a squeeze. “Don’t you worry about me, I’m fine. And your dad will be, too. He’s just adapting. It’s what we parents have to do, even when we aren’t feeling up to it.”

“I shouldn’t have had those beers,” I said, feeling embarrassed even saying these words in front of her. But I knew she was aware of the whole story. “I really let him down.”

“Your father loves you so much,” she said, pushing the plate of toast over to me. “He’s always been overprotective because of what he went through with your mom. But you aren’t Waverly, and he knows that. You just gave him a scare, is all.”

This was classic Nana, the ability to break down anything to simple phrases that made sense and helped you feel better. She was like the original five sentences.

“I feel like I messed everything up,” I said. “If I’d just waited a bit, he probably would have let me go back to Mimi’s whenever I wanted.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I think you’re aware now that how your dad sees North Lake and how you do are very different things. For him, it was always just about your mother, her family, and her problems. He couldn’t separate them. But you’ve had your own experience now, and redefined it accordingly. He’s still looking with the same eyes. You have to remember that.”

“So, what?” I asked. “I should try to show him it’s not what he thinks?”

“Ideally, yes, that would be good,” she said. “But I think we both know he might not be so fully open to it. Which is why even before this happened, I was thinking of ways to ease him into it.”

I chewed my toast, which was delicious, as I tried to follow this. Then it hit me. “Oh, the dinner? Is that what you mean?”

She pointed at me, smiling. “Yes. It was my hope that by bringing Mimi and the rest over here to thank them for their hospitality, we could maybe begin a dialogue about something other than Waverly. A fresh start, as it were.”

“And then I screwed it up,” I said glumly. “I’m so stupid.”

“Now, now.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then folded it and put it back in her lap. “It’s not too late.”

I put down my toast. “You’re going to invite them all over here, still? Really?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “The planning will just require a bit more finesse, as we have to get your dad on board.”

Immediately, I felt the wind go out of every sail in this plan. So to speak. “Yeah, well. Good luck with that. He hates them.”

“Nonsense.” There was an edge to her voice as she said this. “Your father doesn’t hate anyone. He’s just worried and frustrated.”

“You’re right,” I said quietly.

“So,” she continued, “what I’m thinking is we give him a bit of time. We could all use that, I think. So I’ve been looking at July thirteenth. Next Friday.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Friday the thirteenth? Seriously?”

“Oh, now, don’t be superstitious,” she said. “By then enough time will have passed since what happened between you and your dad for clearer heads to prevail. I’ve already spoken to the concierge about getting a table at the Club.”

I wasn’t surprised that Nana had thought things through to this extent. Her attention to detail was legendary. But it was one thing to design a good plan, another for everything to come together to make it work. Factor in several different people and personalities—and a dinner at the Club, no less—and disaster seemed even more possible, if not likely. But what was the other option? Sitting here in this suite stewing and angry until it was time to go home?

“I’m in,” I said. “What can I do?”

She smiled. “For now, follow your dad’s rules. Can you do that?”