Bethanne sat at her desk late Friday afternoon and reviewed the latest figures Julia had given her on the other five stores. She was fortunate that in a struggling economy, Parties continued to thrive. Julia had various suggestions she wanted Bethanne to consider, and in the past months Bethanne had come to rely on her more and more. If it wasn’t for her operations manager, she wouldn’t be able to take time off to travel with her mother-in-law.
In the years since the start-up of Parties, her business had experienced steady growth and, according to Julia, there was huge potential for the future as long as they were judicious about their finances and their expansion plans.
One of the benefits of her success was the knowledge that she could travel anyplace in the world she desired, something she’d long dreamed about. This was heady for Bethanne. She had good business instincts, as well as basic skills she’d learned watching her husband and his colleagues. Because her ideas were so innovative, she’d received more than her share of attention from the press. She kept copies of the articles written about her novel approach to parties.
Reaching for the folder, she leafed through it, scanning each news clipping and magazine article with a sense of pride and accomplishment. She paused at last year’s photograph of herself smiling at the camera, standing outside this building, which housed the original Parties. The photo was flattering. She was at her leanest, her shoulder-length brown hair turned up slightly at the ends. Not bad for forty-seven.
When she’d seen the picture, her thought had been that she looked happy. It was at that moment that she’d realized she was over Grant. Life did go on.
Soon after that photo was published with a profile of her in USA Today, Annie told her that Tiffany had left Grant and filed for divorce. A few days later, Grant had called to give Bethanne the news himself; it was the first time they’d spoken in months. He’d sounded depressed, and Bethanne had felt sympathetic. After all, she’d been there….
Grant. Her thoughts had turned to him often since his call earlier in the week. After years of forcing him from her mind, she found it uncomfortable to be entertaining memories of him now.
Bethanne checked her watch. If she was going to be on time to meet her ex-husband at Zapata’s, she needed to leave the office now. Because it was the start of the Memorial Day weekend, she was caught in heavy traffic and arrived at the restaurant ten minutes late.
As she entered the dining room, the scent of fried tortilla chips and spicy salsa triggered a wave of nostalgia. When they were first married, this hole-in-the-wall restaurant had been their favorite. They could order a bean burrito, plus two tacos with rice and beans, and split the dinner for $5.50, including tip. If they had extra money, they bought a single margarita with two straws.
It had been important to them both that Bethanne stay home with the children until they were in school. Once Annie went into first grade, Bethanne had been prepared to finish her degree and rejoin the workforce, but Grant had asked her not to. She was his partner, his support—and he liked having her available to manage the day-to-day tasks that allowed him to focus on his career. Bethanne had agreed; by then he was doing well financially and he always let her know how much he appreciated her support.
Seeing her across the room, Grant stood and waved. The small restaurant was crowded. Almost every seat was taken and the waitstaff angled between tables, carrying trays of drinks with chips and salsa. Mariachi music blared from the speakers.
Bethanne made her way over to Grant, who’d remained standing. He immediately helped her remove her jacket. He’d always been attentive about those gentlemanly details. He would open a door for her or pull out her chair as a matter of course—but he didn’t hesitate to rip out her heart.
Stop.
She refused to let the old bitterness overtake her. She’d never been the vindictive type, and she’d worked hard to put the past behind her.
“I ordered you a margarita,” Grant said as he slid her chair under her. She felt his hand graze her shoulder, lingering just a second beyond casual.
The warm chips and salsa were already there. Bethanne’s stomach growled as she reached for one, wondering if the salsa was still as spicy as she remembered. One bite assured her it was.
“The menu’s almost unchanged after all these years,” Grant said as he sat down across from her. He held her look for a moment before opening his menu again.
Obviously, this place brought back memories for him, too.
“I see the prices have changed,” she remarked, scanning her own menu. A picture of the Mexican general adorned the plastic front.
He smiled. “Well, I guess we can afford it now.”
Bethanne didn’t recognize any of the staff. The waitress brought two margaritas over ice, each with a thick ring of salt around the rim of the glass.
“At least we can have two drinks this time around,” Grant said, watching her lick the salt off her glass and take a sip.
His familiar use of we made it sound as if they were a couple again, but she didn’t react. “I hope the same holds true for dinner,” she said mildly.
“I believe anything you order will fit into my budget,” Grant murmured, still studying the selections.
“I don’t think I ever told you I don’t like bean burritos,” she blurted out.
“You don’t?” He sent her a shocked look over the top of his menu. “But … but we ordered it every time we came here.”
Bethanne said nothing. In their dozens of meals at Zapata’s, not once had he asked why she never ate her half of the burrito.
“I thought you were just being generous,” he said. “You know—saving more for me, the way you did for the kids.” He set down the menu, genuinely crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Bethanne, for being so oblivious.”
Bethanne was relieved that the waitress returned at that moment for their order. She chose the Tex-Mex salad, while Grant ordered chicken enchiladas and a bean burrito combination plate.
As soon as the waitress left the table, Bethanne took a long drink of her margarita, savoring the warmth spreading through her. She sat back in her chair and waited. Grant had asked for this meeting. She was curious to hear what he had to say.
“I’ve met Courtney a couple of times now,” he began, referring to their son’s fiancée. “I like her a great deal. She’s very down-to-earth, a good match for Andrew, I think.”
“I think so, too,” Bethanne murmured.
“I understand that Andrew and Courtney are planning the wedding themselves, and that you’re helping them, which makes sense.” It was rare to see Grant visibly nervous, but he seemed to be so now, fiddling with his silverware and avoiding eye contact. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to contribute.”
“You’ll need to take that up with Andrew and Courtney,” Bethanne said.
He nodded absently. They both knew that Andrew had ambivalent feelings toward his father. Bethanne felt a pang of sorrow for Grant. She knew he hoped the wedding would provide him with a means of getting closer to Andrew.
“So, is
