“Patience!” I called, annoyed. I crossed the living room and pulled the door open, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Hello, Samantha.”
“Richard.” I froze, my body going rigid with surprise and shock. “What—what are you doing here?” I stepped toward him and then stopped, feeling an array of emotions tug at my chest. I didn't know what to feel at that moment—relief? Anger? Hate? Sadness? I had no idea.
“It's good to see you,” Richard said, and I went limp as he wrapped his arms around me and drew me into him, smothering me. “I missed you.”
“Richard, I—I don't understand,” I said, pulling away. “What are you doing here?”
“Aren't you happy to see me?” Richard stepped past me and dropped the suitcase on the ground near my feet, looking around the apartment with clear distaste.
“I don't know how I should feel,” I admitted. “You broke up with me, Richard. You cheated on me, you left me alone and vulnerable, and now you show up here a month later like nothing ever happened? What in the hell are you doing in Seattle?”
“Leaving you was my mistake,” Richard said. He turned toward me and raised his hands to either side of my arms. His breath reeked of cheap liquor, and his eyes were glassy. “I miss you, Samantha,” he said. “I miss us.”
“Are you drunk?” I asked. I was angry. No, fuck that—I was furious. “You came all the way to Seattle to apologize to me, but you got drunk first.”
“I had a couple of scotches on the plane,” Richard said with a shrug. Despite his rumpled appearance, he was dressed for success—in a dark suit and tie, polished shoes, hair slicked back. Same old Richard.
“I don't even know what to say.” I stared at him, wondering if this was real or if it was some insane nightmare. “You need to leave.”
“I understand your anger, Samantha,” Richard said. He stepped around me, scanning the apartment, his nose wrinkled in something that resembled disgust. I was relieved that neither Nick nor Piper was home to see this.
“I don't think you do understand my anger, Richard,” I said sharply. I reached out and yanked him to a stop, too irritated to care if I was aggressive. “You're drunk, and I don't want you here.” Richard smiled at me then, a smile I realized then that I didn't miss—not even a little bit. “I got a round-trip flight,” he told me. “But it doesn't go back to Miami until Wednesday.”
“Then get an earlier ticket,” I said between my teeth. Richard sighed then, looking both overwhelmed and annoyed. I didn't care. I was pissed off enough for the both of us.
“I'll go to the airport tomorrow,” he said. “I'm exhausted tonight. Would you mind terribly if I crashed here?”
“I don't think that's a good idea,” I said. I thought of Nick, wondering how he would react to this. But then I saw Richard sway drunkenly as he waited for my definitive answer, and I knew I didn’t have a choice. It didn't matter how much I hated my ex-boyfriend at that moment—at one time, I had cared for him—and if it meant making sure he slept if off at the apartment instead of passing out somewhere in Seattle, I would let it slide.
“Go upstairs,” I told him firmly. “Nick will be home soon, and it will be better if you're asleep instead of down here harassing me. The room on the right of the bathroom is mine. I'll sleep on the couch tonight; you can have the bed.”
“And what about your precious roommate?” Richard asked. The sarcasm was thick, and it took everything I had in me not to lose it on him. “Will he sleep down here on the couch with you?” Taking a deep breath, I only smiled at him.
“That's up to Nick,” I said. That was bullshit, of course. Most likely he'd bitch some and then fall asleep on the floor or in the recliner, but Richard didn't need to know that. “It's none of your business either way,” I added. “Go to bed, please. I'll wake you in the morning.”
I expected him to keep fighting me but was relieved when he only sighed loudly and then turned to stumble up the stairs. I waited at the bottom of the staircase as I listened to him use the bathroom and then shut himself in Nick's bedroom. In a matter of minutes, I could hear him snoring from where I stood. Trying to compose my nerves, I sat back down on my couch to check my phone. There was a text from Tasha, from half an hour earlier.
Dick came 2 the bar asking about u. I told him nothing.
I swallowed and took another calming breath. The fact that the asshole had talked to one of my friends made me even angrier, but I couldn't act on it now. The sooner Richard was back in Miami with whatever slut he was screwing now, the better. I typed back a quick reply.
He flew here & found Nick's apartment. Drunk & passed out upstairs. I'm sending him back in the morning.
After another minute, Tasha replied.
Fucking douche. Don't listen 2 whatever he says. Not worth it. Nick home?
Working.
This time, Tasha took more than just a few minutes to reply. By the time she finally did, Nick was just walking through the front door as I scanned the text.
I love you. Don't forget what you have to do.
Nick
I knew something was up before I even walked through the front door, but it was confirmed when Sam looked up from where she was huddled on the couch with an expression that gave almost everything away. She was drinking wine, but not from a glass—straight from the bottle, instead.
“Cool party,” I teased, shrugging off my jacket. “Save any for me?” Instead of answering me, she looked back down at her phone as if rereading a text. Then she snapped it shut and put it on the table before getting to her feet to greet me. I knew it was something bad when she took the half-empty bottle of liquor with her.
“You're not going to be happy,” she said, and a million and one horrible things raced through my mind at once.
“Piper?” I said. “Is she—?”
“Oh, no, of course not,” Sam said. “Sorry, I didn't mean to lead with that.”
“What's going on?”
“It's—it's Richard,” she said. I stared at her as she took another long swig of booze. She lowered it to her side, looked at me again, and then raised the bottle to her lips for the second time. This time, I snapped my hand out to take the bottle from her before gently setting it down on the coffee table.
“What about Richard?” I asked, wary.
She sighed loudly, announcing her displeasure, but then closed her eyes. “He's upstairs. Asleep in my bed.” She paused, clearing her throat, and it took a moment for me to absorb what she was saying. When I couldn't think of a reply, she looked at me again. “But don't worry,” she said quickly. “He's leaving tomorrow.”
Nick
Very few things in life angered me. I was a laid-back guy—not violent or easily irritated. And so, when Sam let the phrase Richard is here spill from her mouth, my first automatic reaction was not anger. It surprised me that I felt no anger for quite a few moments. Instead, was an emotion I wasn't particularly used to, jealousy, slithered through my body.
“In your bed?” I asked. I looked around the apartment as if expecting to find Richard's pants and Sam's bra and underwear strewn across my living room floor, but I saw nothing, and relief flooded through me.
“Alone,” she said quickly. She was catching on. Finally. “Oh, God, I—no, I didn't sleep with him.” She looked offended, like I had dared say something insulting.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Natural reaction.” There was silence as she soaked this up.
“Your first reaction to this whole thing relies on whether I screwed my douche-bag ex-boyfriend?” she asked suddenly. By the sound of her tone, she wasn't the one worried about saying the right thing anymore. Now the heat was on me, and I had no escape plan.
“I…” I faltered as her eyes narrowed on my face.
“Even if I had, what is it to you?” she asked sharply. “You and I are not a thing, Nick.” She paused, as if to compose herself before she ripped the hair out of my head. “You have made that very, very clear.”
“
What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, but my words were lost as she spun away from me and stormed up the staircase, heading for Piper's empty room. I watched her go, the conversation in my mind reeling and reeling. I still did not understand what in the hell Richard was doing in my home, but my primary concern had been touched upon. As I listened to Sam's ex-boyfriend snore loudly in my old room, I turned to the couch and sighed.
Never, ever could I figure out what in the hell I had done wrong.
Sam
I had no right to be so angry at Nick, and I knew that—he had done nothing to me. If I were going to keep on being angry, it would have to be at Richard. It was Richard who had cheated on me and then dumped me over the phone less than two weeks after my best friend's death and my sudden move across the country. It was Richard who had showed up on Nick's doorstep the night before, drunk, obnoxious, and pathetic. Nick, I had noticed, barely reacted to this—and I wondered if that was one of the many things I liked most about him—the guy was unshakable. He wasn't an angry person, like a fuse ready to blow. He was calm, collected. I wasn't used to that. I was used to being on the wrong end of an argument. I was used to being the one spoken to with such a condescending tone.
The thing that bothered me the most, though, was the reaction he had given when I'd brought up our relationship status. I had beat around the bush instead of coming right out and saying it, but he hadn't caught on. Apparently, his thoughts these last few weeks had differed from my own. Maybe I was delusional and didn't know it yet. He was making it clear that we would never be a thing—it was time to move on.
I was up before Richard was on Tuesday morning, and I knew I didn't have enough time to get him to the airport and make it to work before my shift, so I called the hospital and took a personal day. Then, before even making my way downstairs, I pushed open the door to my bedroom, ready to wreak havoc on Richard's stupid choices. I came to a halt when I noticed that he was already awake, standing in front of the dresser mirror as he put on his wristwatch and slipped on his shoes. He looked in my direction when I emerged, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.
“I'm sorry,” Richard said finally, and I was surprised to hear the apology. I stood where I was as he crossed the room toward me, his hands by his sides. “Coming here was out of line,” he said. I nodded, unwilling to let him go without pointing out his mistakes.
“Absolutely,” I said. “It was extremely inappropriate, Richard.” I folded my arms and cleared my throat. “You were lucky Nick wasn't here, or he probably would have punched you.” That was pushing it, of course. If anyone would have been angry enough last night to hit someone else, it was me.
“I overstepped my boundaries,” Richard agreed. I was surprised when he rested his hands on my arms again, but this time it was not with anger or irritation. I stared into his familiar face, catching a whiff of the familiar scent of Old Spice and aftershave.
“Richard,” I said, and I could physically feel the fight leave my body. I was so tired of this—I was so sick of feeling like I wasn't good enough for myself, let alone anyone else. “You left me,” I said softly. He squeezed my arms, and I didn't shrug off his grip. “You broke my heart, and you made me feel like I was worth nothing to you.” Downstairs, the house was silent. Piper was still at her friend Katie's house, and I assumed Nick was still passed out on the couch. I watched Richard cross the bedroom and close the door softly behind him before he turned to face me again.
“I made a mistake, Samantha,” he said. “I lost you, and I want you back. I want you home. I'm just—not who I'm supposed to be without you.”
“Oh, you mean controlling, demanding, and condescending?” I asked bitterly. Richard flinched, and I almost felt sorry for saying it.
“Actually, yes,” he said, and my jaw flopped open. He had never admitted to mistakes like that. I caught my breath and turned away from him briefly, trying not to break down and cry. Richard was the last person in the world I wanted to show weakness to. When I turned back around, though, he was on one knee.
“Samantha,” he said, and I froze. “Will you marry me?”
There was a moment of silence, a silence so powerful and thick it made my ears ring as I stared at Richard's outstretched hand. In his fingers he held a box and cradled in that box was a glistening diamond ring. I felt one hand go automatically to my mouth as I stared at him. I didn't know what to say—and I feared to say the wrong thing—but only because if I opened my mouth now, somewhere deep down inside of me, I feared I would actually say yes.
“Don't do this to me,” I said instead. “I can't handle this right now, Richard.” He got to his feet slowly and tucked the box back into his pocket, but I recognized his expression —the look of determination. This wasn't over yet, and I knew it.
“I talked to some people at Yale,” he told me, brushing lint from my shirt. “A friend owes me a favor. They'd like to interview you for your senior year admission.” He paused, smiling, as if he'd just told me he was king of the world and I was his queen. “Isn't that fantastic?”
“Um. I—yeah. I mean, that's great.” I cleared my throat, unsure of the proper way to react to this. First, he had proposed, and now he was bringing up Yale. Richard had gotten me an interview at Yale Medical School, and I hadn't even applied yet. Yale. “I don't know what to say,” I said finally. My head was spinning, emotions shooting back and forth through my body. So many emotions flooded me that I couldn't peg the strongest one.
“Say you'll go,” Richard said. He smiled, but it didn't put me at ease. When he took my hand, my skin was cold. I felt only anger. “And say you'll marry me.”
It was an ultimatum. I should have known. Marry the guy, and he'd get me an interview at one of the most prestigious schools in the country—turn him down, and then what? Would he let it go, move on, say I figured I'd ask—? Or would he bury me and my career six feet underground?
Richard was a powerful man; he always had been. But I knew that his power wasn't only to be used for good. I had seen the bad side of Richard at work. Richard cheating on me (and then breaking up with me over the phone) had delivered quite a hit to my self-esteem. He had stomped on my heart and ground it into the dirt like I had been nothing to him.
“Come home with me, Samantha,” Richard said. “Move back to Miami and finish your schooling on campus. Move into my penthouse. Start a life with me.”
“Richard—” I murmured. I pulled my hand away from him, letting it drop to my side. “I can't leave Seattle. I'm here for Piper.” There was a long silence as we stared each other down. I couldn't read his expression, as it was mixed with a million emotions.
“I don't understand this,” Richard said finally. His tone was cool, but I tried not to let it affect me. “Are you here for the kid, or are you here for Nick?”
“What are you talking about?” All at once, my hesitation was replaced by anger. “I had no choice, Richard,” I said. “Emily insisted we raise Piper together. That's why I uprooted my life and moved here.”
“You're kidding, right?” Richard stared at me, looking genuinely puzzled. “Moving here was your choice, Samantha,” he said. “You can have guardianship of a child and be able to keep your own life. It's called a compromise.”
“That's not what the lawyer said,” I murmured. Suddenly I felt sick, as though I was finally discovering some crucial piece of information missing since Emily's death. “I had to move here, didn't I? Nick didn't want to move to Miami, so I had to move here. That's how it works, Richard.”
“Oh no, doll,” Richard said. He smiled, but it was not genuine. That nasty, condescending smile made me want to hit him in the face and bloody his perfect nose. “You're confused, my dear. You moved here of your own free will. Taking guardianship of a kid does not mean you move to another city and bunk with a strange man. It means you go on with your life and help when you can.”
“I…” I faltered, unsure of how to react to this. Was it some joke? Was Richard fucking with me? Not once did
anyone tell me I had to move to Seattle, except for Nick, of course—but then again, the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that no one had told me I had to move away from Miami, either.
“Think about it,” Richard said. His tone was so smug, and I hated it. He always got like that when he was proving me wrong, and he knew it. “When two people get divorced and have to share custody of their kid, do they keep living together as roommates, or do they take turns?”
“This isn't like that,” I murmured, but I could feel myself running out of defenses.
“It's exactly like that.” Richard scoffed and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a number, grabbed me with his free arm, and pulled me gently out of the bedroom and downstairs. Nick, I found, was awake and in the kitchen sipping on a mug of coffee and reading the comics in the paper. He glanced up as we entered the kitchen, appearing bewildered, but I couldn't compose myself quickly enough to explain anything. I was at a loss. Seeing Richard for the first time since he'd arrived didn't seem to catch Nick off guard, and I was glad when he didn't automatically hurl questions at us—because I had no idea what to say.
“Howard,” Richard said into the phone, and I recognized the name of Emily's attorney, the one who had spoken with Nick and me at the service. Richard pointed at a chair, and I took a seat across from Nick automatically. He was staring at me, frowning, his expression questioning. All I could do was shrug as Richard put the cell phone on speaker and set it in the middle of the kitchen table. Nick and I could only stare at it.
“Good afternoon, Nick and Samantha,” Howard said, and I knew I would recognize that nasally voice anywhere. It was, indeed, the attorney. “How are we this fine day?”
Nearing September Page 19