Boss Next Door

by Beverly Evans

  “I was at a benefit dinner a little while back. I was at a table with a mom and her teenage daughter – and it was more than clear they didn’t like each other and had no relationship. They spent most of the evening bickering and calling each other’s names,” she explains. “The only thing they seemed to have in common was a mutual disdain for the girl’s father. I don’t know why – I can’t really explain it – but in that moment, it made me think of you and our relationship, Chloe. And I realized that I don’t want to grow old with my daughter hating me – or without ever really knowing my daughter.”

  “I never hated you, Mom.”

  The smile on her face shifts from rueful to sad. “You didn’t really like me, though.”

  I don’t reply to that because it’s true. We spent a lot of years not liking each other very much. But that wall of ice that existed between us is definitely thawing.

  “Anyway, it made me realize that I’ve been a shitty mother and that I wanted a relationship with you. More than anything,” she goes on, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I didn’t want to spend another day knowing my own daughter doesn’t like me. I wanted us to finally have a relationship and really get to know each other.”

  I give her a smile and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. I don’t understand the timing of it all or exactly what it was that shifted inside of her, but it doesn’t matter. I’m thankful for this change in her. I’m thankful that I can sit back and enjoy a nice dinner and a conversation with my mom.

  Yeah, there’s still that part of me that’s skeptical and is expecting this to be a temporary thing – something she can cast off as easily as last season’s fashion. But there’s another part that sees a definite change in her and hears the sincerity in her words. Maybe I’m setting myself up for disappointment again, but I find myself wanting to take that chance on her.

  “So how did things go down at the office today?” my mother asks.

  I take another bite of my food to give myself another minute to consider my answer. It should be an easy answer, but I find that it’s more complicated than I’d like it to be.

  “It was – good,” I answer.

  “Good?”

  I nod. “Interesting is probably the more accurate answer,” I laugh softly. “It was interesting.”

  “Do tell.”

  I fill her in on everything that happened at the office, starting with Curtis badgering me and getting fired for it, to Braxton’s proposals. As I relate the story, I know it’s time for me to come clean about the one thing I’ve kept from her this whole time. There was no reason for me to hide it, but I just felt like it wasn’t something I needed to broadcast either.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say.

  “Is it more shocking than you telling me you’re pregnant?”

  I laugh. “It very well may be.”

  “Well color me intrigued,” she coos. “Let’s hear it.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, steadying myself. I have no idea why I’m so nervous about telling her. I think telling her I’m pregnant is a far bigger deal. But somehow in my head, this is something larger. And something more private. Maybe it’s that last shred of skepticism in my head about my mother’s change that’s making me hesitate but drawing the words out of my mouth is like pulling teeth.

  I know it’s stupid. It was something two stupid kids did on a drunken dare. No big deal, right? And yet, over the last couple of months, that stupid drunken dare came to mean a lot to me. It may have started with a prank, but as Braxton and I grew closer, it became the symbol for what I wanted my life to be. I wanted to be married to a good man and raise a family together. I wanted to be with Braxton. Grow old with him.

  “We’re married, Mom,” I blurt out. “Braxton and me.”

  Her eyes grow wide as she stares at me. “What?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “It actually came as something of a surprise to me, too.”

  She listens to my story, an amused smirk on her face the entire time. And when I’m done, she laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard – which is about the last reaction I expected her to have.

  “I don’t think it’s that funny,” I say.

  “Oh, it’s hilarious,” she replies. “In hindsight, of course.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, but it adds another layer to this whole thing.”

  “It’s just a little paperwork to get that taken care of,” she shrugs. “Nothing to worry about really.”

  Sure, the paperwork is nothing to worry about. But then you have the myriad of emotions that are attached to that paperwork. And added to all of that is the fact that paperwork or not because of our child, we’ll now be tied together for the rest of our lives. But mostly, all I can focus on right now are the tendrils of emotions wrapping themselves around me and squeezing me tight.

  “So do you know what you’re going to do?” she asks. “About his proposals. I mean, alimony and child support – it’s not a bad deal.”

  “No, not really, I guess,” I murmur.

  “What are you thinking?”

  I take a sip of water and gently set the glass back down. “Honestly? I’m wondering what I’m going to do about work,” I admit. “I mean, he did offer me a team lead position.”

  “Which obviously comes with strings attached.”

  I shake my head. “Not according to him,” I tell her. “He says he thinks I’d make a good team lead, and he believes in my talent. He promised to conduct himself professionally and nothing more.”

  My mom arches an eyebrow at me. “Do you believe him?”

  I look away for a moment and rack my brain for a moment before I look back at my mother. I purse my lips, and I nod.

  “I do,” I tell her.

  My mother drains the last of her margarita and pours herself another out of the pitcher. What I wouldn’t give in that moment for a pitcher of my own.

  “Can I ask why you’re so hesitant to walk away from this job?” she asks. “Or is it him you’re having trouble walking away from?”

  “Probably a bit of both,” I concede. “But as far as the job goes, I feel like I’m finally doing what I was meant to do. What I want to do. Something that means something to me. For the first time in my life, I’m happy with my work, Mom.”

  She purses her lips. “Well, do you think it’s possible to work with him and keep things strictly professional?”

  That’s the question. Because I love what I do, of course I want to say yes. But the reality is that I just don’t know right now. The feelings are too raw. Too fresh. There’s still so much hurt and disappointment bubbling inside of me right now, it makes it difficult to think. Not to mention the fact I still have so much feeling – so much love – for Braxton still inside of me as well. It’s one big, complicated emotional stew filling up my head and my heart.

  “You really love him, don’t you?” my mother observes.

  I nod. “I do,” I admit. “And the fact that he’s really trying – I mean he’s going to therapy and anger management – it makes it all the more difficult to just cut the ties entirely.”

  “Well it seems to me there’s only one question you need to answer,” she states. “And that is, do you think he can change? Do you truly believe he can become a better man?”

  I give her a wry grin. “And here I thought you’d be all in on me kicking Braxton to the curb.”

  She laughs. “Well, I have to admit to not having the best judgment when it comes to relationships,” she says. “But I can also see how much you care about him. Even now, with all of this going on, you practically glow when you talk about him.”

  “Glow?’

  She nods. “There’s a light in your eyes I’ve never seen in you before, Chloe,” her tone is serious. “I can see that he makes you happy.”

  “Except for that one major flaw,” I note.

  “Right. Except for that,” she says. “But that’s where the question you have to answer comes into play �
� can he change? Can he be better?”

  I sigh and lean back in my seat, pondering the questions and letting my mom’s words soak in. Never in a million years would I have thought that, given their personal history, my mother would have said anything more than “Kick him to the curb. The sooner, the better!”

  She despises the man – even though their feud has more to do with her irresponsibility. Although, his temper tantrums certainly haven’t helped smooth things over.

  The point is, even though there’s fault on both sides, my mother views Braxton as the enemy. Which makes her willingness to accept him in my life all the more remarkable. And that of course, highlights her own personal change even more. That she’s gone from completely detached and absent as a mother to one who is striving to be an active part of my life and willing to accept her own fault in the shortcomings in our relationship shows that she’s done a complete one-hundred-eighty-degree turn.

  Seeing this change in my mom gives me hope that, yeah, maybe Braxton can make a similar change in his own life. Maybe he can make the sort of personal turnaround my mother has. That he told me he’s doing it for himself and not just for me makes me believe he’s sincere about it and isn’t just trying to do something he thinks I want from him. That wouldn’t fix the problem. It would be basically putting a Band-Aid over the proverbial bullet hole. That he’s doing it for himself is what’s the most promising thing. I think that makes it more likely that the changes he’s making aren’t just a temporary fix.

  I look at my mother, who’s eyeballing me casually over the rim of her margarita glass. It’s as if she’s trying to get a look inside my head to see what’s going on and what I’m thinking.

  “You do realize if I decide to give things a go with Braxton, you’re going to have to find a way to get along with him,” I note with a laugh.

  She dramatically rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’ve thought about it,” she sighs. “And as long as he stops blaming my sweet dog for everything –”

  “Mom, it is Thaddeus making a mess in his yard,” I say.

  She looks at me. “There are literally a dozen other dogs in our neighborhood,” she protests. “Not to mention coyotes and –”

  “I’ve seen him do it, Mom,” I laugh. “Trust me; it’s Thaddeus.”

  “Well, be that as it may, if Braxton can refrain from dumping Thaddeus’ waste on my front porch, I think I might be able to find a way to get along with him,” she says. “So long as he meets me halfway.”

  “That’s fair.”

  She looks at me and smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She knew it was Thaddeus all along – she just wasn’t going to give Braxton the satisfaction of admitting it. I laugh and shake my head. Children.

  “Believe it or not, Chloe,” my mom says, taking and squeezing my hand. “I only want you to be happy.”

  And as I look into her eyes, for the first time in my life, I actually believe that.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Braxton

  “You gotta do something, B,” Javi says.

  “I did what I could,” I respond.

  “You can’t just let her pull the pin.”

  “There’s only so much I can do.”

  “You think she’s gonna stick around?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

  “B, you –”

  I stop dribbling the basketball and hold it against my hip. “Are we gonna ball or stand here, flapping our lips all day?”

  Javi laughs and shakes his head. “I’ve smoked you four games in a row, so we’re not really balling. At least, you’re not,” he grins. “Might as well talk about this.”

  I pull up and take a jump shot – that clangs off the rim and bounces away. I watch the ball roll onto the grass between the court and the pool and finally come to a stop.

  “Why does it matter to you?” I ask, curious.

  “Because she’s good for you, man,” he tells me. “She makes you happy.”

  My laugh is dry and humorless. Javi is a bright kid and is obviously a lot more perceptive than I give him credit for. He hasn’t been around Chloe and I all that much, but it was apparently enough for him to pick up on things between us.

  “Yeah well, it’s out of my hands,” I admit. “I made my play.”

  “So make it again, man,” he presses. “How many times do you think I had to ask Angel before she went out with me? But I never gave up, huh?”

  I laugh again. In addition to his other attributes, Javi is persistent. The combination of those things will help take him far in life. I’m sure of it.

  “I’m afraid it’s not that easy, kid,” I tell him. “It’s com –”

  “Complicated?”

  I grin. “Yeah.”

  He nods. “Yeah, that’s what she said too.”

  “What? When did you talk to her?”

  “I ran into her outside your office before we went to lunch the other day.”

  “And what did she say?”

  He grins. “That it was complicated.”

  I roll my eyes. “Great,” I laugh. “Come on, let’s get some water.”

  As we walk toward the house, I cut a glance at Chloe’s windows. The sun is glaring off the glass, making it impossible to see through. I wonder if she’s on the other side, watching us. And if so, I wonder what she’s thinking. I haven’t heard from her yet after giving her all the paperwork and making my pitch to her, and I’m starting to get nervous – although slightly hopeful.

  The fact that she didn’t just straight up return the annulment paperwork tells me that it’s, at the very least, a tough decision for her. That maybe, she’s having a harder time cutting things off between us than she had when she walked out on me during my fight in the bar. The more time that passes, I allow myself to feel a degree of hope that we can get past this and build the life we’ve been talking about.

  Javi and I hang out for another hour or so, and I help him finish up some paperwork. After he goes, I grab a shower and throw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I wander down to the kitchen and stand in front of the refrigerator for about five minutes before I determine that I’m not hungry right now, so I grab a bottle of beer instead. I twist the top off, letting it hit the counter with a slightly metallic ping, and take a long swallow.

  Carrying my bottle around with me, I ramble around the house. I’m restless. Anxious. And the longer I walk around the house with nothing to do and no particular destination in mind, the more I start to feel claustrophobic. I slip into a pair of flip-flops and head out to the backyard, hoping some fresh air will clear my mind.

  I sit down on top of the table under the covered patio. Night’s fallen. The air still carries the warmth of the day, but not having the sun beating direction down has taken some of the edge off. Rather than sit here staring at Chloe’s window, pining away for her and hoping to catch a glimpse of her like a lovesick teenager, I pointedly sit with my back to her house and stare out at Black Mountain, rising up on the not too distant horizon. Its peak stands against the darkness like a lonely sentinel. I can’t help but relate to it.

  I hear the footstep softly crush the dirt and gravel on the side yard and feel a surge of hope fueled adrenaline in my chest. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Chloe walking into my backyard; I can just feel it. I can feel her.

  “You’re as bad about sneaking into my backyard as Thaddeus,” I say, without turning around.

  “Yeah, but I’m not as likely to leave a mess in the grass for you to clean up.”

  I laugh softly. “One can hope not.”

  Chloe steps up onto the bench, then sits down beside me on the tabletop. I drain the last of my bottle and set it down on the table beside me. We sit in a companionable silence for a few moments, both of us staring out at the lonely peak of Black Mountain, each of us composing and ordering our thoughts and words like we’re strategizing for a chess match or a battle.

  And in that silence between us, I wonder if she can hear my heart thumping
hard against my chest. She holds the key to everything I’ve ever wanted in my life in her hands, and I can’t help but wonder which door she’s going to unlock with it.

  “How is your therapy going?” she asks without preamble.

  I give her a rueful laugh. “It’s – difficult,” I admit. “But it’s going good. I’m coming to some realizations about myself and learning a lot.”

  She nods, never taking her eyes off the distant peak, and when she speaks, her voice is slow, tentative. It’s as if she’s afraid to ask the question but knows she needs to.

  “And your anger management?”

  “I’m making real progress,” I tell her. “They’re teaching me methods to control and diffuse it. It’s a process, but so far, so good.”

  “That’s good, Braxton,” she says. “That’s really good.”

  I finally turn to her, and when she looks at me, I feel that familiar jolt of connection we share that’s deep and profound, rock me from head to toe. More than that, in her wide blue eyes, I see genuine hope – and love. It’s tentative. It hovers on the periphery like a scared rabbit that could bound away in a heartbeat, but it’s there. And that’s a start.

  “I still haven’t filled that team lead position,” I tell her.

  “Who’s running that team?”

  “Tommy, for now,” I reply. “But I’m reshuffling the deck at work, and I have other plans for him.”

  “Reshuffling the deck?”

  I nod. “It’s time I put my own stamp on the company. It’s actually past time I start doing things my way.”

  “What does your father think about that?”

  “He doesn’t get a vote anymore,” I grin. “But I talked to him about it, and he likes what I’m doing. He said he never meant for me to run it just like he did for the rest of my life and was waiting for me to start changing things up.”

  Chloe’s smile is warm, and it sends a tremor of longing through my heart. “So he was testing you?”

  “In a way,” I say. “He said his main message he wanted me to take away when he transferred control was consistency and continuity – but he never meant for it to remain in his shape forever.”