“Of course, Dr. Salisbury,” I say excitedly. “I can absolutely make those dates work out. I can send over my rate sheet so we can determine the best fit for you and your wife, and then we can move on to colors and themes and ensure that your office space integrates seamlessly with the rest of your home, while maintaining two distinct spaces.”

I’ve been a busy little bee. We all have. Dylan’s mother made good on her promise a couple of weeks ago, and Dylan was set up with a shot at one of the biggest hotels in Boston. If he succeeds there, and I know he will, he can write his ticket anywhere he wants. Maybe a year of good solid work, and who knows where he’ll be? For now, he seems positively giddy about his new day job, and comes home in a great mood every day.

Jack has been good as well, as far as I can tell. We don’t hear a lot about his cases, but he’s been home earlier than usual these days. He apparently made a very good impression on the partners at his firm right around the time his condo caught fire, and seems to be really gunning for a partner spot of his own. It couldn’t happen to a better guy; I really hope it comes through for him.

As for me, I’m just focused on my work. I still run kickboxing classes at the gym, and I decided to start reaching out to a few connections through there. I think I’ve just landed my first client, in fact. The thought of becoming an independent designer away from the tyranny of the MacMillan empire—out from under the thumb of my mother—fills me up with bubbles inside.

Before I can continue to speak, my phone vibrates. I pull it away from my face and see who it is.

Mother. Of course. Everything in my life was just too happy. Why wouldn’t she choose now to call me up?

I hit the ignore button, and continue my conversation with Dr. Salisbury. “Yes, I think that’s a perfectly reasonable idea. It sounds like Mrs. Salisbury has excellent taste.”

And there it is again, buzzing against my face like an unwanted gnat. I sigh internally.

“Dr. Salisbury, I apologize, but I have a call that I need to take from a family member. Yes, I’m sure all’s fine, but I promise you’ll be the first to know. Sure thing, same time tomorrow. Take care.”

I end the call and pick up Mother’s. “Yes?”

“Three months, young lady,” is how she decides to start.

I sigh. “Mother, if you called me to do this all over again, now’s not a good time.”

“Oh, going to run off to that class you teach?”

I narrow my eyes, but remain silent.

“Yes, I know all about it. At a gym, with no personal clients. It’s like I told you, no one is ever going to bother hiring a chubby girl to tell them how to get fit. The idea is positively absurd.”

I can feel my heart rate rising and my skin starting to flush, but I take a breath, determined not to let her get to me.

“Mother, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about, Caitlin MacMillan. I’m talking about a spoiled little brat in the middle of an early midlife crisis, who walks off her job and deserts her family in order to… what? To teach truck drivers and waitresses how to tone up for summer?”

I open my mouth to speak, but feel my throat closing up tight.

I’m not going to cry on this call, though.

I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.

“Mother,” I finally force myself to say. “For your information, I have an interior design client. I’m starting my own firm.”

“Oh,” she says sarcastically. “Now you want to do your job? After you abandoned us in the middle of our busiest season? The summer seasonal was a complete bust, young lady, thanks to the fact that we were shorthanded on a minute’s notice. You did that, Caitlin. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“I am,” I murmur.

“You what?” she shouts at me.

“I am, Mother!” I shout right back.

“That’s it, Caitlin. You know, I called to be a good sport and offer you one last chance to have your old job back in time for fall. But if this is your attitude now, I fear you’ve done nothing but lower yourself to the standards of those classless Boston townies, just like your grandfather did.”

Just then, I hear the front door shut. I look over.

Thank God, it’s Jack.

I’ve never been happier to see him, especially looking the way he does. My emotions are high and fraught, and watching him smile at me while he takes off his tie is doing all sorts of good things for me. Mostly, though, I’m just completely relieved. The knot in my throat loosens up, and I feel like I’m able to deal with this now.

I’m not alone, and I feel like I can handle anything.

“Did you hear me, young lady?” my mother snaps, and I realize I’ve missed more of the venom she’s been spewing.

She’d maligned Sully, though. I hadn’t missed that.

“Yes,” I respond coldly. “I heard you. You keep that man’s name out of your mouth.”

She sputters for a second, not used to me standing up to her in the slightest. Then snarls, “And if you don’t straighten that attitude out, you can feel free to keep the MacMillan name off of your business cards. No more chances. Everyone who is anyone will know that Caitlin MacMillan is a flake, pure and simple. Just another faux-artistic modernist in a sea of mediocrity.”

“You do whatever you think you have to do, Mother,” I say, and hang up the phone before she can respond.

It feels good.

“So,” Jack says, sitting down next to me on the couch. “That was ol’ coal squeezer herself, eh?”

“You know it,” I say, shaking my head with a sigh. “It’s like she somehow monitors my happiness level, then calls me whenever she knows it’s just too damn high.”

“Believe me, I remember,” Jack says, and we take a moment to laugh about the memory of that day in the kitchen.

I really had lost it when she’d called that time. But then again, it had definitely led to very good things.

“God,” I start, tension easing out of me. “That feels like ages ago now.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t either of our finest days,” he says, wrapping an arm around me.

I smile and snuggle in.

“I hate her,” I say. It feels wrong to think that of one’s own mother, but it’s true, and it feels good to say out loud. “I just hate her. She’s an evil, nasty woman, and always has been.”

“Hell, I can relate to that,” Jack says, squeezing me a little closer.

I can hear his heart beating through his chest, and it soothes my entire body.

“My old man makes my ma call me up just to ask for money,” he adds, rubbing his hand up and down against my arm in a soothing rhythm. “Once a week, minimum, I gotta hear her go on and on about who pisses off who, who stabbed who in the back, who’s in jail now, who just got outta jail, how much my old man lost at the track, oh and by the way could you send some money? Least I can do because they raised me up so well, apparently.” He shakes his head. “Pricks. The whole lot of ’em. At least we had Sully, I guess, right?”

“Agreed,” I say. “Only the summers for me, though.”

“Y’know,” he starts, “I really used to think you were just some spoiled rich kid, way back then. Just another socialite’s daughter, lookin’ down your nose at me and my thrift store clothes.”

“I was just shy.”

I sigh. If only I’d learned to stand up for myself at a younger age, would my life have turned out differently? But then again, I really like where it’s at now, so maybe everything had a purpose after all.

“I was shy and terrified,” I go on, wanting Jack to understand. “Because you were so gorgeous and dangerous and everything that I’d never seen before in my life. And there I was, just a fat mess with too many pimples and no self-esteem. I couldn’t have ever landed someone like you in a million years, as far as young me was concerned.”

“Hey,” Jack says, stroking my cheek. “That’s all bullshit. You were gorgeous even back then. I just, y’know, thought that you didn’t talk to me because of who I was and where I came from. I was so jealous of what you had. Money, Sully, this house.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” I say. “I was so jealous of your looks, the way you swung around like you could handle anything in the world. Sully loved you more than he loved me.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head as he squeezes me close. “That’s not true.”

“I was just a little fat girl who didn’t know what she wanted. I kept failing at everything I tried.”

“Hey, now,” he says, pulling my head back and kissing me on the forehead. “No more of that, okay?”

“But—”

“No buts,” he cuts me off. “None of that is true, Cate. None of that was ever true. We all know better now. I know I do, Duchess. I’m sorry we lost so much time to it.”

“Me too,” I say, patting his arm. “It’s okay. We have this now, and that’s the important part.”

“It’s really too bad you can’t just choose your family, isn’t it?” he asks, grinning at me.

I laugh. “Definitely. God. I would divorce mine if I could.”

“You ain’t the only one,” he says.

“Well hey, you two,” comes a voice from the door.

Both of us crane our necks back to see Dylan, looking exhausted but elated, and so damn good in those jeans and that black v-neck. It clings to his body in all the right ways.

“Maybe we can, eh?” Dylan makes a gesture that encompasses all of us.

I smile, relaxing in Jack’s arms. “You’re right. Maybe we can. Maybe we already have?” I ask, looking up at Jack.

“Yeah,” he says, and I can hear the relaxation soaking in his voice. “I think we already did. Get over here, Dylan, you’re missing out on some prime-time snuggling here.”

He does, and we end up wrapped up in each other on the couch, bodies touching one another in a perfect, safe pocket that’s just our own and no one else’s.

This is us.

This works.

And I’m safe here.