Rare Blend (Red Mountain #1)

5. Marisa

CHAPTER 5

Marisa

THE MESSENGER, THE SPY

I guess I should’ve turned right instead of left, because once I’m back on the road, I quickly find my dad’s house. He stayed on the line with me until I pulled into the driveway of a pretty, white farmhouse.

I put the car in park and jump out, but then pause, unsure if I should greet him with a hug or not. Fortunately, he makes the decision for me and pulls me into a familiar, bear-like hug. My body gently sags in his embrace, a combination of exhaustion and a rush of emotions from not having seen him in so long. He still smells the same, and I breathe him in as memories flood my mind. Images of the doting dad he was in my childhood eventually distort to the uncompromising, demanding dad he became in my teen years. I was never good enough, could never quite measure up to the impossible standards he held for me. It only got worse when I went to college. The last time we were in the same room, he told me I was a disappointment. That was the last real conversation we had. Until now.

Too quickly, he releases me, keeping his hands on my shoulders and inspecting me.

“You look so much like your mom,” he says, his eyes tracking me, laced with something I can’t quite identify.

There’s no so good to see you , or I missed you , or I’m so glad you’re here . No, none of that.

A quiet sigh slips through my lips. “Thanks.” I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or not.

He nods, turning toward the house. “Come on in.”

The inside of the house is beautifully decorated with a purposeful mixture of fabrics and finishes that complement the space, making it both modern and classically farmhouse without being kitschy. Jennifer’s doing, I’m sure, because my dad couldn’t identify a throw pillow if his life depended on it.

The house is eerily quiet, too still for anyone else to be home. I know for a fact that along with Jennifer and my dad, there are two teenagers—Jennifer’s kids—who live here, too.

Seeming to read the question in my eyes, he says, “Sadie is at her barista job and Caleb is at football practice. Jenn will be home from work in about an hour.”

We get settled in the open concept living room, and he offers me a glass of water, which I down in less than a minute. I avoided drinking much of anything for the drive because I hate stopping at random places to pee, so I’m sure I’m pretty dehydrated.

An awkward silence hangs in the air between us. Instead of trying to fill the gap with my rambling, I take in the surrounding space. Sunlight streams through sheer curtains, casting a glow on the rustic hardwood floors. Large wooden beams draw attention to the vaulted ceilings, making the room appear much larger. It’s a dream house, vastly different from the 1970s ranch-style home I grew up in. It’s strange to think of my dad living here, acting as some sort of father figure to two kids who aren’t his. Is he as hard on them as he was on me? Does he hold them to the same expectations?

Though it’s been some time since I’ve seen him and our interaction has been brief, it’s evident that he’s different. Calmer maybe? Less tightly wound? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something in him has clearly changed.

He clears his throat and blows out a long exhale. “Jenn and I did some talking…and we think it would be best if you didn’t stay here.”

My stomach plummets, the water I chugged churning like a whirlpool. He couldn’t have told me this over the phone before I packed up my whole life?

My face must give away every emotion, because he quickly shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is we’ve arranged with Jack Ledger, a friend of ours, for you to stay in one of the rental cottages at his winery. Give you a little privacy, allow you to have your own space. I figured you would prefer that.”

Both relief and disappointment weave through me. While I appreciate having my own space, it’s clear that my dad doesn’t want me intruding into his new life. Why bother adding me to the mix and tarnishing his shiny house and new family? He can pretend it’s for my sake, but this is equally about him having no idea what to do with me. He never has.

“Should we go see it? Get you settled in?”

I arrived maybe ten minutes ago, and he’s already trying to push me out the door.

I assumed I would be meeting Jennifer and the kids today. I guess I assumed wrong. I plaster on a fake smile. “Sure, let’s do it.”

The cottages are a block away, bordering a vineyard. Ten identical homes with sage-green clapboard siding are scattered across the land, partially concealed by the tree-lined street. My dad parks along the sidewalk, and I pull in right behind him. Together, we walk toward the cottages, a knot of wariness tightening in my stomach with each step.

As we approach, I take in the steep gabbled roofs topped with rustic shingles and the weathered wooden shutters framing each window. A meandering gravel path winds from the entrance of the vineyard, connecting each cottage. We pause in front of the one marked with the number seven, and my dad jingles the keys in his hands with his brows raised in excitement. He unlocks the door, and it swings open with a soft creak.

The inside is a little outdated, but it’s clean and appears to have everything I’ll need. There’s a small kitchen and dining room off the side with a table and two chairs. The living room is simple, with a small couch, two accent chairs, and a TV. Off the living room is a bedroom with a decent-sized closet and the bathroom is your basic three-piece bath. The wall paint is faded and covered with awkward strips of wallpaper, and the cabinets are a yellowish maple, but the space is perfectly livable. All in all, I can’t complain.

“The only thing missing is a laundry setup, but you’re welcome to do your laundry any time over at our house.”

I nod, looking around.

I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Red Mountain, it all depends on my luck in getting a job. It could be a couple of weeks or months. Not having a definite end date is a little terrifying. How long can I go with my life on pause?

“What do you think?”

I give him a faint smile. “Love it. Thank you for making the arrangements. How much will this cost?”

He shakes his head. “Free of charge. They’re not active rentals anymore.”

“So, there isn’t anyone else staying in the other cottages?”

His forehead knits, and he shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

I’m not sure how I feel about staying somewhere without paying for it. And while the idea of having my own place to stay is nice, it’s kind of creepy to think I’m the only one out here, surrounded by empty little houses.

“I take it you have plenty to unload from your car?” he asks. “If you’re anything like your mother, I expect you packed a year’s worth of stuff.”

My eyes dart to him. My defenses tend to rise when either of my parents brings up the other. I tense, waiting for a negative comment that never comes. Instead, he continues on as if it’s normal to mention her in passing and not add on a snarky quip.

He’s not wrong about my overpacking, though. It takes us an hour to unload my car. Once we’ve gotten everything inside, it feels like the small cottage is going to bust. With my funds lacking, renting a storage unit was out of the question. It was either pack everything or get rid of stuff, and by the looks of it, I didn’t get rid of one thing.

He gives me a rundown of things to expect while I’m staying. Most of it goes in one ear and out the other, except the part when he mentions everything in town, besides a convenience store or two, shuts down at 9:00 p.m., and if I need anything past that hour, I’ll have to drive the thirty minutes it takes to get to Badger Canyon, the next town over. In Seattle, there’s always something open at any given hour. It’s going to take some time to adjust to living within the confines of small town life and without the amenities I’m used to.

“About your student loans,” my dad starts.

I wince just thinking about them.

“While you’re here, I would like to take over the payments.”

I’m already shaking my head before he can finish the sentence. “No way. You’re already doing more than enough. I don’t need to burden you with more.”

“Marisa,” he says in that patronizing tone I’m all too familiar with. “The purpose of you staying here is to get back on your feet. And that’s not going to come easy if you’re paying an exorbitant amount on that loan. I already have a meeting set with my financial guy to see about your options, and at the very least, try to find a way to lower the interest rate.”

His offer is nice—it’s more than nice—yet I feel like a child being scolded. He may have relaxed in this new life of his, but he’s still an expert at making me feel foolish.

Rather than answer him, for fear of my voice cracking, I simply nod as shame floods my skin with heat.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press me on the matter and changes the subject, inviting me to breakfast tomorrow morning. It’s an in-service day, meaning the kids won’t have school, so I’ll be meeting everyone at once. At that, he leaves, claiming I should take the rest of the day to get settled in. The stillness that emerges in his absence stirs my growing regret for making this move, however temporary it is.

With nothing but time on my hands, I shoot a text to Hillary, letting her know I made it safely and promising to call later. While my phone is still in my hands, I decide to call my mom, even though I haven’t been able to get through to her. I’m hoping she’s at least gotten the half-dozen voicemails I left her.

It rings for the first time since I’ve been trying to reach her, and a seed of hope starts to sprout that maybe this time, we’ll actually get to talk.

“Hi, mijita,” she greets, casually.

My neck stiffens. She sounds so nonchalant. In fact, I’m pretty sure I hear laughter in her voice.

“Mom! Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for days.”

I sound like a whiny child but I can’t help it. I really needed her and she was nowhere to be found.

“I dropped my phone in the pool and it took a while to get a new one set up. What’s the big deal? Did someone die?”

Yes, because only death warrants a reason to answer your daughter’s phone calls.

“No, no one died. But I lost my job and my student loan payments restarted, so I’m staying with dad.” It’s the cliff notes version of events, but I don’t have the patience or desire to rehash every detail to her. Especially when it’s apparent she hasn’t checked one voicemail I left her.

She’s silent for a stretch. No doubt stunned. “You’re telling me that pinche pendejo fired you?”

I groan. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess, technically, I was laid off.”

“Mija, what did I tell you?” And there it is. I was waiting for the I told you so . “I told you getting involved with him was a mistake. When are you going to learn to stop letting a man be the center of your life? Look what happened, he cheated on you, because that’s what men do, they cheat. Even when they seem like they’re not the type, they are. He got rid of you the moment someone shinier caught his eye. I bet he has the new girlfriend sitting at your desk and doing your job.”

I hadn’t thought of Quinn in all of this. My mom is probably right, I was completely replaced in every single way. Still, her words make my chest burn with humiliation. She did warn me about Brandon, several times, and I ignored her. It’s hard to see the flaws in someone when you’re caught up in the excitement of new love, blinded by affection and hope. Not to mention I was incredibly vulnerable. My mom was already on her self-discovery journey, and things with my dad were rocky. I needed someone who made me feel valued and loved, and Brandon seemed to fit that role.

“Can we stop talking about Brandon? I get it, okay. Let’s talk about literally anything else.”

I don’t want to fight with her, but the resentment I work so hard to keep at bay starts to simmer. I need to shift the conversation before I let it boil over.

“Fine,” she sighs, and the tension in my shoulders dissolves. “I’m assuming you’re in Red Mountain now?” Even through the phone, I can detect her disgust. My mom loathes small towns. When she’s not traveling around the world singing on cruise ships—which it feels like all she does these days—she’s in Seattle, enjoying all the perks that come with living in a metropolitan area.

“Just got here.”

“How is he?” Her tone is light and uninterested, but I see right through it.

“Who?”

She breathes a frustrated sigh. “Your dad.”

The worst part about having divorced parents is this—being the go-between, the messenger, the spy. As bad as it sounds, it was easier when my dad and I weren’t talking as often, because then my mom would ease off me a bit.

“He’s Dad. You know how he is.” It’s better for everyone if I don’t divulge too much. The less she knows the better.

“Hmmm. So, have you met her yet?”

I don’t need to ask who “her” is. “No, not yet. I’m sure I will soon.”

“How long are you planning to stay there? Not long, I hope.”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. At least a couple weeks, maybe a month. The town is cute, though.”

“Marisa,” she says like a warning, her accent adding emphasis to my name.

I switch the phone to speaker and start unpacking my toiletries, needing a reprieve from our conversation. “What?”

“Don’t get distracted and end up stuck there.”

“Obviously, this is temporary. I’m allowed to like the town.”

“You need to stay focused. The last thing you need is to end up meeting some local boy and giving up your future and independence for a simple little life in a simple little town.”

My head flops back, and I close my eyes, willing myself to not snap.

“You’re young, you need to be out there, traveling and having fun. Because believe me, this time in your life will fly by, and one day you’ll wake up and realize your best years are behind you. I don’t want that for you.”

She’s notorious for these tangents. I don’t think I’ll be getting distracted by any “local boys,” as she put it. If they’re anything like the asshole I dealt with earlier, I’m going to be just fine. I may not have the greatest taste in men, but I can confidently say it’s definitely not rude and entitled dicks who dress like they should be on the cover of a lumberjack magazine.

“You’re really going hard on the distracting men lecture today, aren’t you?”

“All I’m saying is we don’t need a Brandon repeat.,” she continues, paying no mind to my snarky comment. “Stop letting men hold you back. They can’t be trusted. You can have a little fun, sure, but keep it at that. Attachments lead to heartbreak.”

It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. My mom has been lecturing some version of that since I was old enough to think boys were cute. To say she was disappointed when I called her after Brandon cheated would be an understatement. She was livid. Not at Brandon, but at me, for not being smart enough to predict he would do what he did. I should’ve been more prepared, had more money put aside, I should’ve never gotten involved with a coworker, let alone one of my superiors. The list goes on and on. It’s my own fault for telling her in the first place. If I hadn’t been so emotional, I would’ve lied and said we decided to part ways. Make it sound amicable and mature. Silly me for thinking she would comfort me instead of lecture me.

I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that my mom will never fully accept any of my romantic relationships. No man is good enough simply because he’s a man.

“Okay, okay. I hear you.” This conversation has grown exhausting. “Listen, I have a lot of unpacking to do. Can we talk another time? I’ll call you later on this week after I’ve settled in.”

She hums her agreement and, in the background, I hear laughter and her name being called. “Alright. Sí Dios quiere. I’ll be near the Bahamas. Check time zones.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you,” she happily sings like she didn’t just lay into me. “Dios te bendiga,” she adds, never one to end a phone call without tacking on a blessing.

The call with my mom depleted any remaining energy I had. Abandoning the suitcases and boxes begging to be unpacked, I crawl into bed. I’m usually only the napping type when I’m sick, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, not even the bright sun can prevent me from drifting off.