by Kim Law
“Either that or you throw things,” he muttered, and the heat of her gaze scorched him.
“I am not kidding. Back off. You lash out at people when you feel threatened, and that’s what you do to me every time. You’re so afraid that my way may top your way, and you can’t handle it. It’s like you have to be right all the time or you won’t be able to pull in your next breath.”
“I don’t have to be . . .”
He stopped talking as something else his brother had said to him aligned with her words.
You have to be the best.
But he didn’t. He just . . .
Well . . . maybe he did. But he didn’t know why, exactly.
“And while we’re on the subject of your bad habits,” Arsula went on, “you can be quite selfish.”
The attack to his character really should be making him angrier than he was, but instead, her words seemed to be having the opposite effect. “How do you figure that?” He went quiet inside. And he wanted to hear her answer.
“You couldn’t believe that Megan might have real concerns about your relationship. You didn’t care how your refusal to stay with any of your family might interfere with their lives. You were going to go to a hotel before staying with one of them, Jaden. And that’s absurd. It’s even more absurd to think that you sitting in a hotel room, hurting and in pain—and not able to take care of yourself—wouldn’t have brought them out. They would have been there, checking up on you all the time, staying with you around the clock those first few days, while putting the responsibilities of their own families second. All because you had to have things your way or no way.”
She stopped to take a breath, before finishing with, “And I could go on.”
He knew she probably could. Hadn’t Megan said the same thing about him more than once in the past? Usually the words had come when she’d been mad. Therefore, he’d never really considered them valid. And likely, Arsula was angrier right now than she was letting on. But she had a way of looking at him—of remaining calm when explaining anything she truly thought he needed to hear—that made it almost impossible for him to ignore.
He looked down at the tub of brownies he held clutched in his hands. Gloria had made him a batch of his favorite dessert.
He pried off the lid and held out the bowl. “Another truce?”
“Why?” she asked sarcastically. “Because you don’t like me being mad at you?”
Arsula also had a way of calling him out on all his bullshit.
“Something like that,” he mumbled. He felt even more like a child right now than when his dad had told him not to “be lax” earlier.
“I am not a joke, Jaden.”
“Okay. I agree. You’re not a joke.” He peered back at her, and he let her see the lack of understanding in his eyes. “But I don’t get it.”
“And you don’t have to. You just have to respect. Can you do that at least?”
“Respect our differences?”
“Yes.”
He hated when she made it clear what an idiot he was being.
“Fine,” he groaned. “I can respect our differences.”
“And you won’t mock me again?”
“I won’t mock you again. And yes, you’re right. I’m selfish. I always have been. And I need to work on that.”
She didn’t respond immediately, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her tell him to get out of her car—while she drove off and left him standing alone in the middle of the driveway. She didn’t do that, though.
Instead, she took a brownie. “Truce.”
Chapter Sixteen
Arsula paced from her kitchen to her living room again, then made a lap into her bedroom and back. She returned to the kitchen, stared down at her closed laptop, then started the journey from kitchen to living room again.
On the next pass back from her bedroom, instead of heading for the hand-me-down kitchen table, she crossed to the living room window and looked out. Foot traffic outside was mostly nonexistent at this point on a Saturday. It wasn’t yet dark, but the stores had closed for the weekend, and families had receded to enjoy dinners in their homes. While she paced her small apartment due to an email she’d been sitting on all day.
Turning, she remained by the window and eyed the slim piece of technology from across the room. She’d checked her email before heading out to meet with a new client that morning, then had found every excuse under the sun not to come back. It was Saturday, and there were always a million errands to run. Or just a long drive around the lake. She’d done both.
She’d run out of excuses to stay away, though, and the email from Megan still waited. Just under the lid of her laptop.
A noise sounded from below, and she looked toward the open door, almost in relief. She should probably close the door at this point. Jaden hadn’t needed her after hours all week, and since Tuesday, she’d even left him to fend for himself in the evenings. Gloria had sent them home with several more containers of food, and now that Jaden was moving around better, he could hop long enough to scoop out his own leftovers and heat his own meals.
She’d still eaten lunch with him the last three days, though. And it wasn’t only because she loved Gloria’s cooking. It was because she’d sensed that Jaden was honestly trying to make a change. He hadn’t handed over any more derisive comments, but more than that, she’d also gotten the sense that he listened when she spoke. Even if she wasn’t speaking to him. As if he were hearing the words for what they were instead of behind a veil of doubt.
What sounded like a couple of cabinet doors closing echoed up the stairwell, and she edged over to peek down into the semidarkness. A light came from the direction of the kitchen and another from his bedroom. But Jaden was nowhere to be found.
Satisfaction filled her that he’d improved enough to get along by himself. She was glad he was getting better. Glad she didn’t have to wait on him hand and foot.
And she was glad there’d been no more mentions of kissing in the days since they’d cleared the air.
No kissing talk . . . no nothing else. He’d mostly remained holed up in his room, doing his own thing.
She looked toward her bedroom, where her unmade bed could be seen. And she reminded herself that him being self-sufficient was a good thing. That no kissing—and no nothing else—was what she wanted. She didn’t make it a habit to sleep with someone who’d been so openly dismissive of her abilities, and she saw no reason to start now. Even if past events did indicate that said sex could potentially be highly satisfying.
A crash sounded—possibly a pan being dropped onto the floor—and she closed her eyes and told herself to ignore whatever it was he had going on down there. But more than that, to pay attention to what waited on her up here. And that was the email.
The one with the link to her website.
Gaining a backbone, she marched to the kitchen, didn’t let herself think about anything other than viewing the pages with an unbiased eye, and sat down in front of her laptop.
The email remained on the screen where she’d left it. She moved the mouse pointer to the link to bring up the site. It wasn’t live, of course. The site ran from a temporary server and was accessible only to her. And she suddenly found herself desperate to see what it looked like.
She clicked, and then the back of her nose burned with unshed tears.
Arsula Moretti—Intuitive Life Coach
Take permission to live the life you’ve always dreamed.
It was her dream. Not one she’d told too many people about, but the one that had been in the back of her mind for years. She’d even gotten certified last year. An intuitive life coach was there to motivate and uplift, but also to help guide others into delving into their minds and hearts. The answers were always in there, but some people needed help in finding them. And the answers were always the keys to lasting changes in life. To not only feeling whole and complete, but to having the confidence to go after all that was sought.
And that
was what she was good at.
The women in her family had always focused only on their gifts. Therefore, that’s what she’d done. She was a dream interpreter. That’s how she introduced herself to others, and what initially pulled in clients. But she wanted to be more. And she wanted her family to be proud of her.
With slowed movements, she began to click around to different pages. The initial conversation with Megan had provided several sections that would be needed: resources for yoga, spiritual health, nutrition, and hypnotherapy, as well as information on what an intuitive life coach could do, ways she could be contacted, additional websites and books to check into, and a tab for dreams and what they could mean to a person’s life. And as she brought up each page, each revealing a bit more of her own personal hopes and dreams, she couldn’t help but think of her family.
Her brother Boyd would love it.
Her father would shake his head and ask if she really thought she was living up to her potential.
And her mother would offer a proud nod of approval.
The ringing of a bell interrupted her thoughts, and when she realized it was coming from directly below the open door, she rose and crossed the room. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, with a light now shining in the stairwell, was Jaden, dressed in a pair of black slacks she hadn’t seen before—split at the knee to accommodate the cast—a white button-down shirt, and no expression on his face whatsoever.
The bell kept ringing.
“I take it you need something?” She rested her shoulder against the doorframe and shot him a sarcastic look.
“I do.”
“Is that so?” She highly doubted it. She made a show of angling her head in both directions as if checking to see that nothing looked out of place. “You don’t look to be in pain of any sort.”
He rang the bell harder, but his lack of expression didn’t change.
“Jaden,” she finally yelled out, and his hand quit moving. “I’m busy up here.” She thought about the website and had the idea to show it to him. Would that help him to see that she wasn’t just a flake?
Did she really care what he thought about her?
She did.
And for some reason, the idea of showing it to him excited her.
The bell started up again, before she could make up her mind to grab the laptop and take it down to him, and as the noise clanged louder, Jaden’s expression went from nonexistent to one of mulish intent. He clearly intended to keep ringing the blasted thing until she went down there.
“Stop ringing that bell!” Though she hadn’t heard the noise in days, he’d rung it enough the first couple of weeks to make her regret ever giving it to him. And at the moment, she regretted forgetting to take it away.
“Then come down here and see what I want,” he yelled back.
“You don’t need anything!”
The noise stopped so abruptly that she weaved in place, suddenly off balance. “But I do,” he told her, and this time his tone was sincere.
Her shoulders sagged as she fought with herself on whether to go down there or not. He’d been too busy since she’d returned home to ever make her believe he actually needed anything; therefore, she smelled a rat. Or better, a trap.
What was the man up to?
“What do you need, Jaden? I really am in the middle of something.”
There was a brief pause as if he were considering whether he really wanted to be a pain in her rear or not, and then he started ringing the bell again.
“I swear to all that’s holy, Jaden Wilde.” She started down the stairs. “I’m going to take that bell and ram it right up your—”
He waggled a finger back and forth in front of him, tsking as he did, and stopping her two steps before she reached him. “Aunt Sul wouldn’t like that swearing,” he said.
“I didn’t . . .” But she sort of had. Swearing to all that was holy?
He was right. Aunt Sul wouldn’t like it.
She said her customary sorrys, scowling at Jaden the whole time, then in a quick move, she lunged down the last two steps and reached for the bell. The man was quicker than she gave him credit for. He’d become quite adept at his crutches, and she found herself on the ground floor, with him now four feet away. He held out the bell, as if dangling a carrot as enticement, and rocked it slowly back and forth.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
She lunged again.
He laughed that time and scurried farther away. He’d moved toward the kitchen, and knowing there was no alternate exit to the room, she lunged a third time, intending to trap him inside. Only, as she reached the doorway, he slid unobtrusively to the side. And at the sight that greeted her, she once again swayed as her feet locked in place. The table was set for two. What appeared to be a homemade lasagna and a salad were positioned in the middle of a crisp white tablecloth, an opened bottle of wine sat to one side, and a basket of crusty bread sat off to the other.
She looked up at him.
“I needed you to come down because I cooked dinner for you.”
“You cooked for me?” Arsula stared at the table as if she’d never seen one set with place settings before.
“I did.”
“Why?” She didn’t look away from the meal.
Admitting to faults was a hard thing for Jaden, and he’d messed up with her in a number of ways.
“To say thank you, first of all.” Like she’d pointed out, he’d been selfish. It was a bad habit, and one he’d often blamed on lingering effects from his mother. “I’ve never thanked you for taking me in,” he continued. “For putting up with me. I know you didn’t have to do that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and dipped her chin.
“I also wanted to apologize.”
He’d thought that would bring her gaze to his, but it remained downcast.
“I’m sorry I’ve disrespected you, Arsula.” He still got nothing.
She’d asked him to respect their differences the other day, and what had become instantly clear was what an ass he’d been. Shame choked him for the way he’d treated her. He wouldn’t tolerate being made fun of from anyone himself, and he should never have done it to her.
“And that I’ve done it over and over,” he added. And the reality was, even while mocking her, respect had already begun to develop. He’d watched people come in here for weeks, anxious to share with her the impact she’d made on their lives. He’d seen their joy and their beliefs that they could accomplish even more, and he’d been jealous. That’s what he hoped to do for others someday. As a counselor, results like hers would be proof of success.
So yeah . . . respect. Even if it was hard for him to admit.
And feeling threatened.
She’d hit that one on the head, too, which had been a real eye-opener. He lashed out when he didn’t get what he wanted. Or when others had what he desired. She was good with people, and though he had yet to understand it, her ways challenged his beliefs. And he didn’t like that.
“And last,” he said, his impatience moving him to stand in front of her, “I wanted to let you know that I’ll move out if you want me to.”
His statement finally pulled her attention to his, and he saw moisture lining her eyes. “You want to leave?” she asked.
Hell no.
He held his immediate response inside, determined to make this her call. “I’m saying that I will if you want me to. I realize I’m a little underfoot.” With a tilt of his head, he pointed out his plaster-encased leg. “I can get around better now, and there’s a spare bedroom on the first floor of the house. I could stay with Dad and Gloria now, without having to rely on them to take care of me.”
Pride filled him at the delivery of his speech without showing how he really felt. He would stay with his dad and Gloria. And he’d be fine there. But he wanted to stay here. With her.
He wanted it to become more than him just staying here.
She nibbled at her lip. “Are you thinking you could stay with them to ke
ep an eye on your dad?”
That would be valid reasoning. And probably he should have thought of it. But he supposed his selfish ways remained. “No, Arsula. Honestly, that thought never crossed my mind. But that’s likely because I still like the idea of you keeping an eye on me.” He produced a wayward smile. “I like it here, what can I say? But if it sways you any, I’d be willing to cook dinner again in payment.”
Given that she seemed to enjoy his stepmother’s cooking so much, and that not once had she brought him a meal prepared by her, he’d concluded she wasn’t much of a cook. And food he could do.
He was hoping food impressed her.
Instead of answering, she looked back to the table and seemed to study every detail. The dishes were new and had been delivered the day before, the groceries had come from his sister that morning, and the tablecloth had been an impulse purchase when he’d met up with Megan to look at a location for the store the day before.
“What if your food is subpar?” Arsula looked at him again, and at the teasing note in both her eyes and her words, it finally felt as if he could breathe again.
“Then I’ll buy you dinner,” he said, his voice both lowering and softening. He wanted her to say yes.
He also wanted her to kiss him again.
“You’d buy me dinner . . . As in . . . ?”
“As in a date,” he said, making his intentions clear, and her eyes locked on his. “Or a pre-date, if you’re not ready yet,” he added.
“And what if I never get ready?”
Then he’d die an unhappy man. “Then you’d at least get a few good meals.”
That made her laugh, and the sharpness that had been in her shoulders since entering the room eased. Her eyes warmed. “I’m fine with you staying here, Jaden. Of course I am. And when I mentioned you being selfish the other day, I wasn’t attempting to imply that you’d taken advantage of me.”