CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The notice came in Theresa’s e-mail from the credit reporting company she’d been subscribing to. A credit inquiry, made in her name, had triggered it. It had been refused, thank God, although that only reminded her of how long it would be until she could get credit on her own.
“If I can’t get a credit card because of this mess you put me in, what made you think you could get one? What made you think it would be anything close to okay for you to pull this shit again, Dad? Why would you do this?” Theresa tossed the printout she’d made of the message onto his shabby kitchen table, highlighting the part pointing out that her score had dipped once more.
Her father gave her a pleading look. “I was behind on some bills—”
“Join the club!” She whirled on him, sick with fury. Devastated. Hating him but not enough. Not quite enough. “I told you. If you ever pulled this again, I would report you. I would turn you in to the police.”
“No, no, honey, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands, helpless.
She shook her head. “I mean it, Dad.”
“You can’t do that. I’m trying hard, I’m getting clean. It was a slipup. That’s all. I promise you.”
“You know something, Dad? You’re the reason I hold back from everyone, even the ones I could love. How does that make you feel?” She wanted to sound angry but was unable to manage it. She sounded only sad.
“You can’t blame me forever, Theresa. I know I’ve messed up, and I’ve made my amends to you—”
“It’s no amends if you do the same thing over and over again!”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. I was wrong. I had a lack of judgment.”
“Were you stoned when you did it?”
The look on his face told her the answer. That was it. She was done with this. With him. With everything that had happened.
“Theresa. Honey. Listen . . .”
“No. No more, Dad. No more excuses, no more apologies, no more forgiveness. I don’t want to hear from you or see you. Don’t call me. Don’t e-mail me. Do you understand?” He didn’t reply, and she stood in front of him deliberately until he had to look at her. “If you ever use my name to steal from me again, I will do everything I possibly can to make you accountable for it. Do you understand?”
In a querulous voice, her father agreed. “I’m sorry. What else can I do?”
“You can stay out of my life. That’s what you can do.” There was no more to say after that, and she left his apartment without another word.
By the time she got to the diner, her hands had stopped shaking and she was able to breathe a little easier. She took a minute to freshen her lipstick in the rearview mirror, making sure her face showed no signs of her recent distress. She counted to ten with her eyes closed, pushing away the anger.
In the diner’s small office, she found Ilya at the desk with a small sheaf of papers in front of him. He held one up. “Hey, babe. Look at what I got. It’s fancy stationery with our logo on it. B’s Diner. See, there’s a bee? I’m going to use it to print the invitations for the soft opening. Do you think it’s too much to invite the mayor?”
She laughed, loving his enthusiasm. She loved watching him get excited about all the small details they’d been working so hard on. She loved him.
The realization set her back a mental step, but Ilya was looking at her expectantly. “No. I think it’s great to invite the mayor. Did you get the name of the woman from the paper I sent you?”
“Yep, yep, she’s on the list. Hey, come here.” He gestured for her to come around the desk and take a place on his lap. “Mmm. Hi.”
“Hi.” She kissed him. The kiss deepened. His hands moved up her thigh. Theresa laughed and put her hand over his to keep it from moving higher. “Don’t get distracted.”
“Can’t help it.” He grinned against her lips but pulled away a little to shift them both on the chair. He tilted the laptop screen toward her so she could see. “Okay, so, here’s the list I’ve been working on. I asked my mother, but she says she has something else to do and she might not be able to make it.”
“What’s going on with her?” Theresa leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair while she looked over the list. “Oh, you can take my father off there.”
“Huh? Why?”
It was all there, ready to spill out of her. The credit cards, the debt, the truth behind her months of living in her car and crashing on couches. She meant to tell him. She wanted to. Unburdening herself of it all was going to be a relief. Yet at the last second, she changed her mind. If things didn’t work out with Ilya, and it was still entirely possible that they would not, she didn’t want him to know all this about her.
“He’s not speaking to me,” she said.
It wasn’t a lie. Not really. If her father wasn’t speaking to her, it was because she’d demanded that he stay out of her life. Ilya frowned, so she kissed him as a distraction. His hands settled on her hips, but he didn’t seem properly distracted.
“You could send him an invitation, leave it up to him if he wants to come or not,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I never really liked your dad that much. But he should be there to support you.”
Theresa smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “No. Don’t. We’re having a rough patch. So promise you won’t invite him.”
Ilya frowned, clearly uncertain about this. Her fingers tightened in his hair to tip his head back so she could nuzzle him. At the nip of her teeth on his chin, he wriggled, pinning her arms against her sides so he could hold her still and duck away from her mouth.
“I just want it to be the best night, for both of us, but especially for you,” he said. “We’ve worked really hard on this, and if not for you, most of it wouldn’t have come together.”
“You did it,” she started to say, but Ilya shook his head.
“No. You’re the one with the lists and the contacts. You brought everything together and kept me on track. I never would’ve thought to do this in the first place, and I never would’ve done it without you. I wrote the checks, but you’re the glue that’s holding this entire project together.”
She shook her head, moved by his declaration but even more by the look in his eyes. “We make a good team.”
“Better than anyone could’ve guessed, especially me. You were right, Theresa. I did need this.” He tugged her down so her mouth met his. “You sure you don’t want me to invite him?”
“Promise me you won’t,” she said, too sharply. Too harsh. It confused him—she saw that—but in the end he must’ve thought about his own problems with his mother, because Ilya nodded and kissed her again.
“Okay. I promise.”