by Ava Claire
A few minutes ago, I would have stubbornly planted my feet and grunted that I preferred to stand. I decided to bury the hatchet. I knew that when it was all said and done, my mother had my back.
It didn't make her parroting the headlines any easier to swallow.
I dropped beside her with a sigh, cutting my eyes in her direction. Trying to not be swayed by the t-shirt. By the fact that underneath it all, I knew she'd pick up cars, dash into burning buildings, and take a bullet for me.
"Do you really think that I'd go after a man that was taken?" I paused, sure she would interrupt me before I even got the entire sentence out. If I wasn't stone cold sober after I decided that drinking would only put off the inevitable, I would have sworn that she hadn't heard me at all.
She was dead silent, essentially giving me her answer.
I snapped to my feet and the mess my mother hadn’t gathered rushed to cover the butt sized empty space. "You're really hitting it out of the park tonight-"
"Natalee, it's not like that!" she insisted, rising to her feet too.
The only thing that kept me from just writing this whole impromptu visit off as one of the most deflating in recent memory was the panic in her gaze. My mother did a lot of things: annoyance, disgust, impatience, with some genuine joy making a rare appearance every now and then. Panic? Worry that I was about to storm out and she'd have to have this conversation with my bedroom door? That was rare. That was enough to get my attention. Force me to hear her out. And since I was taking a stroll down memory lane, where things like closed bedroom doors were the norm (hello, teenage years), I threw in some crossed arms for good measure.
"What is it like then, Mom?" I was trying really hard to come across as angry and indignant, a grown ass woman who shouldn't be trifled with, but the voice that came out of my mouth was broken. Hurt. The little girl who just wanted her mother to hold her because it seemed like the world was collapsing all around her.
Her panic had morphed into shock. She was just as surprised by the fact that I hadn't stomped off as I was. It took her a minute to adjust, raising her chin and tidying up her shirt.
My inner cynic scoffed 'It's showtime!'. My heart? Well, it picked a fine time to go utterly soft.
Stupid shirt.
When she perched her hand on her hip and gave me a look that I'd tossed Jason's way a time or two, I almost felt sorry for him.
"I don't understand how you can be pissed at me when you were looking at him like that."
"Looking at him like what?" I huffed, positive that if she was going by that grainy photo, the only thing she got a hint of was that there was some unidentified brunette sharing dinner with someone that kinda looked just gorgeous enough to be famous.
She lurched toward her purse and scooped out her phone. I didn't have to wait for her to figure anything out because she was more tech savvy than I was. She held up her screen for me to see, and my heart immediately surged to my throat.
Since I'd been avoiding all things with headlines and pictures, I'd missed the latest round of images. This one was a classic—a shot of Jason and I at the Madison Creations cupcake booth.
Even if I didn't remember every aching moment from our encounter, from the heat that spread like wildfire every time his dimple winked at me, to the flash of hope that maybe we could start over, I couldn’t deny that I did have ‘the look’. The look that I used to have when I looked at my ex. The look that I'd tried to run away from because I thought he was playing me for a fool, again. It was right there. In living color.
I looked like a woman in love.
And that was before I knew him. How stubborn he was. How he deflected with humor and a quick wit that almost matched mine. A man that ran away from love almost as vigorously as I did. With parents that drove him just as crazy as mine did me. But when I eyed my mother, I felt my frustration evaporate. I even let go of my niggling annoyance that my dad didn't put his foot down and insist that he come along, because I was his daughter too. It drifted out of my grasp, like a balloon string getting caught by the wind, fluttering out of reach.
I swallowed a knot I wasn't aware was lodged in my throat until now. "So I'm making googly eyes at some dude." I relocked my arms across my chest and jutted out my bottom lip. "I still don't understand how any of that translates to your daughter being capable of roping some other woman's man."
"Because I did."
I blinked, sure that my ears were playing tricks on me. There was no way that my mother would do such a thing. Or admit it to me, if she had committed such an act.
"You did what?" I asked warily, my hands dropping to my sides.
She suddenly became preoccupied with the state of her nails, peering at the acrylic with laser-like focus before holding them out and fluttering her slender fingers. "Snagged a taken man."
I arched my eyebrows, pretty certain I didn't want to hear the dirty details about her sordid, man stealing past. "I'm not sure what to say to that, Mom."
"Well, you of all people should be telling me thank you." She gave me a sly grin. "It was your father."
My eyes popped from their sockets as I took a step toward her, then stopped myself from going any closer. There was a part of me that wanted to plug my ears. I didn't want to picture her wooing Dad, even if the end result was me. From the look of relief that was all over her face, it was clear that she was glad to finally share that juicy tidbit. And knowing my mother, I was about to get way more information than I wanted.
She swatted her platinum flyaways, her smile no longer a demure and secretive thing, but showing me every bleached tooth in her mouth. "Don't look at me like that, Natalee!" She licked her lips and since I wasn't moving from my safe distance, she leaned forward. "They weren't serious. I would never go after someone that was truly committed."
I shook my head, holding up my hands and backing up a step. I didn't want to touch her moral tic tac toe (or any lustful memories) with a ten foot pole. "Whatever you need to tell yourself." I went still, holding up a finger when I remembered the 'how we met' story my mother had told a million times. "So I guess you didn't meet dad when you were working at Rudy's Diner when he almost got into a fist fight with a handsy customer?"
It was her favorite story to tell and she was always spurned on by Dad turning bright red every time she had a captive audience.
"It didn't happen exactly like that," she explained, biting her lip coyly. "His girlfriend was tore up from the floor up, drunk or high or both and was propositioning every man that came into the diner. Most of them scurried off to their own significant others or ignored her advances, but one beefy looking trucker was more than willing to take her up on the offer." Even though my imagination did a good job filling in the blanks from the descriptor 'beefy looking trucker', my mother still went out of her way to contort her face, hunch her shoulders, and spread her arms at her side to demonstrate this mystery man's girth. "Your father had played along with his ex's antics, shrugging it off as he does, but when the guy reached for her and she declined his offer to hook up in the back room, the trucker called her a bitch." My mother's eyes got that far off look and I knew she was reliving those moments. "Your dad rose up, his shadow alone making this man continue on his way and when he foolishly thought he was about to sit in my section, I sent him packing. Your dad stared him down until his truck pulled out of the parking lot. " She sighed whimsically and I could almost picture her ogling Dad with hearts beating in her eyes.
I wasn't sure what to be more shocked by, that Dad had almost gotten into some sort of diner fight, or that Mom had been so smitten. She snarled 'men' whenever the tabloids shared that yet another celebrity marriage was dissolving because the dude was screening the nanny. My mother was the nanny. She was the other woman.
I put aside my knee jerk reaction, trying to remember that things were never black and white. This whole thing with Jason had taught me that. We were straight up in some gray area and since I'd decided to just bury my head in the sand and ignore it like t
hat would make it go away, hadn't I lost the right to be judgmental about matters of the heart?
Now I had the faraway look and it earned a wink from my mother before she picked her story back up.
“Naturally, his ex was too belligerent to realize what a steal she had, talking crap the rest of their meal. So when I brought over their bill, I put my phone number on the end of it. We talked on the phone for hours for a week before he ended things and..." She gave me a ta-da flourish. "We lived happily ever after and had the most beautiful little girl."
Her flourish melted into an attempt to give me a hug, but I sidestepped her, smirking despite my attempts to maintain my annoyance.
"So, you think because you took another woman's dude, I did the same thing?"
"Nothing quite so dramatic," she scoffed, playing off my diss by striding into the kitchen. She plucked a glass from the strainer, then held it up to the light and shuddered, rummaging through cabinets for dish soap. "I know from experience that the heart wants what it wants."
"Well, my heart wanted to be left alone altogether," I muttered. From the look my mother gave me, she wasn't buying it. I wasn't even buying it. I had a million opportunities to walk away from Jason and I passed on every one. Even now, I didn't block him. I could close the door on us forever, for real, but my heart wouldn't let me.
The heart wants what it wants.
And my heart wanted Jason.
The sound of the water was enough to remind me that before all this mess I was gonna embark on a Kleenex sponsored cryfest. Emotion bubbled in my chest, ready to boil over and erupt from my mouth in sobs. Streak down my cheeks.
If I saw anything short of dismissiveness in my mother's eyes, I was a goner. When she shut off the water and looked at me, all I saw was love.
I swiped at my cheeks, sniffing. "My allergies have been killing me lately."
Mom knew me well enough to keep her distance and play along. Poorly. "Uh huh. I've got some Claritin in my purse if you need some."
"What I need is some common sense," I groaned. I stepped over garbage and leaned against the counter, eyeballing my clean up list that I had to tackle before my roommate got back. A welcome distraction from everything else. "Even if he's not lying and this whole thing with this other woman is bullshit, I'm just asking for trouble dating someone like him. Someone filthy rich. Someone so gorgeous that I'm gonna spend my life trying to keep women like you at bay." I paused long enough to give her a full-on grin. She responded by sticking her tongue out at me, and all was right in our world.
Unfortunately, I'd opened the can of worms and all my insecurities kept pouring from my lips. "He's going to get bored with me. I'm not fancy. I'm stubborn. And he's stubborn too. And such a smart ass." My heart stuttered in my chest when I pictured his jaw locked, that look in his eye that he wouldn’t budge. That look that made me want to pound his chest with my fists...and tear off all his clothes.
"If any man has the honor of being chosen by you and walks away, he's a fucking idiot." She said it simply, dusting off her hands and taking a gulp of her water. She swallowed and added, "Besides, it sounds like you're not worried about him leaving. You're worried about what happens if he stays. What you'll have to give." Even though she was just drinking water, she cringed like she was drinking something harder. "Being vulnerable is the scariest thing you'll ever do...and the most rewarding."
I wanted to shrug off her fortune cookie wisdom, but it rang true. It echoed in my chest and reached down in to the darkest parts of me and shined a light on my biggest fear.
It wasn't that the tabloids were right. Jason had shown me over and over that he wasn't going anywhere. It was what came next. The words that would strip me naked, and not in the way that we did so well. Emotionally bare and exposed. Heart on my sleeve. Weak.
And still, I couldn't admit it to myself.
I reached over and stole a gulp of her water. "Well, none of that matters because he's in the rich part of town, holed up himself."
Another knock sounded and I bounded over to answer the door, pulling it open without looking, sure it was an Amazon order I'd forgotten about.
I gasped when I realized that I was face to face with someone.
Someone that wasn't delivering a package.
Or in the rich part of town, holed up.
Jason Cox was standing in my doorway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: JASON
Nothing will ever be the same.
Those words weren't written on the banners that were scattered through Martin Prep, congratulating the seniors on the impending graduation. The yearbooks hadn't been passed out, the final pages lamenting that we'd never haunt these halls again; parties would be upgraded from undercover things when parents were on vacation to keggers in dorm rooms and frat houses. The timer was on, ticking away until youthful indiscretion would no longer fly; until trust funds were obliterated. Then we'd settle down with women that looked good on paper, teeth glittering in the society pages—and the vicious cycle would continue.
My eyes dropped to her belly, then tiptoed back to her gaze. Those words were right there in the blue. And it had nothing to do with graduation. Truth be told, I think both of us stopped thinking about diplomas and freshman year at Ivy Leagues when that plastic stick changed our lives forever.
Even though we were in the den (my call, to usher her away from my mother's piercing, judgmental glare), the sound of a woman I knew had never done a dish in her life cut through the silence. Porcelain and glass clanged together, wooden doors slammed shut echoing through my bones, a hollow reminder that there was no such thing as privacy in this house. No corners left to hide away secrets. And in a month, she wouldn't be able to hide the curve of her belly, either.
I knew that my mother paused long enough to crane her head in our direction, hoping for a whiff of our conversation. Hell, I was surprised she hadn't installed a camera in here. To keep an eye on me. To monitor Dad's porn consumption when he locked himself in here for hours on end.
I smiled to myself when I was the one making the noise, slamming our door shut. Picturing the indignant flare of my mother's nostrils.
I wheeled back to Cassidy and my smile evaporated. Not even thinking, forgetting that letting my guard down was what put us in this mess in the first place, I gripped her shoulders, my eyes searching hers. Eyes that used to make me feel like I was the best thing that ever happened to her. That made me want to admit that she was the best thing that ever happened to me. Now, they just looked tired. Too tired to even look at me.
"What's wrong?" My voice came out funny. Too rough. Too filled with the distance that I'd put between us when she told me about the...
The...
I swallowed and pretended like it wasn't still impossible for me to say the word. "Talk to me."
That garnered a reaction, the blue gold in her eyes flashing like lightning. "We were never very good at talking, Jason. That was kind of the problem."
I locked my jaw, the smirk that came so easy curving my lips. Remembering those moments, when we spent hours exploring each other's mouths, each other's bodies, was definitely better than hanging out in the present. "I don't remember you doing too much complaining."
She pushed me backward with both hands, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Complaining to you is a waste of breath. I tell you that morning sickness is a bitch, you bring me a ginger ale. I tell you my back hurts? A day at the spa. Groan about my swollen feet? Brand new slippers."
I cocked my head to the side like I was missing some key piece of information that would make everything click into place. "You're mad at me because I tried to make you feel better?"
She opened her mouth and snapped it shut, letting out a frustrated groan. "Those are just things, Jason. I don't need things. I just wanted-" She didn't finish, but I didn't need her to.
She wanted love. Support.
And her back was turned because while we spent more time naked and getting to know what interesting combinations our bodies could m
ake, we didn't spend too much time getting to know each other. But she knew enough. She'd met my parents. Seen how they were with each other. How they were with me. I wasn't the warm and fuzzy type. It wasn't in my DNA.
I was all thumbs, but I figured this was where I should apologize. Try and make things right. "Look, I'm s-"
"I lost it."
Three words.
And life would never be the same again.
It. The word my parents had used in hushed tones. Like saying the word, like saying ‘baby’ would make it real.
Their son, their pride and joy, knocked up the girl down the street.
I hadn't said the word myself, terrified of what it meant. Terrified of the man I'd have to become.
It was selfish, but I should have been grateful. I got my life back. Instead I just felt...hollow.
Tears were what should have sprung to my eyes, but the wires got crossed and I laughed. It was a choked, strangled sound, but it was out before I could stop it.
And when she whirled around, I knew I'd regret that sound for the rest of my life.
I didn't even dodge, watching her hand slice toward my face, feeling the explosion of pain. It was a jolt to my system. Snatching me away from the trappings of not caring. Pretending that this baby was an ‘it’. Pretending that whether or not she gave it up for adoption or raised it on her own would change one simple fact : we made a life together.
A life that was gone.
The tears that stabbed my eyes weren't a reaction to the slap, though from her horrified expression I knew she wouldn't believe the truth. Not if it came from my lips. She'd never believe another word I said.
"Fuck you." It was a parting snarl that she threw over her shoulder. Ready to storm out of the den. Out of this house. Out of my life. Writing me off as the Jason that everyone said I was.
A jerk.
I couldn’t let her leave. I had to try. I had to tell her she wasn't alone. That I was here.