Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  And then, he’s gone, leaving me in the middle of Chase’s apartment, surrounded by six cardboard boxes that contain the sum total of my earthly belongings.

  What.

  The.

  Hell.

  ***

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Babe.”

  “Seriously.” I pull a candlestick out of the box closest to me and sneer at it. “He’s dead.”

  “Babe.”

  “Don’t babe me, Knox.”

  “You’re freaking out.”

  I whirl to face him, candlestick still in hand, and point it at him like a sword. “Yes, I’m freaking out. My boyfriend — who, frankly, only became my boyfriend about thirty seconds ago — gave up the lease to my apartment. Oh, and then he moved me into his apartment without even asking me! If anyone has cause to freak out, it’s me, Knox! The girl with the domineering, devious, downright diabolical boyfriend!”

  “That’s a lot of d’s, babe.” Knox’s eyes do that crinkle-smile thing, and the sight makes me forget my anger. Only for a second, though.

  He arrived about twenty minutes ago and found me freshly showered, with my hair and makeup done, wearing one of my new Shelby-purchased outfits. After the movers left, I spent ten minutes staring from box to box in disbelief before deciding I needed coffee, followed by a long, hot shower. I ticked both of those off my list, before I began searching the boxes — one of which, fortuitously, contained my hair dryer.

  Post-blow-out, I grabbed all my clothing from Chase’s closet, carried it out into the main room, and dumped it on top of the stack of boxes. I was in the process of calling my landlord — who blithely informed me there was nothing he could do to fix this mess — when Knox walked in. He made the mistake of thinking, since I looked put together, that I wasn’t coming apart at the emotional seams.

  Wrong.

  I step closer to him, the candlestick held aloft and my eyes narrowed on his.

  “Where is he? Tell me, so I can go kill him.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “He’s in a business meeting.”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  He shrugs. “Babe, just let it be.”

  “No, I will not let it be! Come on, Knox, are you seriously not going to tell me where he is?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On whether you’re gonna attack anyone with that candle.” He reaches out and plucks it from my grasp. “And whether you’re gonna make a big scene.”

  “I won’t make a scene,” I say automatically.

  His eyebrow arches dubiously.

  “I won’t!” I insist, crossing my fingers behind my back. “Promise.”

  He continues staring at me.

  “Want me to pinky swear?” I offer.

  “Christ,” he mutters to the ceiling. “She crosses her fingers behind her back and offers to pinky swear, like a kindergartener. Chase is fucked.”

  “I’m right here, you know.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I can hear you.”

  His eyes crinkle again as they return to mine. “Know that, babe.”

  “Please tell me,” I beg, my voice cajoling.

  He pauses, staring at me.

  “Please,” I repeat softly.

  “Christ.” He blows out a huff of air. “He’s in his office. Down one floor, take a left. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.” I grin at him, grab my purse off the counter, and beeline for the elevator doors.

  The whole ride down, I practice what I’m going to say to Chase.

  Starting with you’re a crazy person and ending with I’m not moving in with you, ever.

  Okay, maybe not ever.

  But, not for a long, loooooong time.

  When the doors chime open, I step into a hallway I recognize. Sure, last time I was here it was in the throes of a renovation and I was being led around by an aloof blonde named Anita… but it’s definitely the executive suite at Croft Industries.

  There are still signs of work being done — unfinished wall sections marked with blue painter’s tape, small piles of plaster dust in the hallway corners, clear plastic drapes protecting the hardwood floors from paint droplets — but for the most part, it looks great. Gone are the garish green tones, the horrid carpeting, the heavy furnishings. It’s been tastefully decorated in what I’m coming to recognize as Chase’s signature taste: practical, pretty-looking furniture, that’s upscale without being uncomfortable.

  I wander down the hall and find myself once again at that imposing set of double doors which, this time, I know lead into Chase’s office. It seems like a million years ago that I stood before them in my work uniform, a binder full of artwork pressed to my chest, worrying about meeting whoever I’d find inside.

  Little did I know…

  I take a deep breath, steady my shoulders, and reach for the handle. As my fingers curl around the knob, I tell myself to stay strong, even if he tries to pull that caveman nonsense that steals all rational thought from my head with a single glance, a single touch, a single word.

  We’re going to have a normal, adult conversation about this.

  I’ll state my mind clearly, and he’ll listen respectfully.

  It’ll all be fine.

  And maybe, after we’ve dealt with this like normal people, we’ll make some more pancakes. Naked.

  I fight a smile at that last thought, thinking it probably does not bode well for the strength of my argument, if I’ve already forgiven him in my thoughts. But I can’t help it — this is Chase, we’re talking about, after all.

  So, with one more deep breath, I push open the door and step inside to face him.

  And all those silly, shortsighted thoughts go right out of my head.

  Because he’s not alone.

  There’s a man, sitting in the seat across from him.

  A man I recognize instantly — probably because I look just like him.

  Milo West.

  ***

  “Gemma,” the man says, as soon as he sees me, surprise on his face and sadness in his tone.

  “Gemma,” Chase says, rising to his feet, concern in his voice and apology in his eyes.

  Me, well, I don’t say anything.

  I just turn on one heel and race for the elevator at the end of the hall.

  “Gemma! Gemma, wait!”

  I hear Chase calling me, but I don’t stop until I hit the elevator banks, flying past a startled Anita at the front desk without so much as a word. I jam my finger into the call button over and over, cursing its slowness.

  “Gemma.”

  Chase’s voice, winded from running, is close. I know he’s standing right behind me. My body tenses like a sprinter on the blocks, waiting for the gunshot. I don’t turn to face him. I don’t move a single muscle except for my finger, which repeatedly jabs at the call button.

  “Sunshine—”

  “Don’t.”

  “If you’d just listen—”

  “I said don’t.” My voice is scathing, shredded with anger and disbelief. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say, right now. I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone—”

  “Stop.”

  He sighs.

  I feel him take a step closer, so there’s only a tiny bit of space remaining between my back and his front. I can feel the heat radiating off him, through that tiny sliver of separation. His breath stirs the hair at my nape with each exhale.

  It takes every bit of strength I possess not to turn around and look at him, to close the distance between us. I know, with his arms around me, I’ll feel better — there’s no comfort in the world like the circle of Chase’s arms.

  But I don’t. I can’t.

  Not when, every time I close my eyes, I see the image of the man I’ve fallen in love with sitting across from the man who never loved me. The man who resented my existence from the moment I was conceived. The man I never wanted
to see, meet, or even hear from.

  Chase knew all that; he reached out to him anyway.

  So, it doesn’t matter that he was trying to fix things — fix me. It’s still a betrayal. It still hurts.

  The elevator doors finally slide open, and I step inside. I half expect him to follow me in, but when I turn to face the doors, I see he’s frozen just outside the threshold, his face a mask of sadness and frustration.

  “Sunshine…” he whispers, pain flashing on his features. “I didn’t mean… I thought if you just…” He shakes his head. “I want you to be happy. I was trying to make things better for you. To protect you.”

  I hit the button to take me down to the lobby, staring at him with eyes full of distrust. “Then why did you do the one thing you knew would hurt me beyond belief?”

  His mouth opens, shuts, opens again. No words escape, because there’s nothing to say.

  Our gazes hold until the doors shut, leaving me alone.

  I don’t even try to fight the tears, as they drip down my cheeks onto the elevator floor.

  ***

  I race out of the building, dodge through a crowd of pedestrians with my head ducked, in case there are any paparazzi lurking nearby, and dart across the street to the closest subway station. I’m sure Knox is hot on my heels — Chase may’ve let me leave, but there’s no way he’d do it without knowing I have protection — so I hop on the first train I see and ride aimlessly for nearly an hour, changing lines at random. People look at me a little strangely — in their defense, I am still weeping like a leaky faucet — but no one says or does a thing.

  This is New England, after all. We aren’t that friendly.

  I hop off the T at the public garden and start to wander the paths, thinking a walk by the pond might clear my head. The park is dreary this time of year — gray, damp, with only tiny traces of spring peaking up from the flower beds — and it does little to distract me.

  At the water’s edge, I catch sight of two swans, a mother and her baby, gliding across the surface in perfect tandem.

  Across the way, on the opposite bank, a young mother and her toddler throw bits of bread to the ducks, laughing each time a bird snaps one up.

  To my left, a teenage girl on a bench groans into her cellphone — but, Mom, all the other kids’ curfew is eleven. Why do I have to come home at ten?

  Mothers are everywhere I look.

  It’s like the universe is actively trying to smack some sense into me with as many signs as possible.

  You’re mad at the wrong person, genius.

  I sigh as I reach into my purse and pull out my cellphone. A growl of frustration erupts when I see I’ve grabbed the new, Chase-approved one from the depths of my bag by accident. With a rough shove, I return it to a deep pocket and locate my real cell — complete with sparkly blue case and cracked screen.

  My finger trembles a little as I dial a series of buttons I know by heart.

  “Hello?”

  I press my eyes closed at the sound of her voice.

  “Gemma, are you there?”

  My free hand curls into a fist by my side and the other tightens around the plastic.

  “Gemma?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Oh, good, I thought you’d pocket-dialed me.” She laughs. “What’s up, baby girl? You finally ready to tell me about your night at the ball with Prince Charming?”

  “No.” I clear my throat. “I actually need you to tell me something.”

  “Name it.”

  “Why have you spent twenty-six years lying to me about my father?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Fine

  I step inside the doors of the brightly lit shop, its plexiglass countertops revealing a vast array of delicious-looking sweets.

  Crumble — the best cupcake place in all the land. Or, at the very least, in the Greater Boston area.

  The woman at the cash register recognizes me immediately.

  “Hey, Gemma!” She smiles wide. “You want the usual?”

  God, I have a usual. That’s a little sad.

  “Hi Katy. No — today, I’m gonna need a whole half-dozen.”

  “To go?”

  “Nope.” I swallow. “For here. Just for me.”

  Her eyebrows go up as she looks from my tear-stained face to the platter of chocolate-on-chocolate cupcakes she’s just pulled out. “You sure?”

  I nod.

  “Alrighty, then.” She smirks a little as she loads up a hot pink plate with six giant cupcakes. “But, if your arteries clog in one of my booths, I’m not responsible.”

  “Hardy har har.”

  She smiles as she passes me the plate. “Gemma… if you want to talk about it…”

  “No,” I say immediately. “But, thanks.”

  “Whoever he is, he’s not worth the calories.”

  “So true,” I mutter, Milo’s face flashing in my mind as I grab my cupcakes and head for a back table, where I can eat my feelings in peace.

  ***

  “This better be good, I was right in the middle of my CrossFit session—” Shelby breaks off abruptly when she catches sight of my face — which may or may not be covered in chocolate frosting. “Oh, Jesus. What’s wrong?”

  “Nuffing,” I slur around a giant bite.

  “I’ve known you six years. Never once have I seen you resort to a sugar coma to fix your problems.”

  I shrug. “First time for everything.”

  “You’ve got chocolate, like…” She grabs a napkin from the dispenser and passes it to me with a grimace. “…everywhere.”

  I glare as I snatch the paper from her outstretched hand and begin wiping my mouth. She waits until I’m done chewing before she sighs, pulls out the seat across from me, and settles in.

  “Gemma.” She steeples her hands on the table in front of her. “Look at yourself.”

  I push the plate of cupcakes toward her. “Cupcake?”

  She stares at me like I’ve just offered her methamphetamine. “Are you kidding? Do you know how many carbohydrates are in a cupcake? How much sugar is in that frosting?”

  “Whatever. More for me,” I say, grabbing another one and taking a colossal bite.

  “You want to tell me what happened?”

  “Not really,” I mutter around a mouthful.

  “So you just called me here to bear witness to your moping?” She snorts. “Sounds productive.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m already here — missing my workout, I might add. Paul’s traveling for work. All I’ve got waiting for me at home is a Paleo meal and a rerun of TopChef.” She stares at me, eyebrows raised. “Lay it on me.”

  So, I do.

  I tell her everything — about my father, about Phoebe, about Chase. I even tell her about Brett and his threats to spill the story to the press. It takes over an hour — in part because Shelby interrupts me with questions every two seconds — but when I finally finish, she doesn’t say a word. She just reaches out, grabs the final cupcake off the plate, and takes a bite.

  Wow. I’ve made Shelby break her five-year sugar hiatus.

  That’s when I know it’s bad.

  “You know how, in the past, I’ve teased you about having run-of-the-mill daddy issues?” Shelby says eventually, after she’s devoured her entire cupcake.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I take it back. I take it all back. Because, holy crap that is a helluva lot more screwed up than I ever imagined.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “So, your mom…” Shelby’s voice is hesitant. “She admitted it? That Milo tried to be a part of your life?”

  “Yep.” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm — I’ve done enough yelling, today, where my mother’s concerned. “Apparently, he’s been reaching out since I was born, trying to be at least a small part of my life. He wanted to take me on vacations, introduce me to his kids, pay for college… And she never even told me about him. She let me believe he was this villa
in, this horrible rat bastard who abandoned me.”

  “Gem…”

  “The closest he ever got was this necklace.” I reach for my neck automatically, searching for the sun pendant, but my fingers brush bare skin and I remember I threw it off, after the gala. My voice drops lower. “I just can’t believe she kept all this from me. Kept him from me.”

  “At least you know, now,” Shelby says. “Maybe someday, you and Milo can move forward.”

  “After all this time… I don’t know.”

  She shrugs. “Well, you don’t have to decide right now. You don’t have to forgive him right away — him or your mom, for that matter.”

  “She says she was trying to protect me, but… I can’t help the small part of me that wonders if she was really just trying to protect herself.”

  “Did she apologize?”

  “She cried.” I swallow. “I’ve never heard her cry. Ever.”

  “Jeeze, that’s rough.” Shelby winces in sympathy.

  “I love my mother — she’s my best friend. But right now, I need some space from her, to sort my head out.”

  “You also need to call your boyfriend.”

  I groan. “I can’t.”

  “Too bad, you have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s your boyfriend and you stormed out of his office crying your eyes out. He’s probably worried about you. Actually, if what I’ve heard about Chase is true, he’s definitely worried about you.”

  “But…”

  “What?”

  “He’s going to think I’m an idiot,” I murmur. “I blamed him for all this, when he was really just trying to help. I took my anger out on him because…”

  “Because you knew he could take it.” Shelby shrugs. “It’s not rocket science, doll. He knows you weren’t really mad at him.”

  “He’s going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Gemma, I hate to break this to you, but you are crazy.” She grins. “That’s half the fun of being around you.”

  “Thanks, that’s really helpful.” I groan.

  “If he didn’t like crazy, he wouldn’t be with you.” She reaches out and lays her hand on top of mine. “Now call him! Or, at the very least, send him a text to let him know you’re still breathing. Though, in all honesty, I’m not sure how you’re alive after eating five of those cupcakes. I can feel my organs shutting down after just one.”