“I’m not so sure about that,” I say, leaning into a dresser and briefly glancing at the treadmill. “My mind is my own enemy right now. Whenever I think of doing something good for myself, something that requires some work and a certain kind of sacrifice on my part… it just turns against me. It sabotages my every effort to not be a mess…”
Margaret cups my face with both hands, forcing me to look at her. For the briefest of moments, I find peace in her amber gaze and her motherly smile. Even when I’m a complete fuck-up, she still loves me. She accepts me. She encourages me to keep fighting.
“Kira. Life will keep throwing punches at you,” she says. “This is only the beginning, and the way you handle whatever it is your going through now will define you for the rest of your life. Will you let this hurdle keep you down, or will you kick and punch until you overcome it?”
She’s seriously asking me this, and I know what I want to respond with. The words just won’t come out. All I can do is stare at her and wonder… do I even deserve her in my life? My failings hurt her, too. She doesn’t look like she’s about to walk out that door anytime soon so… what do I tell her?
“I want to fight,” I manage, my lower lip quivering. My eyes are getting wet again, the burn expanding down my throat and through my ribcage. It’ll take a little while longer for the Oxy to fully kick in. I’m waiting for a fucking pill to make me feel better. “I want to dance again.”
“You have a long road ahead of you,” Margaret replies, firmly holding me in place. She’s not ready to let go of me yet. “Your heart is in the right place, but you’ve been through so much, already. I know… I know that losing your mother left a hole inside that not even I can fill. And the leg problem, well… it came at the worst of times. Your father lacks the patience he needs to guide you, to support you… I know that, too.”
“So, what can I do?”
I’m dangerously close to giving up. To spending another day in the paralyzing embrace of prescription medication. To feeling sorry for myself and doing absolutely nothing about it, once again. I need help.
“You can take a deep breath,” Margaret says, and I do just that, closing my eyes for a second. “And you can take it one day at a time, provided you fight to make tomorrow better than today. It’s the best anyone can do in your circumstance.” She pauses and looks at the pill bottle on my side table. “I can’t tell you how to live your life, Kira, but I can tell you that those pills are just bandage. You need to let your wounds breathe, not keep them covered. It’s the final stage of the healing process… that’s where you’re stuck, honey. When the effect wears off, you know you’re exactly where you were before. You’re not moving forward, nor backwards… You’re just lingering, Kira, and life won’t let you linger for much longer. You’ll have to pick a direction.”
I nod slowly, not at all shocked that she knows about the pills. Margaret knows everything about me, probably even the things I don’t want her knowing about. Case in point, she just looked at the Oxy like it wasn’t the first time she was seeing it.
“Does Dad know?” I ask, my voice faded. “About the pills…”
She shakes her head. “No. Not unless you want him to. Unlike me, he’s not wired to pay this much attention. Just remember, Kira. I love you, no matter what. I will always love you, as though you were my daughter. And I’m here, whenever you need me. Okay?”
“Okay…” I’m about to cry again, tears already rolling down my cheeks, and Margaret wipes them off with a handkerchief.
“Enough, honey. You’ll make yourself look like an allergic toad,” she says, and I snort a chuckle. Her sense of humor is as loopy as ever, but it’s effective. “Take deep breaths and go sit under the shower for a while. Scrub yourself clean and go through your closet. You’ll need to pick a dress for tonight.”
I look at her, waiting for additional details. My brain no longer functions properly. It’s either the Oxy or the depression. Or both. Either way, I’m missing something here.
Margaret is quick to pick up on it, giving me a wide and hopeful smile. “It’s Thursday, Kira. Dinner with your father at Carlotta’s, tonight. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.”
“Ah, right, the last Thursday of the month,” I mumble.
Dad and I try to be social with one another, at least once a month. We usually have dinner at Carlotta’s. We don’t talk much, but we manage to go through an entire evening without starting an argument. Since he left me a Wharton brochure this morning, I’m certain he’ll want to bring it up. Maybe I can use this opportunity to set some things straight and to get certain things out of his head.
He might hate me for it, but I’m determined to follow Janelle’s advice. It’s better if I tell him exactly how I feel, right now, instead of letting him yammer on, thinking I’ll do what he wants. I’m sure Margaret would agree, as well, though, to be fair, she’s had enough of our father-daughter drama already. I can’t blame her.
“Has he confirmed for tonight?” I ask, wiping my face with her handkerchief, as rogue tears slipped well after she cleaned me up seconds ago.
“No, but you know him. It’s one of the few things he doesn’t miss out on. Be patient with him, Kira. He’s not a bad man. He’s complicated and impulsive and downright difficult, but I know he only wants what’s best for you,” Margaret says.
“He only wants what he thinks is best for me,” I reply. “It’s important that we make that distinction.”
In hindsight, I have to admit… I can see the pattern. Almost all the men in my life are complicated and impulsive and downright difficult, not just Dad. I think of Elias, and I can certainly add a string of expletives to further describe him, but the truth continues to stare me in the face—Elias is more like my father than he’d care to admit.
Perhaps it’s why I’m drawn to him and why his presence is so powerful and impossible to ignore. However, unlike Dad, Elias was never quick to hate people. He was modelled by his own father.
“Come on, Kira. Take a long shower. Let it all go for today. Put on something nice and spend an evening with your father,” Margaret says, pulling me back into the real world.
It sounds easier said than done. But what better place to start this so-called journey of self-healing, if not by tackling the largest pachyderm in the room—my dysfunctional relationship with my father. Maybe if I start fixing something there, everything else will come with greater ease.
Margaret is right. I need to let my wounds breathe in order to complete the healing process.
Glancing at the pill bottle, I sigh deeply and leave it behind.
Let’s try this...
WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER
It’s the Harry Winston New Year’s Day Gala, and I’m possibly the youngest person to ever perform at such a prestigious event. Being the daughter of William Malone has something to do with it, obviously, but I try to convince myself that it’s also because of my reputation as a ballerina. The whole of Hampton Heights has seen my past performances at Trinity. Half of the people in this room have given me flowers and standing ovations, more than once.
I belong here, in a certain sense.
Dad’s with me, looking dapper as always. He’s had a few drinks to get himself started. He’s more comfortable at parties he hosts. Everywhere else, he’s like a fish out of water.
“Kira, you look spectacular!” Joe Fowler says, walking over to greet us.
The ball room is enormous, and there are over two thousand people attending this event. The crème de la crème of the Hamptons. Bankers. Big Pharma. Tech. Ivy League darlings. The same faces I’ve seen at other parties.
Every year, Harry Winston puts on this fancy dress night to showcase their latest and most exclusive designs—more often than not, they end up selling half of their collection before the evening is over. Some of the money goes to charity, but most people come here just for the sake of dressing up and guzzling down thousand-dollar-bottles of champagne.
Waiters move through the crowd, carrying trays with
elegant hors d’oeuvres, mostly caviar and other fancy canapes. Personally, I’d kill for a cheeseburger right about now, but I’ve spent two weeks intermittent fasting in order to get myself to fit into this dress. I don’t regret that decision, because almost everyone around us is looking at me, admiration twinkling in their eyes.
“Joe. Good to see a familiar face,” Dad says, beaming at his friend and business partner.
“Janelle! Yes!” I exclaim, hugging my best friend. She’s always at these events with her father—not that she’s a fan of expensive dresses and uncomfortable shoes, but mostly because she’s precocious and understands the value of networking. This girl is going to rule the world someday. I don’t see Mrs. Fowler anywhere. “Where’s your mom?”
“Oh, she’s back home, preparing our Mexico getaway,” Janelle replies, shining like the sun in her gold sequin dress. It might be a powerful sartorial statement, but I’ll give her credit. Janelle is rocking it, which is such a rare sight for a girl who usually sticks to starched shirts and knitted vests.
“How’s the party coming along?” Dad asks Joe.
“Not bad. They’ve got a pretty impressive collection this year,” Joe replies, handing him an event brochure. We missed our copies on the way in, it seems. My gaze is quickly drawn to a necklace with a signature stone the size of my eye. “Like that one, huh? It’s their first artificial diamond centerpiece,” Joe says, noticing my awe.
“Elias is here, by the way,” Janelle tells me, scrunching her nose, then measures me from head to toe. “And you look stunning…”
I may be sixteen, but I am perfectly capable of sporting an Audrey Hepburn-style dress, complete with a medium set of curls and matching Harry Winston diamond earrings and necklace. Margaret convinced me to keep my outfit black and simple, and I can certainly see her point, now. There is beauty in simplicity, and I seem to be drawing a lot of attention. Then I remember that Elias is at this event, and I become my own enemy through rabid self-consciousness. Maybe I should’ve worn the red dress…
“Kira. How’s your ballet class going?” Joe asks, giving me a warm smile. He’s like the uncle I never had. Mom was an only child, and Dad has two brothers whom he never speaks with. A family feud or something.
“Oh, it’s great. I’m finally old enough to audition for the Nutcracker. They have Julliard scouts coming to visit, every Christmas,” I eagerly say, while my dad rolls his eyes.
Joe, however, seems almost as excited as I am. “I hope you’ll send us invitations. I haven’t seen you dance since you were ten!”
“I definitely will. Madame Olenna says I can invite up to five people if I’m selected as the prima ballerina.”
“Which is exactly what you’re going for,” Janelle giggles.
“Abso-friggin-lutely!”
“Anyway, you two girls hang out for a minute while I talk to Joe about something,” Dad interjects, like the usual rain on my parade. I feel my eyes narrowing as I watch them both step aside. The music and the many voices are enough to drown out their conversation, but I’ve learned to read Dad’s lips. It’s the only way I can figure out what’s going on, sometimes.
“You’re reading lips again, aren’t you?” Janelle asks in a low voice.
Briefly looking at her, I flash a devilish grin. “Wanna know what they’re talking about?”
“Not really. I respect their privacy.”
I laugh. “Well, whoop-tee-doo, little Miss Goody Two-Shoes!”
Janelle grabs two champagne glasses from a nearby waiter’s tray. Luckily for us, we both look as far from underaged as possible, but I am still amazed by how quick she is to misbehave when I challenge her innate righteousness. “Miss Goody—what now?” she grins and hands me a glass.
“Quick, let’s gulp it down before our dads see us,” I say and down the champagne. The bubbles dissipate and warmly spread through my stomach. Three minutes later, I’m giddy and fuzzy. I look at Dad and notice he’s annoyed. I can tell by the muscle ticking in his jaw.
“I feel so bad,” Janelle chuckles, then frowns at me. “What’s wrong, Kira?”
“Nothing. I guess…” I turn my head to see her, having picked up a few lines between our fathers. “Does your dad want to sell his shares in the company?”
Janelle shakes her head. “No. He wants to put them into my trust fund, for when I turn twenty-one. Why?”
Dad is trying to get Joe to sell. He wants to turn Fowler & Malone into Malone & Malone. I reckon that second Malone is supposed to be me, but this wouldn’t be the first time he does or decides something regarding my future without asking me first. He’s in for a rude awakening.
Either way, it’s not going to work out. Joe doesn’t want to sell. He just asked Dad to stop pushing it. They’re building something great, and they can make it even better if they stick together, without constantly poking Dressler Corp. I’m inclined to agree with Joe on this one. This feud between Dad and Martin Dressler is starting to get really old.
“Oh, crap, there’s Elias,” Janelle whispers, and I follow her gaze.
For a few seconds, I find myself unable to move. Elias is so annoyingly handsome, it’s like his ugly soul is perfectly camouflaged in that flawlessly tailored tuxedo. “Who’s that on his arm?” I ask.
“Not his mother, for sure,” Janelle snorts.
“Right. Where’d she run off to, exactly?”
“Puerto Rico. With the divorce lawyer.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “That must’ve been brutal…”
“Hey, the woman is living the life. She got twenty percent of all Dressler assets, and she’s humping a guy half her age. The very lawyer that Mr. Dressler hired to handle his side in the divorce procedure,” Janelle said. “He obviously got disbarred for that major conflict of interest, but I’ll bet he’s happy now, since he’s coupled with a very rich and divorced former Mrs. Dressler…”
The ghost of an ache slices through my heart. I can only imagine what it must’ve all been like for Elias. His dad is strong. I’m sure he’ll get over it and find a way to screw the missus over, eventually. But Elias… ugh, that’s got to suck. And I should not be so sympathetic towards “the enemy,” as Dad likes to describe him.
“Oh, speaking of… Have you heard?” Janelle asks, and I shake my head slowly, my attention fixed on Elias and the woman he’s with. She looks like she’s in her thirties, though I don’t see any semblance between them. I doubt she’s family. A date, perhaps? Elias does have a knack of getting into older women’s beds—or so the rumors go, at least.
“Heard what?”
“Mr. Dressler. Stage four liver cancer.”
I am stunned. Breathless. For a moment, it feels like learning about my mother’s illness, all over again, only this time I’m old enough to understand exactly what this means, and where it will lead. “Say what, now?”
“Cancer. My mom goes to the same oncologist for her yearly checkups. He handled her mastectomy. Anyway… He let it slip about Mr. Dressler. Apparently, it’s terminal, but he’s still fighting it. Chemo, alternative therapies, whatever new treatment he can get his hands on,” Janelle says.
“Oh, god…”
“Yeah, super sad,” Janelle sighs. “I actually feel sorry for Elias.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, me too.”
“Your dad will pop open a bottle of champagne when he hears about it,” Janelle grumbles.
“How about we keep this between ourselves for now?”
She stares at me for a couple of seconds, then smiles. “Sure thing. I take it you’ve got some sympathy for the guy, after all?”
“Kira Malone. Aren’t you a little underaged to be drinking champagne?” Elias’s voice makes the both of us jump.
“Jesus fucking—” I stop myself and take a deep breath, my heart pounding. Putting on the snarkiest smirk I can conjure, I look up at him and his blonde and definitely mature bombshell of a date. “Aren’t you a little underaged to be dating a soccer mom?”
Janelle st
ifles a chuckle, downing the rest of her champagne. She takes my glass, too, and discards them on a nearby table before she slips right back by my side. I need my wing-girl, after all.
“I don’t have any children,” the blonde replies, raising an eyebrow at me, as if I’m the tiny bug she could easily scrape off her Louboutin shoe.
“Your choice,” I shoot back, then point a finger at her and Elias. “But this here… it still counts as statutory rape.”
Elias grins. “You’d have to prove it, first. All you’ve got is conjecture.”
“Someone’s planning a second career as a criminal defense attorney, it seems,” Janelle mutters, clearly amused. The blonde lady is out of her league here, and she’s quick to realize it. I may be sixteen, but Elias and I have been at it for a very long time. On top of that, Janelle is the queen of snappy comebacks. This is one formula no one would want to waddle into.
“Ignore the kitschy second-hand chandelier, Sarah,” Elias says, throwing Janelle a most contemptuous look. “She’s all bark, no bite. Much like this toothpick here,” he adds, sneering at me. Oh, I would love to wipe that expression off his face.
“Elias Dressler. What brings you here?” Dad chimes in, rejoining our side of the party. On one hand, I’m relieved. If anyone can put Elias back in his place without me having to whip out my fists, it’s Dad. On the other hand, I’m horrified. My father has a tendency to go overboard where Elias is concerned.
“Mr. Malone. I’m here for the diamond show, like everyone else,” Elias replies, his demeanor quickly shifting. He’s not a wolf anymore. He’s a hawk, watching us all from a high point, probably wondering whose entrails to rip out first. I’ll admit, I do admire his self-control. There was a time when Dad’s mere voice would make Elias’s face turn red. Not anymore.
“Really? Can you even afford it after that massacre of a divorce your parents just went through?” Dad asks, wearing a most casual smile. Joe Fowler discretely squeezes his arm, but it’s not going to work. I know that look on Dad’s face. He’s going for the kill.
Trinity High: High School Bully Romance Page 39