Page 65 of The Holiday Makeover

I wasn’t sure what to say to Veronica. So I went the humor route. “Well, yours are the most beautiful photos I’ve ever seen. And they had to be perfect—most of them made People magazine,” I said lightheartedly.

She gave a weak laugh.

“And look what that did to my son. He thinks we cared more about our image than him.” She stared wistfully out the window into the backyard, which looked like a winter wonderland with all the pine trees covered in snow. Her fingers tightened around mine, almost unconsciously. “Was he right?” Her voice broke into a thousand pieces, begging me to tell her she was wrong.

I wanted to. I really did. “Well, uh . . .” I tried to think of a way to spin it without hurting her.

When I wasn’t fast enough, her tears spilled over and down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the backs of her fingers, frustrated when more followed. “We just wanted what was best for him.”

“I’m sure you had the best intentions,” I lamely said.

Her watery eyes met mine, her chin trembling as she drew in a shaky breath. “You might not believe this, but the moment the nurse laid Tate in my arms, I never knew such love. I wish I could have captured that moment, but I was too afraid of how I looked, so I wouldn’t let anyone take any photos. At least not until I’d done my hair and makeup and had my silk nightgown on. Even saying that out loud now sounds ridiculous. But growing up, my looks were all I had—all anyone cared about.”

Oh, I’d seen the advertisements from the seventies and eighties—that had to be a traumatizing time for women. Not to say we didn’t have our own issues in modern times with social media. So much of it was filtered and polished. Even I had been guilty of that from time to time when Tate and I would post about our show. We all want to put our best faces forward.

“I’m sorry you felt that way. You are much more than your looks. And Tate is much more than his fame or his career,” I gently added, hoping someday Tate would see the same thing. Because I feared what would happen if his show really got canceled. The spiral that he would fall into. He had been an absolute wreck when his college team cut him.

Veronica nodded, her shoulders lifting. “You’re right. He is. And I’m going to be better at showing him that my love for him is unconditional. I’ll love him even if he wants to be a sanitation engineer.” She sat up straighter—as if proud of herself for making such a declaration.

I giggled, picturing Tate driving a sanitation truck. Not that it wasn’t a respectable job—a job I was thankful people were willing to do—but I couldn’t picture Tate doing it.

Veronica let out a cleansing breath. “Now how do I get my husband to see the damage we’ve done and to help me fix it?”

Oh, that was a good question. One I didn’t have an answer for.

“Well, what is he saying about it now?”

“Just that we are good parents. And there’s nothing wrong with helping Tate be his best. He thinks this is what Tate wants. And . . .” she hesitated. “He can’t understand why you won’t do Tate’s show with him.” She paused and tilted her head. “Why did you quit? Really? Tate never wanted to talk about it.”

“Because,” I whispered, “I didn’t know if what we had was real or if it was just Hammer and Hue. Did he love me because I helped give him the fame he was searching for, or did he love me for me?”

“Oh, honey.” She placed her manicured hand on my cheek, her thumb brushing lightly. “Don’t you see how he looks at you? How he always looked at you, even if he didn’t realize it. He was smitten with you from day one. It was always Rory this and Rory that when you were growing up. Honestly, I’m surprised it took you so long to get together. Dominic and I were sure you were at least friends with benefits. You just didn’t want to advertise it.”

Oh. My. Santa.

She was making me feel so good until that last cringey part.

“Oh, ha ha, no, we were never friends with benefits,” I tried to laugh it away.

“Well, good for you, because I’m sure he wanted to be. These men.” She waved her hand, her diamond flashing dramatically.

Seriously, we needed to move on. I wasn’t sure how we’d landed on sex when we were talking about their parenting. Maybe she thought this was girl talk, and she was trying to bond with me—which was great, but I’d rather bond over something, literally anything, else.

“I don’t think Tate’s like that,” I replied. I didn’t know his whole dating history, nor did I want to. But Tate was always respectful. He didn’t use women.

Veronica’s smile faded into something more thoughtful. “You have always stood up for him. Always.” Her fingers curled around mine, gentle but sure. “Thank you for that. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Tate is pretty lucky,” I teased.

“He is. And I should have been more of his champion, like you. I’m going to be from now on—and Dominic better get on board if he knows what’s good for him,” she declared, a spark of determination lighting her hazel eyes. “I want to be part of my son’s life, and yours too.”

“I know Tate would like that. And I would too.” I was going to need a mother figure. Not that anyone could replace Coco, but Veronica was a professional cheerleader once upon a time—and you could always use an extra cheerleader in your life.

She threw her arms around me and whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “Hold on to him, Rory. But hold on to yourself too. That’s who Tate has always loved. You. And I hope one day he can see himself as you see him.” Her voice caught in her throat.

I hoped for that too.

More and more, I believed it was possible.