Don’t Love Me

by Doyle, S.

  Questions like, had Ash mentioned visiting any place in particular? Or had she told George where she was going? Had she been in contact with him?

  It was like Landen didn’t have a clue where she was. Which was not the impression he’d given me yesterday.

  Now it was almost noon the day after she’d left, and still nothing from her. I walked to the rise at the rear of the property and sat on our hill. The hill we’d used for sledding any time it snowed.

  I’d stopped sledding with her when I was sixteen because that was kid stuff. Which was why she’d stopped going at fourteen, because sledding wasn’t fun alone.

  That’s what I needed to do. I needed to play the one card I knew would work. I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

  Me: Ash, you know this is killing me. You know it. Which means you’re deliberately hurting me. ME! CALL. ME.

  Two seconds later I let out a whoosh of breath when I saw the dots move.

  This was going to be bad. This was going to be really bad, because I’m pretty sure I was actually going to have to do some groveling, which was not my norm around Ash. But I had no other out.

  Ash: I’m fine. Just taking a few days of vacation. No big deal.

  Me: Call me. Let’s talk.

  Ash: Can’t we just text?

  She didn’t want to call me. Why? Because I would hear the hurt in her voice? Because she knew I could always tell when she was lying?

  Me: Yes, if you tell me why.

  Ash: Because this way I can think about what I want to say before I say it.

  I didn’t like that, but I didn’t have much choice. And groveling via text was probably better off for me, too. Less humiliation that way. Less likely I’d say something impulsive.

  Me: Okay. Let’s start with the basics. Where are you?

  Ash: I don’t want to tell you. I didn’t take the trip my dad expected me to, and I’m sure he’s mad because of it. If I don’t tell you where I am and he asks you, you have plausible deniability.

  Me: Why leave so suddenly? Were you really that upset I fucked up? You had to know it was a stupid screw-up.

  I winced. That was a bit of a stretch. I’d given her a lot of reasons in the past to suspect I might do something that shitty. But this past year things had been different. I hadn’t been a total asshole to her the whole year. Fuck, I’d even agreed to go to a damn dance with her.

  Ash: I wasn’t sure. I knew you didn’t want to go. But no, that’s not why I left. Finals are done. The last week of school is a joke and most seniors bail. You know that. Dad thought I could use a break, so I took it. See? No big deal.

  Me: You’re lying.

  I knew it. Her explanation seemed too easy, too pat. She never would have gotten away with that answer on a live call. That’s why she wanted to text.

  Ash: You can’t tell a person is lying in text.

  Me: I can when it comes to you. Maybe you’re not lying, but you’re not telling me the truth.

  Ash: A girl is allowed to have secrets.

  I snorted at that.

  Me: Since when have we had secrets?

  Ash: Since when have you ever referred to us as we?

  Sometimes it really sucked she was so damn smart. I needed to take another approach.

  Me: Officially, are you mad at me?

  Ash: Officially, did you do something stupid to miss my prom?

  I grimaced, but there was no point in lying about it. She was going to find out at some point.

  Me: Officially yes. But that was after doing something I thought was a better idea to not risk being late. That idea backfired. Pretty bad.

  Ash: Were you hurt?

  Me: No. Next question. When are you coming back?

  Ash: Not sure. It was a one-way ticket.

  What? I thought. That was crazy.

  Me: Graduation is next week!

  Ash: You said it yourself. Putting on some goofy gown to walk across a stage is stupid.

  I’d shot down the whole idea of attending my high school graduation ceremony. That had upset both George and Ash, but I hated the whole idea. Listening to a bunch of lame-ass speeches about the hope and promise of tomorrow. Lining up like soldiers to get a piece of paper. Everyone standing around taking pictures with their families. Not. For. Me.

  But Ash wasn’t like me. She liked the normal things. She wanted to experience what others her age were, so she could fit in, even though she never really did.

  Things like prom.

  Shit.

  Me: Your father is not going to let you get away with not walking.

  Ash: He wasn’t going to be able to make it. Big meeting in Manhattan. He told me weeks ago.

  He wasn’t going to figure out a way to attend his daughter’s graduation? That motherfucker. I looked behind me, down the slope of property that ended in the huge mansion that was soulless for all its pompous stature and expense.

  I didn’t have a mother because she was an addict. What the fuck was his excuse for not being a father to his only daughter?

  Me: Okay, fine. What about your birthday? Will you be home for that?

  Ash: Not sure. Maybe.

  Me: It’s your birthday, Ash.

  Ash: I know. What’s the big deal?

  Me: You’re going to be eighteen. It’s a big fucking deal.

  Ash: I made you a cake, decorated the carriage house and got you the Bose headset you wanted for your eighteenth birthday. Do you remember what you said?

  “You shouldn’t have bothered,” I muttered. That’s what I’d said. The cake had been awesome. The headset was still awesome. I could put it on in the library and study for hours without hearing a peep around me.

  I was such a freaking jerk.

  Me: You can’t use my example of being an asshole as your excuse for being an asshole.

  She didn’t reply to that. Then I smiled a little evilly as I thought of my next card.

  Me: If you come home, I’ll take you out for your birthday. Some place fancy. You can dress up and I’ll wear a suit. I’ll order the cake and the waiter will bring it with a candle so you can blow it out.

  There was a pause in her reply. and I knew I had her. I pretty much knew Ash had wanted me to take her out on a date since she was fourteen years old. There was no way she would turn me down now.

  Ash: Am I Charlie Brown? Are you Lucy and the date is the football? And you’re just going to keep pulling it away at the last second?

  Totally understandable why she thought that. I’d pulled away a lot of footballs.

  Me: Not this time. I promise.

  Ash: That’s what Lucy always says.

  There was a pause while the dots flickered.

  Ash: There will be candlelight? And cake?

  Got her.

  Me: Yes on the cake. Not sure on the candlelight. Do all fancy restaurants come with that?

  Ash: Yes. Will there be kissing?

  I smirked. She always had to be a smartass about this shit. But the tightness in my chest had eased over the course of our conversation. She wasn’t mad at me officially. She sounded like herself and not some distraught young woman who’d been emotionally scarred from being stood up for the prom.

  Me: We don’t kiss.

  Ash: No, you don’t kiss me. Not the same thing at all.

  I ended it there because I always ended it when she started talking about either sex, her virginity or kissing. She wouldn’t be upset at my non-response. She would be expecting it.

  She was enjoying some time off. She wasn’t going to bother with graduation, but at least I could make up for the prom debacle on her birthday.

  Everything was fine.

  At least that’s what I tried to tell myself.

  Ash being away from me…I meant, away from home…was no big deal. I got up from my perch, and, with a rare smile on my face, walked back to the carriage house to let George know Ash was fine.

  As I had no invitation to enter the big house, I told Landen nothing.

  12


  San Diego

  Later that afternoon

  Ashleigh

  Someone knocked on my door and it startled me. I’d been curled up in a window seat reading a book and intermittently people-watching as folks moved about the Gaslamp Quarter below.

  After Marc and I texted, I felt infinitely better. The sting of him standing me up for the prom was still there, but didn’t hurt nearly as much. Although I was curious to know what had backfired so badly he missed the whole night.

  A week away would be perfect. My bruise would heal. I’d go home, then Marc and I would have a real date. What if everything changed after that?

  What if he finally, finally took my virginity?

  I was so giddy on the idea of it, I wasn’t really thinking when I answered the door. It was probably just the landlord checking in that everything was okay with the rental.

  Instead, there stood a large man, older, in his forties, wearing a suit and tie. He looked official. Like a former Army General, the way he held himself.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Ashleigh Landen?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Your father sent me here to watch over you. I’ll be following you throughout your vacation. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t be concerned.”

  What?

  “My father sent you? He doesn’t even know where I am.” Which was obviously a stupid thing to say. He clearly knew where I was because he’d sent someone to my damn door.

  But how? He’d kept calling, but I’d refused to speak with him. I needed time and space.

  “There was a credit card trail,” the bodyguard—I guessed that’s what he was supposed to be—said.

  “A credit card trail…”

  The man smirked. “You ladies always fuck it up.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, offended and still confused as to why Arthur would do this. He left me alone on the estate for days at a time, but because I’d refused his trip to the spa, I needed a bodyguard?

  “Not the first time I’ve had to track down a rich princess runaway.” He shrugged. “You all want your freedom, but none of you realize freedom costs money you don’t have. It’s your father’s money. Which means your life is his, until he says it isn’t.”

  “Just keep your distance,” I said, shutting the door in his face.

  “Ten steps behind you. Wherever you go,” he called through the door.

  This didn’t make sense. Then again, neither did the bruise on my face.

  * * *

  One week later

  Home

  Ashleigh

  I walked through the front door of my home having no idea what to expect. There were cars in the driveway, but that didn’t mean Arthur was home. In fact, it was unlikely he was here, given it was a weekday morning.

  Still, I entered the house with a sense of trepidation. The feel of his hand cracking across my face was vivid, even if the bruise was gone.

  I’d been away seven days, which had seemed like a rational amount of time to overcome the shock, the anger and the anxiety of what came next. Only having a bodyguard following me around the whole time hadn’t helped. He was the stand-in for my father. And his presence had never let me forget I didn’t truly have any space or freedom.

  The only thing that had helped get my head straight was texting with Marc. He’d reached out every day and that centered me. Sometimes he was snarky. Sometimes he was worried I was still pissed off at him. Sometimes he just said hey.

  Eventually, I told him I was in San Diego; there was no point in keeping it a secret since Arthur knew. Telling Marc had made him happy. He hadn’t liked not knowing where I was.

  Stepping into the living room, I rolled my suitcase behind me, then stopped when I saw Arthur sitting on the living room sofa. Casual slacks and a polo shirt. His white hair impeccably neat as if it had recently been cut. His face healthy looking without the flushed red I was coming to expect as normal.

  He looked like my father.

  Only I knew he wasn’t the man I’d known, or thought I’d known, my whole life.

  Because there was a reason he was sitting calmly in the living room on a weekday morning and it wouldn’t be good for me.

  “Welcome home, Ashleigh. Did you enjoy your trip to San Diego?”

  I left my suitcase behind, and walked over to sit across from him on the opposite couch. I kept my hands folded in my lap, my legs crossed only at the ankles.

  “It wasn’t as relaxing as I’d hoped. The bodyguard was a little stifling. Still, I did get to unwind. I didn’t realize the strain I’d been under in recent months. Finals, graduating. I feel refreshed.”

  He nodded. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. My father and I didn’t do real, sit-down, emotional conversations. We did small talk, followed by schedules. His and mine, and if there was any reason they needed to sync up.

  In truth, my prom night might have been the most emotion I’d ever seen from my father with regard to me. First his anger, then his sorrow and regret. He must have been humiliated the next day to know he’d left himself so raw and exposed to me.

  So vulnerable.

  “I’ve thought a lot about what happened. I won’t repeat my regrets as you’ve heard them already, but I took a hard look at the feelings that caused my actions.”

  He’d called me a slut. He’d slapped me across the face. There were feelings behind that?

  “I’ve come to the conclusion I’m not ready to let you go.”

  I didn’t panic. Or sprint out of the room. Instead, I smiled gently. “I can’t be your little girl forever.”

  “Even if I insisted?” he asked, with a soft smile that played around his lips.

  “I’m not capable of stopping time.”

  He rose from the couch and made his way to the wet bar situated in the corner of the room. He poured himself a splash of some brown liquor. I didn’t comment. He was sober now, while I was here. That was all that mattered. If he started drinking with any serious intention, I would flee to the carriage house.

  “I’ve decided you’re not ready for Princeton. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and, while intellectually, I have no doubt you would be capable of the work, I fear socially you would be too vulnerable to the pressures of campus life. Can you appreciate where I’m coming from?”

  “We talked about this. I thought it was decided,” I said, trying not to panic. The bodyguard’s words running over and over in my head.

  “…your life is his, until he says it isn’t.”

  He came to where I was, and actually sat on the glass coffee table in front of me. Arthur never sat on tables. He considered it unseemly.

  “I know this must feel like a punishment—”

  “Why should I be punished? I didn’t hit you.”

  His jaw tightened. “Yes, but you did run away.”

  “I decided to take a detour instead of going to a spa,” I argued.

  “It’s already done, Ashleigh. I’ve talked with the admissions people and they’ve pulled your offer. They’ve already given your place to someone on the waiting list.”

  There was no point in shouting, but I had to bite my bottom lip to stop from crying. My dream. The thing I’d been working toward for years. College. Princeton. Marc and I together. On our own as adults.

  There was no point in calling Admissions. No point in trying to seek financial aid and do it on my own. I wasn’t naïve. My name was Landen. Much like my father had the power to get me into Princeton, he had the power to keep me out.

  “What am I supposed to do?” I asked tightly, reigning in my emotions. “Without school?”

  It’s not like he would let me work. I used to ask him every summer if I could get a job in town, but he considered it beneath us to do menial labor. Beyond that, he didn’t like the appearance me working would project. What would people in town think? Personally, I thought no one would care.

  He sighed, as if the worst of what he had to say was now behind him. In fact, he
smiled and reached for my hands, still clenched together in my lap. He pulled on them and it was everything I had in me not to pull them back.

  “Ashleigh, I’ve had the most wonderful conversations with the headmistress of a finishing school in Switzerland. Villa Pierrefeu is one of the last of its kind and when I think about the sort of training you’re going to need—”

  “Training for what?” I asked him. “What exactly am I being trained for? I was leaning toward a career in academia. History to be precise. What good would a finishing school be for that?”

  God. Finishing school. In Switzerland. Where I would learn how to better sip my tea and plan complicated seating assignments and place settings at various parties he imagined I would throw.

  Did he not know me at all? I wasn’t some princess he’d groomed to enjoy the whirlwind of the elite social life. I wasn’t a Hilton or Kardashian bent on making myself famous, ultimately culminating in some scandalous reality TV show.

  I wanted to study. I wanted to teach at the highest levels.

  I wanted Marc.

  Marc didn’t give a crap about how polished I was.

  Arthur bowed his head. “With great wealth comes great burden. You know this. I’ve shared this with you. You will be exposed more and more to people of our ilk as you grow older. You’ll start to mingle with them. It’s just how it happens. I’ll need to count on you to be an exceptional hostess for me. Until now, I’ve kept you excluded from all that, but it is our world.”

  I stood and tugged my hands away from his grasp. “That’s your world. It was never mine.”

  He stood as well. “This is what comes from giving you too much freedom.”

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull my hair out. “Too much freedom? I’ve been sequestered on this estate from the time I was a child. I was allowed to attend only three years of high school. And now you want to ship me off to Switzerland to turn me into some kind of perfect hostess? For you.”

  “Not just for me. For your husband someday, too.”

  “My future husband is going to be Marc and I’m pretty sure he’d rather have an educated wife instead of a finished one!”

  There it was. My greatest mistake. Later, I would look back on this moment and wonder if this had been the thing to seal our fate.