by Lizzy Ford
“Molly and I asked him to be here,” Joseph says.
I wait.
“Siblings or cousins, the Abbott-Renous are a political dynasty, one that appears to be ready to make some major changes,” Joseph starts.
“Don’t give me any bullshit!” I snap. “I’ve had a shitty few days. If you want to lie to me or use me, then I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“I want to go public with the family drama,” Joseph says with honesty I’ve never heard from him.
“Which part?” I ask.
“Molly and I want to throw our weight behind you in public. Doing so will anger our father.”
“Why do I care?” I ask, growing impatient. “I don’t want anything to do with politics.”
“They want to jettison Gerard’s political career,” Chris supplies. “Doing so means you’ll have to openly choose a side and likely speak out about all you’ve been through.”
“I’d like you to make the talk show circuit with me,” Joseph says.
“No way in hell,” I say. “I’m not going into politics.”
“I can do it without you,” Joseph says. “But we thought you might want to be involved. No matter what we do, it will impact you and shed more light on your public persona.”
“Joseph wants you to campaign with him,” Molly adds. “We’ll support you either way against whatever Daddy has planned. What we want is for you to show solidarity with Joseph.”
I mull over this request. I’m surprised they’re ready to split with Gerard, and I can only assume it’s because they feel like Gerard is going to tank his career. I’m not oblivious to the fact they want to support me. I am, however, agitated they’re doing it to spite Gerard. If they’re coming out publically to support me, then they smell blood in the water somewhere. I just hope it’s not around me for once.
“I can’t handle this and a trial and Madison being free and school …” I stop, unable to express how crazy the idea of adding politics to my plate of shit is.
“Think about it,” Joseph says. “There’s a fissure forming in our family. No family should be in the position we’re in of choosing sides, but it’s happening whether or not we want it to. There’s a possibility Gerard is heading for a fall.”
“I don’t give a shit,” I reply.
“As I warned you, your mother informed us she’s filing for divorce,” Chris interjects. “Your incident and a divorce may be enough to derail Gerard from his higher political aspirations.”
“I don’t want any part of any drama,” I say, thoughts on Dom. Drama has cost me enough already. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
I stand to leave.
“I’ll contact you in a few days,” Joseph said. “You can let me know your decision then.”
I give an exasperated sigh and leave the study. Ever the politician, Joseph doesn’t take no for an answer.
I text Ari about the bizarre meeting. Her responses are filled with more curse words than usual, most of which are directed at my former siblings, though she reserves a few for Chris for putting me in that position.
My apartment is quiet and Fabio is seated out front when I arrive home. I take a long shower. My whole body shakes under the hot water. I pull on jeans and a tank top, not caring if my battered body is exposed in my own home. Ari brought ice cream the other day, and I pull out a pint to sit in front of the television.
I’m more emotional tonight than I’ve been lately. I can’t take much more of anything, and I can’t stop thinking that I’ve hurt Dom. I hate myself for being the cause of his pain or for disappointing him. He’s one of the few people who has ever accepted me as I am, and I hurt him.
I cry and watch movies, ignoring my vibrating phone on the counter. Only when I run out of soda do I go to the kitchen. I feel disgusting as I grab a new soda and my phone.
Ari has texted. Chris as well. I sit on the couch and flip through the texts.
His text is from five minutes ago. Front door.
I roll my eyes, assuming he came to chew me out in person after our exchange. I consider not letting him in. It might make my night better, but he’d eventually win. He always does. Wiping my eyes, I hug my ice cream in the crook of one arm and go to the door.
In a suit, Chris is standing in front of the doorway when I open it. I step away and flip on the lights.
“The DA approved your protective detail,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply, facing him.
He looks me over, and I imagine he’s thinking what only Molly would say, that I’m not remotely presentable.
“We need to talk about Joseph’s proposal. I agreed to let them talk to you as both your father and your attorney. There aren’t a lot of options for you right now, and I can’t handle the politics as well as your family can.”
I wipe my eyes again. “I just …I’m overwhelmed. Molly can handle this shit, but I’m not like her. I can’t.”
“You aren’t like her,” he agrees. “This is a power play on Joseph’s part. He’s about to launch to the forefront of politics. If you want to be able to walk away from this, you have to let your siblings do what they do best. They’ll drag you into it and, when the buzz fades, they’ll quietly help you escape the limelight – permanently.”
“They said that?” I ask, reluctantly interested.
“They did.”
“Why do you trust them? If I can make Joseph look good, he’ll never leave me alone.”
“He will if your mother hangs a substantial amount of money over his head.”
“Always money and politics,” I say, anger flooding me. “Does no one in this family do anything because it’s the right thing to do?”
“Only you,” Chris says.
“I really feel like I can’t handle too much more,” I say. “I don’t think I can go on talk shows.”
“It’s a lot to think about. I’ve asked them if they’ll consider a less visible presence. He’ll likely negotiate, if he likes what you have to say.”
I like the idea of having some say in my life, and of walking away sooner rather than later. If it means selling my soul to politics … then no. Never. “Give me a few days to think about it,” I say at last.
“Your protective detail starts in the morning. They should be seamlessly integrated into your existing team.”
“Great. My babysitters will have babysitters,” I mumble.
“I think Gerard wants to have dinner with you Friday night. His secretary should contact you.”
“I don’t want to see him,” I say, somewhat depressed by the reminder my former-father doesn’t give a shit.
“Go, Mia. It might be the last time you see him for a very long time. Talk to him. Ask him any questions you have. Tell him whatever you need to tell him for closure on your end.”
Chris’ advice is good, as always. I nod, distressed already by the idea of confronting Gerard after all I’ve learned.
I fiddle with my phone. “You haven’t checked this in a few days,” I murmur.
“Has it been out of your possession, even for a second?”
“It was in my room when Madison attacked me,” I reply. “I put it in my sports bra during practice and sleep with it under my pillow.”
“From what I gather, someone had to have physically altered your phone in order to monitor your calls and texts. I’m pretty sure one of your classmates might’ve been bribed by paparazzi or something.” He shakes his head. “There were a lot of people in your apartment. It’s probably fine, but I’m not risking it anymore.”
“I can’t live without my phone,” I say, not about to let him take it from me tonight.
“Don’t text or call anyone unless it’s an emergency. Come by the house before school, and I’ll have a replacement.”
I’m so tired of this shit.
Chris leaves soon after.
I’m troubled by the idea of our family fracturing, even if I’ve never truly felt a part of it. I eat a pint of ice cream and then go my safe room to
sleep.
I pick up my new phone, let everyone know my new number and then sit through a grueling day of school. Gerard’s secretary contacts me after school. My community service is moved from Friday to Thursday to accommodate the dinner. It’s not a political event, from what I can tell. The secretary says it’ll be a private dinner at the house.
I dread it and yet … I also feel less pressure than usual about interacting with Gerard. I’m hurt by his indifference over the years, even though I now understand why he distances himself from me. I also feel like I have what I’ve always wanted – a daddy who cares – and whatever this dinner is about, I don’t really care what Gerard thinks of me anymore.
As I leave home for school on Friday, I start to feel nervous. I don’t want to, and I spend the day angry with myself for feeling pressured by the dinner. There were so many days in the past where I would’ve given anything for a private dinner with Gerard. I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to him and keep drawing a blank. Conflicted, all I can think about is getting through the dinner and returning home.
After school, I return home to change. As I stand in my closet, I smile, recalling the good part of my encounter with my mother before she dropped all those bombshells.
I also start counting how long it’s been since the incident.
In just over three months, my world has changed in almost every way possible. I gaze at the party dresses that used to make up my weekend attire. Ari and I partied a lot last year, almost every weekend. I don’t miss it. I don’t miss the loud music, hangovers and strange guys hitting on me. I tried drugs at more than one party but got freaked out by their effects. I don’t miss that or being drunk either.
I’m not the same person who wore those dresses. I don’t even know her anymore. She probably never would’ve given someone like Dom the time of day, and she definitely wouldn’t find community service rewarding, in its own way.
I’m not the woman who wears the kind of boring clothing Molly had made for me, either. I’m somewhere in between. Or maybe, something altogether different. As I sort through my clothes, I start to throw the pieces I no longer identify with on the floor. I’ll take them to the women’s shelter and donate them. They always need clothing and other essentials.
I keep the clothing Molly sent over, just in case, and look over what’s left.
There’s not much. Designer jeans and slacks, leggings, a few sundresses, a handful of blouses and t-shirts. The color palette is different, too. I used to wear either straight black or brightly colored dresses and shirts. The remaining clothing is generally in earthy shades: browns, tans, greens, soft yellows, some blues, and pale pinks.
My taste has changed a lot recently, too.
I consider wearing one of the boring, conservative outfits Molly prefers before turning away from that side of the closet.
Gerard always wanted me to be a second Molly. This is the first night where I feel the freedom to be who I am around him.
I select my favorite pair of leggings and a blue, tunic style sweater shirt.
Pleased with myself, I toss on a pair of comfortable shoes, add my favorite jewelry and stand in front of the mirror.
I look like … me. Not the senator’s daughter or a mini-Molly. I look like someone who has control of her own life, which means wearing whatever damn clothing she wants to.
My eyes go to the bruises around my neck. I’m not confident enough to leave my neck exposed, even if Gerard deserves to see the damage Madison did the second time around. I wrap a scarf around my neck and then grab my purse and phone to leave.
Fabio trails me down the hallway and to the elevator. We descend and meet two more Fabios in the lobby.
My vehicles are waiting. I climb in the back of one and pull out my phone to text Ari. I shouldn’t be this nervous.
“Good evening, Ms. Abbott-Renou.”
My heart somersaults in my chest.
“Dom?” I ask and lean forward. I rarely pay attention to the security detail. He’s seated in the front passenger seat. The original Fabio is driving and another Fabio is beside me in the back. “What’re you doing here?”
“The officers in my unit are taking turns being assigned to your protective detail,” he replies. “I can’t return to my normal duty until I’m cleared by the doc, and I’m not about to go on desk duty.”
His laugh is forced. His mask is back. He’s on professional mode.
I’ve hated myself since telling him we can’t even be friends. Here he is, helping me again.
Unable to understand what I should or shouldn’t say to him, I subside into silence and text Ari. I’m not about to tell her he’s part of my detail. She’ll read all kinds of hidden meaning into it.
Nervous, conflicted, and now guilty, I arrive to Gerard’s.
Fabio climbs out of the car and opens my door. He accompanies me to the door, and Dom trails. One of Gerard’s lackeys opens it, and my mandatory babysitter walks through first, scans the lobby then motions for me to enter. I used to be embarrassed by this process. It’s overkill, especially at Gerard’s. Anymore, I’m just wondering how much longer I have to go through it. I don’t want to spend my life being escorted everywhere I go.
I have to admit, I feel safer with Dom around. The other Fabios keep their distance. I don’t know their real names or anything about them. But I know Dom.
Gerard’s lackey escorts me through the house, not to the formal dining room, but outside, where a table with four chairs and four sets of dinnerware has been set up on the verandah. Lit by candles, and framed by a pleasant evening, the intimate setting is far more down to earth than any dinner I’ve ever attended with Gerard.
I wait for Fabio to look around before I approach Gerard, who is dressed casually and standing beside the table. He’s unfazed by the security precautions. As far as Fabio knows, Gerard is my father. That doesn’t stop my hulking guardian from walking with me to the table and taking up a position at the door.
I have nothing to fear here. Gerard isn’t the kind of person who gets his hands dirty.
Dom’s position is several feet away from us, his back to us as his focus remains on the extensive lawns behind the house. He’s wearing the obligatory earpiece all my bodyguards wear and a suit rather than his uniform.
He looks really nice in a suit.
“Hi, darling,” Gerard greets me with a hug. My focus turns to him, and I’m instantly thrown off guard.
The last time he hugged me was first grade. I can’t even recall why he hugged me then.
I awkwardly return the embrace.
“Hi …” I stop, flustered already. I’ve called him Daddy all my life. “Gerard.”
He overlooks my awkwardness. “Have a seat.”
I do so. Fresh bread and croissants – my favorite – are on the table already. Uncertain what to do, I pluck up an almond croissant and nibble on it.
“How is your new place?” he asks me, as if he cares.
“Great. Ari decorated it for me.”
“That’s what her father told me. He’s been very supportive.”
I mumble some vague response about Mr. Stevens being nice. I’m a little surprised Gerard has spoken to Mr. Stevens. I know they don’t particularly care for one another, and Chris has been involved in the day to day of my life.
Gerard is smiling openly. I’ve never seen him do that towards me. Is this a political thing? Am I here for a reason other than to have dinner with the man who raised me? Joseph and Molly both wanted to be seen in public with me to raise their visibility and likeability. But no one else is here to witness Gerard hanging out with me.
I’m not sure what this is about, but I feel like it’s not about me.
Then I notice the third place setting at the table, and I start to grow uneasy. Chris doesn’t trust Gerard. He doesn’t have to say it for me to know it. I think we both view this dinner as the last time I’ll ever have a face to face with my former father figure.
“I wanted to thank you,�
� I say. “Chris and Mama told me about everything. You didn’t have to raise me or support me like you have. It’s nice of you to take care of the apartment and everything, too.”
“My pleasure, Mia. Any man would be proud to have you as his daughter.”
Really? I manage not to ask the question aloud. I spent my entire life waiting to hear those words. I thought they’d have no impact after all I’ve learned – but they do. I still want him to love me or at least, to approve of me, if he’s not capable of love.
But I shouldn’t. I should never have to guess where I stand with anyone I care about. Chris has proved that he cares for me. Gerard hasn’t.
“I thought we could talk tonight,” Gerard continues. “You are going through a lot with much more drama to come. How are you handling it?”
I lean back, confused. I may want him to care, but the fact that he does is kind of freaking me out.
“It’s rough,” I admit. “It’s been rough for three months.”
“The incident with that Madison fellow is being handled to your satisfaction?”
“Not really. He’s gone missing, and I have a police protective detail.”
“He has much to atone for. The law will find him, I’m sure of it. I heard the videos from your apartment are going to be admissible in court. He made a confession I believe.”
“He said a lot of stupid shit,” I say, disturbed to think I’m spending my evening talking about Madison. “It’s being handled by the police.”
“I can always make a phone call to encourage them to work faster, if you need me to.”
“Um, thanks. I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”
“I understand. I thought it was a good place for us to start.”
“How about asking me how I am or telling me how your day was?” I ask in irritation.
His smile is that of a politician – polite without committing to anything. “I receive daily reports about you,” he assures me. “I read all of them.”
But that’s not the same as caring. I don’t say anything. I sip water and pull apart my croissant.
“I’d like to talk to you about Madison a little more,” Gerard says.