by C. L. Roman
Oh no! My heart sank.
Abigail: Do they still feel confident the treatments can help her?
Mom: They’re unsure. Still, it’s important for you to keep bringing in money so we can continue with them. We can’t give up now. We’ve come too far.
Wait a second… When my mother had originally spoken with the doctor, she’d been told it would be a six-month treatment plan, which was the exact amount of time Foley, the old jerk, and I had agreed upon. He was set to leave town after he made his “big” deal, and Irma would get the necessary medical help she required. It was a win-win for all.
Abigail: I can only afford to pay for three more treatments at most.
Mom: Find a way to get more money. Your sister’s life may depend on it. Don’t be selfish, Abigail.
Selfish? I was practically selling myself for my sister, and here my mother was telling me not to be selfish. She was so deranged in her thinking.
Abigail: I’ll see what I can do. There are no guarantees.
Mom: Really? Well here’s a guarantee—if Irma can’t get her treatments because of you, the consequences will be on your hands.
Acid churned in my stomach, mixing with all the guilt residing in it.
Abigail: Why don’t you speak to administration and explain the circumstances? Maybe there are grants or something that Irma could qualify for.
Mom: Don’t you think I’ve already thought about that? I may not have a degree like you do, but I’m not stupid. The treatments are experimental, so no loans, no insurance, no favors. The drug company isn’t paying volunteers to participate.
How had all of this become my responsibility? And what the hell type of treatments was Irma receiving? Maybe I should’ve investigated further and not taken my mother’s word that they were safe and effective. God help my poor sister.
Abigail: I’ll see what I can do, but in case I can’t make it happen, we have to think of other options.
Mom: There are none. We’re practically broke and have no family to turn to for help. You work for Mr. Moneybags. I don’t care what you have to do to make him keep forking over the dough. We have no other options at this point.
My mouth fell open at the gall of her.
Abigail: What you’re suggesting is beyond disrespectful to me, don’t you think?
Mom: Now isn’t the time for arguments, Abigail. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Hopefully the Lord will forgive you.
Abigail: Like he has for all my other past sins, right?
Fortunately for me, I believed in a forgiving God. I also didn’t think I was a bad person, contrary to my mother’s beliefs.
Mom: Your comment doesn’t warrant a reply. As I said, now isn’t the time for arguments.
Damn her!
The old man passed by my desk to go to the restroom, glaring at me, tapping his watch. Jerk. Thanks to my mother, I was full of rage, and Mr. Foley’s disgusting presence only added to it.
I used the negative energy fueling me productively, redirecting my pent-up anger toward both Mr. Foley and my mother into the keyboard, typing at high speed. I got both emails sent to his attorney with twenty minutes to spare.
“So efficient, my dear girl. Might as well get a head start on Monday’s work.” He dropped a pile of folders on my desk. “Get this taken care of before you leave.” He waltzed off.
He had to be pulling my leg with the amount of work he expected me to complete in such a short period of time.
To prove to myself I could do it, I worked diligently to get the tasks completed. My eyes burned from staring at the monitor for so long without a break, but I sucked it up and pushed through the discomfort.
After saying goodbye to the asshole sitting behind his desk, I took off. Fortunately, the numbers on the clock sitting above the date on the bottom right-hand corner of my monitor had changed quickly.
I stopped by the market to purchase the necessary ingredients to prepare dinner. I knew I was taking a huge risk by befriending Gabe, but he had been so kind toward me. That in itself deserved a considerate gesture in return. Most, if not all, the men I’d met were dicks. My one relationship had been casual. I was pretty sure the only reason I had let the guy take my virginity was to spite my mother. When she’d found out during one of our many heated arguments, she had nearly hit the roof.
“How could you, Abigail? May the Lord forgive you.” She looked up at the ceiling with praying hands then glared at me. “You are a complete stranger to me, not the daughter I tried to raise with wholesome values and respect for her body. You should have left with your father, both of you wrongdoers. He had a wandering eye, and you’re just…just a naughty girl. In fact, I think it would be best if you packed your things and left this house.”
Yup, she actually kicked me out for having sex, though I considered it a reward rather than a punishment. I was in college at the time, so I increased my student loans and moved into a dorm. Too bad I’d be paying back the banks for the rest of my life. As it was, the interest was accruing monthly, and I was scraping by just to make the minimum payments.
When I left home, all interactions between me and my mother came to a halt, but Irma would call me daily. I promised her one day I would get a well-paying job and she’d move in with me so she too could finally be free of our mother for good, but whenever the clouds began to clear, her health would deteriorate. We’d be back to square one, returning to doctors for another gazillion tests only to get no definitive diagnosis.
This experimental treatment was supposedly our “last” hope. Each one we tried was, which meant once again I had to step up to the plate and make good on my promise to Irma. She deserved to live. She had been dealt a shit hand. Life sure knew how to throw curveballs.
Suddenly, a woman banged her cart into mine, snapping me out of my daydream—or rather, my waking nightmare. The market was packed; I supposed everyone had the same idea about preparing Saturday night dinner, and here I’d thought it was date night. Maybe things had changed. I hadn’t been on a date in forever so had no clue. I didn’t consider my nights with the old guy dates—far from it.
The few bags I carried to my apartment building had everything I needed: chicken, breading, seasonings, fresh veggies for a salad, and a balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I was looking forward to cooking for someone other than myself.
With everything prepped, I took a shower to wash off the day’s grime. I threw on a pair of jeans and a peasant top then added a touch of eyeliner and lip gloss. I kept it minimal, not wanting to give the impression I’d gone all out for our dinner date.
My body felt jittery, on edge. I didn’t get why I felt so nervous to see Gabe. We were simply going to enjoy a meal together, no biggie.
No biggie, my ass. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the man since he’d left my apartment the night prior. I didn’t want to scare him off with the current baggage I toted around, so I would have to remain mindful to keep things light between us since I’d had somewhat of a mini-meltdown during our last get-together. He probably thought I was a basket case and pitied me. Crap. Maybe that was the reason he’d agreed to come over for dinner—because he felt sorry for me. How foolish I had been to think he’d be interested in me. Who knew what he thought about my arrangement with Mr. Foley? The scenario didn’t portray a very nice or respectable picture of me. It was too bad Gabe would never get the scoop on the real goings-on between me and the old man, which meant he’d probably make more assumptions about my character that were anything but true.
With a little less pep, I set the small table in the dining room, putting the salad in the center. As far as drinks, I figured sodas, iced tea, or water would be the best options. Wine would be too presuming.
A knock came at the door.
Okay, this is it. I fixed my hair and stood tall. I took a deep breath to collect myself.
Feeling as ready as I’d ever be, I unlocked and opened the door.
Gabe looked incredible wearing khaki chinos with a long-sl
eeved button-down in baby pink. In my opinion, only a confident man wore that color. He truly was a sight to behold.
“Come in.” I made space for him to enter, checking out the hallway before closing the door. I promptly locked it, top bolt too.
He watched my odd behavior but didn’t say a word about it. Smart man.
He held up a bottle of wine. “Figured you might need some of this after last night.”
And here I’d thought it was a romantic gesture.
He’s just being supportive. Stop kidding yourself.
I took the bottle from him and set it on the table.
“Dinner should be ready in five. Why don’t I pour us some wine to start with?”
“Why don’t you get the glasses and I’ll serve the wine?”
Ah, a gentleman. This guy was winning me over by the second. Actually, scratch that—he already had.
With two wineglasses, I met up with him at the counter, which had a pass-through into the kitchen.
“Do you have a corkscrew? I should have thought ahead and brought mine.”
He had the cutest dimples.
“Not to worry. I’ve got one in the kitchen.” I darted off and retrieved it from one of the drawers.
He did the honors of opening the bottle and pouring some for each of us.
“A toast.” I held up my glass. “To making new friends.” Yes, I wanted more with him, but I knew I couldn’t have it. So, I’d stick with friendship, figuring something was better than nothing.
We clinked glasses and the timer buzzed on the oven.
“Great. The chicken is ready. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable at the table?”
Using silicone hand mitts, I removed the chicken from the oven and placed the pan on the stove. The delicious smell filled the air. I prayed it tasted as good as it looked. I prepared two plates with chicken and veggies, planning for us each to help ourselves to the salad already on the table.
When I turned to exit the kitchen, I almost bumped into Gabe. I jumped, a bit startled.
“Sorry. I came to help. Here, I’ll take those.” He took the plates from me and carried them to the table. He even pulled my chair out for me.
Does he consider this a date?
My heart raced at the possibility.
“It looks and smells great.” He sat across from me, admiring the food on his dish.
“Help yourself to the salad. I have soda and iced tea in the fridge, unless you want to drink your wine.”
“I’ll take a soda.” I went to get up, but he put his hand up to stop me. “I got it. Do you want one?”
I knew the wine in front of me would make my nerves disappear, but I opted against it.
“Sure. There’s both regular and diet. I’ll take a diet.” Because caffeine will do the trick to help my jittery state. My sarcastic thought pissed me off, as accurate as it was.
He left for the kitchen, returning with two cans of soda. He popped mine open then did the same with his before sitting back down in his chair.
“Thank you for this. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
“You don’t cook often?” I ate a forkful of chicken. Mmm. Luckily it was scrumptious—tender and juicy.
“During the week I get home late and am usually tired. I’m an early to rise, early to bed kind of guy.”
Just my type.
“Me too. Well, early to rise, early to bed kind of girl.” My cheeks warmed.
“You have a pretty smile. You should do it more often.”
Now they burned. I peered down at my plate, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy. “Thank you.”
“Wow, this is amazing. You’re such a good cook.” His eyes lit up as he chewed a piece of chicken.
The man was full of compliments, wasn’t he?
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“Enjoying it? I love it.” He shoveled another forkful into his mouth. His fervor made me giggle. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He flashed me a bit of devil in his eyes. Sorry, buddy. I wasn’t about to reveal how cute I found him.
“Do you have family in town?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, my mother and sister. You?”
“Father and brother.”
Big similarity.
“Where’s your father?”
So he wants to go down Personal Lane. It was better than discussing my current life situation.
“He left when my sister and I were young. We haven’t seen or heard from him since.” I took a sip of my soda to wash down the resentment that would invariably rise whenever I thought or talked about that dickhead. “Where’s your mother?”
“She passed away when I was a child.”
The hurt in my expression matched his. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged but said nothing more on the subject, so I let it go.
“What about your brother? Is he local?”
“Yeah. He’s finishing his MBA program.”
“A family of businessmen.”
“Very true.” He nodded.
He didn’t seem keen on the trivial chitchat thing taking place, having become somewhat distant.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” I requested, as if I didn’t know what he wanted to discuss: ME, in all caps.
He scratched his chin and leaned back in his chair. “I’d like to know about the arrangement you have with the old guy. I don’t want to get mixed up in anything illegal.”
Oh my God, he thinks I’m a hooker!
“I’m not a prostitute or anything related to it, if that’s what you’re thinking or insinuating.” That anger I’d tried to suppress a minute ago had come back in full force.
“I’m not too sure what to think. You have to admit that to an outsider looking in, the situation seems anything but copacetic.”
Breathe. Take it down a level.
“I agree. All I can tell you is nothing sexual takes place between me and the old man. It never has, and it never will.”
His brow creased. “You mean to tell me the guy has set you up in this apartment”—he glanced around the room and gestured to it—“is buying you fancy clothes, and he’s not getting anything in return? I find that hard to believe. I’m not a fool, Abby. There must be a catch. What’s in it for him?”
My thumb nail went into my mouth. What was I thinking when I’d let Gabriel into my apartment the previous night? How stupid of me. I couldn’t risk breaking the deal with the old jackass. Too much was on the line.
“I’m sorry. I can’t get into that with you.” He went to stand, and I put my hand up to stop him, though I should have let him leave. “Where are you going?”
“To clear my plate and take off. The food was great. Thank you for cooking it for me.”
That was it? He was calling it a night already?
Why wouldn’t he? He thinks you’re a prostitute.
Damn thoughts!
I stood and followed him into the kitchen. “Please stay.” I hated to sound so desperate. It was the second night in a row I had asked him not to leave.
“You have a lot of shit going on that I know nothing about. I’m not asking you to bare your soul to me, but you’re not willing to discuss any of it. So, what’s the point in staying?”
“We just met. I’m sure you also have many things you aren’t willing to discuss with me.”
“My secrets don’t involve an old man taking me to adult clubs, doing with me as he will against my wishes, or paying for my housing, clothing, and God knows what else.”
His hand stopped mine from making contact with his cheek and I jerked it back. How dare he stoop that low! “You are in no position to judge me, Gabe.”
He walked toward the door, pausing and facing me during his trek there. “You’re right. I have no right to make assumptions about your situation. I apologize. You’re a tough nut to crack.”
“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I apologize for almost slapping you. It w
as instinctual. Your comment just…hit a little too close to home.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve got quick reflexes.” He smiled, but it was far from a happy one. “Apology accepted, and I apologize if I offended you. From my perspective, not that it counts for anything, this thing between you and the old guy seems a bit fucked-up.”
“We all have our reasons for doing things… So, are you still leaving?” I hoped not.
He paused, drawing his lips in, probably contemplating his decision. “To be honest, I’m on the fence right now.”
“It should be an easy enough decision for you to make.” My tone may have come across a touch more flirtatious than I’d meant it to.
Don’t encourage him.
He stared into my eyes. “Are you suggesting I try to knock down a brick wall? Because that’s what this feels like.”
The air changed between us. It became charged with something I couldn’t describe. I felt almost naked, so much so that I crossed my arms over my chest. It wasn’t in defiance, but rather from self-consciousness.
The two of us stood in silence. The temperature in my body was rising to volcanic proportions.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
What question? I blinked a few times, breathing deeply to try to regain my equilibrium. “Please repeat it.”
The corners of his lips quirked up. “I asked if you want me to try to knock down the walls you’ve built up around you.”
The answer would be yes. For some reason he had my hormones working on overdrive. My endocrine system hadn’t worked this efficiently in years, if ever.
He stepped closer to me. The room became stifling, unbearable. Maybe the A/C had clicked off.
No, I knew damn well that wasn’t it. It was Gabe’s proximity to me.
Is he going to kiss me?
Question answered. Without another word, his lips crashed down on mine, his tongue demonstrating exactly how in charge this man was capable of being. I gloried in it, too.
His hands skirted down my back, settling on my ass. My pelvic muscles tightened, along with my thigh muscles—try all my muscles.
He tugged me closer until our bodies were meshed together. His hardness pressed against me. The gentle gyrating of our joined hips had me on the brink of delirium within what felt like seconds. It had been a while for me. My body was begging for The Big O.