I made a smug noise, crossing my arms. I replied, “You don’t want to know how I’d answer that.”
“All truths, I’m sure,” he quipped, and although his demeanor was confident and sure, as he reached for the snifter and refilled the glass, I caught a glimpse of his expression in profile, and it held none of the arrogance of his posture.
“You can’t run me off, you know,” I said. “I think you know by now I’ll do anything for him. And I think you know I’m willing to fight. If he could have ridden his bike down here, he would have. He’d be camped out on your pavement in his sleeping bag waiting for some sign from you. So understand—I’m here on his mission, not my own; which means I’m not giving up.”
“All right.”
“All right,” I repeated doubtfully. “That’s it?”
“Are you withdrawing the request?” he lifted an eyebrow in challenge, but I refused to be baited.
“There is no request. This is off the record and at my leisure. I can plan something for next week. We’ll be at the shop Saturday morning, but after that we’re free. Let’s say five. Should we meet here, or is there somewhere else you had in mind?”
“We,” he quoted. I looked up from my phone’s calendar—he was still as a stone.
Matching his stillness, I replied, “Yes.” Then it sunk in. “You couldn’t possibly think I’d leave him alone with you?” I didn’t think he’d kidnap him, exactly, but I wasn’t taking chances either—and looking around the least child-friendly residence in NY, my mommy intuition clamored.
“Yes. Of course not,” he replied softly, not affronted at all.
I pursed my lips. “I’m allowing his request to see you, but this will be on my terms. That means no one else. Especially not your dad. So you either agree to monitored visits or none at all.”
“Are you punishing me with your company?”
“My supervision,” I corrected.
“I don’t deserve such punishment.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I look forward to it, then.”
Despite meeting my objective, I left with the same feeling I always had after being with Daniel regardless of the outcome—like somehow I had lost.
Chapter 28 - A Friendly Match/Hunter Interlude
We were sitting on the bench waiting. Daniel was running behind. He’d resurfaced this week. Even the papers took note. There were details of a meeting with another firm, and an offer for a position, speculatively in the finance section. The new firm’s stock went up a little bit the day the article was published. Money and character were never one in the same, I sighed. The sun was beginning to set and Tristan was tired from lizard hunting, so he nestled against me and began telling me a story about his favorite animated lion movie. I bent my head to listen, half-tuned out. I’d told everyone what we were doing and blocked all objections. This wasn’t about them. I wanted this feeling of anguished deprivation Tristan suffered to be over more than anything else. It was a hollow feeling I saw inside him. Where I had planted something meant to stay in his heart by welcoming Daniel to our lives—in that sweet new grass was a hole. Larger than the one he’d saved for the unknown entity who would be his dad, because now he knew what he was missing. Absence was missing; awareness was loss. This wasn’t nourishment though, making governed peace with my son’s father. Personally I couldn’t have felt less fulfilled. Something very wooden about it deep down.
“Is he coming, Mom?” he asked with a yawn, after the tale had petered out. The things mothers do, I thought, as I brushed back his hair. It had grown back out to the way it was before.
“Yes, love. He’ll be here,” I reassured, still contemplating misgivings. I rubbed his arm. He was tired and in minutes he’d dozed into a nap.
“Wake up,” I whispered and he stirred.
I’d spotted a tall figure passing under the lights heading towards us. Tristan looked up at me and smiled excitedly, then whipped his head towards the coming form of Daniel. Tristan was practically vibrating with energy and nervousness. He whipped his head back to me for consent, his eyes begging to go meet his dad. I nodded him onward. Hesitantly he slid off the bench and I smiled, but not to my eyes.
Daniel walked briskly, appearing distracted in thought, and finally when his eyes found us, he slowed. I was concerned and could feel Tristan was too, when just a few feet away he stopped, arms at his sides his chest rising and falling, eyes seemingly disbelieving. All at once Tristan stepped towards him. Daniel folded to his knees. Then Tristan flung himself into Daniel’s chest, and Daniel wrapped him in a tight embrace. There was dew on the leaves, I’d seen, both dark and bright.
I was already off my seat, both surprised and moved by the scene. Tristan wasn’t ‘the boy’ to him. I took a few steps and smoothed Tristan’s hair as his head rested on his father’s shoulder and a strong arm coiled me into the embrace. I tensed and pulled back, but Daniel wasn’t letting go. He just held us both and whispered painfully, assuredly.
“A thousand times….” That’s what I thought I heard him saying. “…a thousand times….”
~o~
“Who is with them?” Daniel asked. He approached my apartment door from the kitchen, his ear a few inches from the door. He’d just returned Tristan home from soccer drills at the park just in time for his afternoon date with Chen. Annie had got them both tickets to the planetarium for a show. Zack was going too, but he’d meet them there. He wanted nothing to do with Daniel.
We’d had many successful visits with Daniel. He was calmer. More intentional. He treated his time with Tristan as a privilege. Tristan was happier than ever, and that made me happy for him. I never took an eye off Daniel. Even though he’d begun doing everything right—showing up to karate performances, calling occasionally at bedtime to say goodnight even when he was out of the country, bringing home small trinkets for Tristan from far-off countries—it was grossly too little too late in my eyes and the eyes of my friends. Most of them that is. Violet was quick to forget, especially since the controversy increased her sales numbers. Also, she understood.
And there was the real surprise: August.
After our reengagement, Daniel reached out to him. I’m not sure how that conversation went, but Daniel apologized. August said he explained he had been given false information. August remained reluctant, but since then Daniel has been diligently assisting August’ new endeavor, a private hedge fund, delivering to him a massive silent investor that green-lighted the whole thing. Most of Daniel’s traveling was for his own ambitions, though. I wasn’t sure what Daniel had planned for his next step, seeing as he’d severed from the corporation he’d been raised in.
Jill’s whispers were right. Hawk Baird resigned from public office, returning to the position of CEO. So much for public service. Jill still swore the divorce was real, although not one line of it has managed to make any of the news.
Daniel lingered now, at my door, because as he’d arrived moments ago with Tristan, I’d been in the middle of making a tea for Annie when my sink cabinet began to pour water onto the floor. In a high-rise this is a huge no-no. Annie let them in, and Daniel took over in the kitchen while I kissed a late running Tristan good-bye. Daniel didn’t fix it, but he did get the water turned off. The bottom cabinets smelled like mildew. It’d been leaking for some time. Between that and my not-so-elegant open fronts, it looked like I did need to remodel.
What had his attention at the moment was the sound of Hunter’s and Violet’s raised voices all the way from Violet’s apartment. We could hear them, muffled, down the hall and through my door. That meant they were being extremely loud.
“No one was with them when I saw them earlier,” I said and sat at my table. “It’s just them. What’s wrong?”
Daniel looked perplexed. “Hunter is yelling.”
“Violet’s holding her own,” I assured him. She was conservatively seventy-five percent of the exchange. “They’ll work it out. They’re a young couple; that’s what couples
do.”
“Make sure you tell Hunter that when you see him.” Daniel commented bemusedly, moving away from the door as the commotion ceased. “I’ve only witnessed him argue like this with his sisters.”
“That’s a funny image,” I said, tapping the stacks I’d spent the day on, evening up the edges. “We assumed he was an only child. He’s so private.”
“Only boy. He doesn’t return home often. His sisters try to lead him by the ear. I went home with him over holiday on occasion. Southern belles can be…passionate,” he finished, after I looked up to watch him find the right word. I pursed my lips and went back about my organizing, and he sat down across from me. “In trying to get their siblings to settle down. They are all married,” he added.
I peeked up. His face was relaxed, purportedly observing me work. “Some men aren’t the settle down type.”
“Or some women. Violet enjoys her freedom.”
I replied simply. “She’s allowed the same liberation at Hunter.” And you, I nearly added. I didn’t because as of recent, that didn’t seem accurate.
“What are these?” he asked, nonplussed, changing the subject.
“Coupons,” I said sharply.
“You’re cutting them.”
“That’s how you use them. It’s called clipping.”
“Why would you do that?” he inquired. “You have finances. Your business is doing well, and I saw that you inherited from your father, after his passing. And your mother.”
“Life insurance, and not much. Remind me again how you know that?” I said innocently, snapping my scissors closed twice. “I like coupons. And I enjoy clipping them. Call it force of habit.”
“Freud may have a different name for it,” Daniel observed.
“Freud was a man. He has the theories of one. I’m not convinced he had any real understanding of the innermost workings of an average woman,” I soldiered on, being only slightly snooty about it.
“What about an exceptional woman?” he probed.
“Those either,” I quipped.
“You said yourself women aren’t exempt from human nature. And natural desires.”
“Sure. That’s normal, I guess,” I said, glancing at him over my scissors. He was quietly studious. “But, he’s still a man. Women are more complicated than his understanding of us. I mean, we make humans. I could study my houseplant for fifty years and figure out it needs water every day. I wouldn’t be experiencing what it was like to be a thirsty houseplant. Speaking of which, would you mind looking for a plant food coupon in that housewares stack? The topiaries outside my showroom are brown.”
“I’ll buy you a compost farm.” He was only partly kidding, curling his lip at the stack.
I gave him a chiding look, and he reached for the stack, sliding it closer. When he was done, he looked up with an eyebrow raised and flipped over the top sheet. I nodded and got back to the page in my hand.
I fought back a smile, clipping away. “It must be hard for you to be on your best behavior.”
“No, this is an experience I’m glad to have,” he remarked, holding up a coupon for printer ink.
We heard a slamming door and Daniel lifted an eyebrow. We both got up to investigate. Hunt was walking down the hall rapidly, with his ever-so-slightly bow-legged gait. He had on faded jeans hanging off his hips and an old green shirt beneath his coat. Looked like he’d been spending a lot time in the sun. His skin was nearly as bronze as his roots, with sun-bleached ends. But the jacket looked stiff.
“Trouble in paradise?” Daniel smirked.
“Does this look like paradise? You see some hula dancers?” He extended his arm, scowling. He beat the arm of his coat a few times. “She sent it to a dry cleaner. You believe that?”
“How do you usually wash it?” I interjected trepidatiously. It was odd seeing Hunt worked up. “You do wash it, right?”
“With palm leaves in a wade pool, I believe,” Daniel supplied.
Hunt gave him a flat look. Violet trotted our way, hips swinging, in a short lime tank dress and gladiator sandals. Her icicle dyed hair was down, flipped outwards. Reaching us, she crossed her arms, posing with one leg out.
“Baby,” she called Hunt. It wasn’t a term of endearment.
“Woman.” His wasn’t either.
She rolled her eyes. “Hunt, I didn’t understand it was special, okay? Sorry. You don’t tell me stuff, though, so it’s not my fault,” Vi insisted, haughtily.
“Woman, now why would I tell you anything when you clearly can’t keep a lid on,” he said perturbed. “I’m going down to a coin laundry. See if I can get out this starch. I look like Gumby,” he muttered to no one particular, walking off to the elevator.
Daniel watched him and I turned to Violet. She shifted hips. “Baby,” she reiterated. Daniel’s lip curled upward.
“Oh. He really is,” I added helpfully. “He’s got big sisters.”
“See, this is what I’m telling him! He won’t even share his sign, when it’s obviously Leo. How was I supposed to know he only washes it in his mom’s detergent? How do you even get him?” she asked wide eyed, turning to Daniel.
“I can’t claim to, but give him time,” Daniel replied confidently, folding his arms. “I myself am only in his good graces since that coat found its way back.” She nodded. “A piece of advice?” he added before running his eyes over her, brow arched. Then he told her the name of what I guessed was the only passable detergent brand. It was the same one I used.
“Have it around only,” Daniel instructed. “He does his own washing.”
Vi looked at him appreciatively, then shied back realizing who she was conversing with. She switched her hips sharply all the way back to her apartment.
I gave a shrug to Daniel before walking back inside. He came, too, closing the door. I went to my sorting and he sat, watching. I would have showed him out, but I didn’t mind the company. Before long, something in the delicate way he was observing me caught my attention. I looked up and he looked away at my hands, licking his lips.
“You really haven’t?” he asked, using that tone I heard rarely these days, but it still gave me goosebumps. “Our subject from before.” It switched back. Business tone. Our eyes met and he raised a brow while handling a stack dedicated to breakfast foods. I over-couponed and usually ended up giving half to Annie. I watched his fingers slide and flip over the top one in preoccupation.
“What? That?” I waved off.
“I could help you,” he offered, helpfully.
“I don’t need your help.”
“Have you found someone?” he asked. We saw each other often but never alone. Never personal. I didn’t ask him anything, because I didn’t want him to think I cared or that he’d earned my individual concern. This felt incredibly and suddenly beyond that.
“No. Why? Are you fishing for more evidence? Building a new case against me?” I countered.
He gave me a look that said I’m going to ignore that. He pressed on. “You enjoy it. You also happen to be very good at it. So why aren’t you?”
“None of your business,” I said hotly to the most persistent person I’d ever met. “Worry about yourself. Why aren’t you?”
“Do you really want to know my answer?” he challenged, his eyes daring me. That shut me up. I made myself busy with the scissors. “I think, maybe, our reasons are not so dissimilar,” he said slowly, giving me that look that made me want to slink out of my body and seek somewhere more private.
“Daniel, nothing about us is similar.” Like a kitten and a crocodile, I thought.
“We could help each other,” he persisted, handling his next words with careful emphasis. “I only mention it because the horse has already been ridden, so to speak,” he paused, and something throbbed. “Ridden hard and put up wet, isn’t that the expression?”
“That’s the one.”
“An intriguing saying. My point being, there is no un-riding it,” he said suggestively. “The horse. It’s wasteful. And p
erhaps…you would enjoy a ride.”
“If you say the word ‘horse’ or ‘ride’ again, I’m going to throw you out.”
“As you wish,” he acknowledged seriously. His eyes gleamed. “And how do you feel about ‘hard’ and ‘wet’?”
I pushed myself back in my chair.
He shook his head in self admonishment. “Apologies. I don’t want to disturb you, truly, as much as I’d like to fuck you on this table. It just seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
I started breathing again. “What’s your deal with tables?”
“Convenience,” he replied, experienced.
I shifted uneasily in my seat but found myself engaged. “Traditionally, in America, the neighborly thing to do is to loan a cup of sugar or, you know, help with the plumbing,” I said.
“That is precisely what I am proposing. Plumbing for sugar.”
“Funny.”
“I don’t want to be your neighbor, Gabrielle,” his eyes glittered, and he stood. I did the same. He came to, slowly, and his lips dipped down to mine, and I tipped my face to meet him.
His hand reached for my waist settling on my hip. When he broke away, we stared; the air filled with expectancy, and I waited with a pounding heart for whatever came next. Resting back on my heels, my hand lost its grip on his shoulder, sliding down the artful length of his arm, and when the tips of my fingernails brushed his curled hand in passive enticement, he resisted completely. He became rigidly still and the moment of inebriation passed. I drew my hands away, confused, letting them fall at my sides. He looked down like he wished he could do the same. He answered the silent question with, “I need to know this is what you want,” he pressed deliberately, everything about him firmness and strength; except his eyes. “I need to know…I did not force it.”
I stepped back to understand, placing space between our bodies. The ball had never been in my court before. It was always him taking me to the brink, leaving me pardoned. I hung my participation around the neck of his magnetism, but he wasn’t allowing the alibi of complicity this time. It was my choice.
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 36