by Tara Brown
“Please don't say sorry anymore. I don't care. What you did was never intended to be mean to me. You’ve never been mean to me, since we were five. Never. I believe you and I’m sorry I got so pissed and acted crazy. I’m ashamed of being so easy to trick and being so gullible and that I blamed you and Matt for something William did.” The reason she’s whispering isn’t someone else being there. It’s shame.
“How’s it going?” I change the subject, hating that she’s alone with this. “I mean, other than sending a random slut-shaming letter to most of our friends.”
“Oh, I don't even know what I was thinking. Everything else is fine. Work is great. Apparently, I might have a bit of a drinking problem—blackout drunk twice in two weeks.”
“I’ll show you drinking problems. I’ve been drunk before three every day this week.” I try to joke but the whole two weeks of us fighting has been misery. Then I ask the question I want to, “How’s Brady?”
“Weird. Distant. I roped him into being my cover model and since that day he’s been weird. Spending a lot of time away from home. I’m assuming you guys told him what you told me, and he’s freaking out thinking I believe we should just move in and start—anyway, he’s been super distant and not home much. It’s sort of strange. We were hitting it off awesome and then not. We’re still doing fine, but it’s awkward now. Which it shouldn't be. It should be easier; we’ve lived together for like three weeks. I wish you guys hadn’t told him.”
“I never told him. Matt might have.” I will kill Matt if he did.
“Maybe. But maybe I was too forward when I did the photo shoot. I was joking around a lot. Maybe I scared him. I was pretty hungover and gross.”
“I wouldn’t worry. He’s probably busy with hockey. They eat, sleep, and dream about it. What did you do for the last two weeks?” I know what she’s been doing. Brady has been keeping tabs.
“Nothing. I played video games, went for runs, worked, and played more video games. It’s been good and bad. I need to break things off with William. I’ve been avoiding him since you were here. Sending crappy one-word texts so he doesn't think I’m dead and get my mom worked up.”
“Can I come for a visit?” I can’t stand this.
“Please come,” her voice cracks.
“I’ll meet you at the apartment when you get off. What time is that at, like four?”
“Five. I’ll be there by five fifteen.”
“Okay, me too.” I hang up and look at the dinner demands from my parents. I am expected to show up for dinner Friday night at home in Greenwich. “Shit.”
“You okay?” Nadia asks as she puts away some clothes.
“No. The Palfreys will be at my parents’ house for dinner next Friday and I’m expected to be there. Zach Palfrey isn’t my kind of fun. He’s nice but he’s a ladder climber who does everything his parents tell him to. I heard he asked his dad’s permission to play on a farm team and his dad won’t let him play pro. So when he’s sowed his hockey oats he’s going into the family business of finance.”
She wrinkles her nose. “He sounds weak.”
“Right.” I point and remember the guy who isn’t weak but I was shitty to last night. “I need to make a quick call and then can you have Vincenzo bring the car around? Maybe fifteen minutes?”
“So twenty-five?” she asks as she leaves the room.
“Yeah.” I don’t even bother with a text. I’ve been neurotic for two weeks and we’ve been doing so well, even with my mental instability.
“Hello?” he answers coldly.
“Hi.”
“I have practice, I can’t talk.”
“I’m sorry. I have been crazy for two weeks and I am admitting it like an adult.” The entire sentence tastes like death.
“You and Natalie made up?” He still sounds cold.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I accept your apology. Thanks for calling.”
“Matt.” Does he want me to beg? I’m not fucking begging.
“Sami.” He isn’t warming at all. There’s no smile in his tone.
“Fine, whatever. Have a good practice.” I end the call and stare at my phone. He’s the most complicated guy I’ve ever met.
Deciding not to participate in the guilt he’s obviously trying to make me feel, even though I apologized, I pack for the night in Hartford.
When I get there, we make up and then go to party with her coworkers where I meet Hartford Sami: Liz. She’s nice. Way nicer than I am. She actually suits Nat. The whole table of mouth-breathing dorks suit her.
I play the part of fun Sami, pushing my wandering mind away. But it doesn’t stop me from checking my phone to see if Matt’s messaged.
He doesn’t.
Not even when I get home to New York and I know he’s back in the city.
I waste time pouring over my business proposal, getting all the ideas Wellsman and I have been brainstorming. As the chief financial officer of our companies, I trust his advice. He’s the only person I’ve told about my business plan. I didn’t tell him I came up with it because I was feeling self-conscious in public about the image I’m slapped with.
The proposal hasn’t been difficult to draw up, but the financial aspects were, so he helped.
It’s all hard to focus on with Matt not talking to me.
He’s not doing his usual antics, trying to win me over or make me want him. He’s ignoring me completely.
It’s starting to feel like he’s calling my bluff. He’s had enough of the game. And the sex that one night isn’t enough to make him stay with me through this deal I’ve forced on us both.
At the time I made it, I never imagined we’d be in September, stuck and feeling silly. It’s redundant now. We’ve fucked. We’ve kissed so passionately that if I think about it now, I blush. He’s the only person in the world who makes my stomach ache simply by being near me. I have never understood the word “longing” the way I do now.
But if I call and put that out there and he shoots me down, tells me he’s just done, or he’s lost that feeling for me, I will die. My mosaic heart will crumble and I’ll marry Zach Palfrey and sleep with the young bartenders at the country club. I’ll take Ativan and cry in the shower when I need to.
I’ll become my mom.
And that’s just not an option.
My entire week coasts this way.
Barely eating.
Hardly sleeping.
Constantly worrying.
When Friday rolls around I actually contemplate faking the flu as I climb into the car with Vincenzo. The long drive and my lack of texts is enough to make me crazy. I take the edge off with a glass of scotch. It becomes two. And ends with me feeling a little happier than I need to for dinner with family friends.
When I arrive at the house, Mom escorts me into the kitchen and passes me a bun. “You drank your lunch?”
“No.” I burp and take the bread. “I drank my afternoon snack.”
“You know, Sami, this irresponsible phase is actually just becoming who you are, and you’re way too old not to be living your life in a productive way. It’s pathetic to see you wasting all your time and our money,” she sneers and leaves me in the kitchen.
Tears build in a lump in my throat but the bread pushes them back down.
I paste a smile on my face, ignoring the kitchen staff staring at me, and stand up straight for my exit into the living room.
I can almost feel the strings moving my body as I smile at the Palfreys.
“Sami, darling, you’ve grown into such a lady.” Mrs. Palfrey takes me into her embrace and kisses my cheeks. “It’s lovely to see you, dear.”
“Yes, you as well,” I say, almost on command. My father’s eyes dart from me to my mother as if some sort of hateful Morse code.
“My wife is correct; you have grown into a beautiful woman.” Richard Palfrey hugs me, smelling an awful lot like scotch himself. I recall him better than his wife. I always thought he was cute when I was younger. “And surely you remember our s
on.” He directs me to the left where Zach Palfrey is standing with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Zachary.”
“Of course.” I saunter to him, trying desperately to maintain my composure. When he takes my hand and kisses the back of it, I have to admit he got hotter. A lot hotter. He’s way taller than I recall and he might have grown into his man body. Marrying him might not be the end of the world. The end of my heart, yes, but not the end of the world.
“Sami,” he mutters.
“Zach.”
“How’s Matt?” He lowers his voice as our parents resume whatever conversation I’ve interrupted.
“I wouldn’t know,” I answer truthfully.
“Oh.” He’s surprised. “You aren’t seeing him?”
“No.”
“Interesting.” He leads me to the veranda overlooking the pool. “He’s sort of under the impression there’s a lot more between you than that.”
“When did you talk to him last?” I laugh, curious that we’re having this conversation.
“Yesterday. I was in New York visiting Carson. Matt was there. I mentioned we were having dinner. He was pissed off, to say it nicely. He told me not to get my hopes up, that he was already first in line for a Sami Ford fuck over and that you and he had a thing.”
“A fuck over and a thing?” I can’t believe this.
“His words, not mine. He even laughed when he said it.”
“Was he drunk?”
“Yeah, very. He was a hot mess. Carson put him to bed. It was hard to watch.” He laughs harder. “Matt’s always so stoic.”
“That he is.”
“So?”
“It’s exactly what he said it is, a thing.” I downplay it like Matt did.
“Are things exclusive?”
“Are you seriously asking me questions about another guy on our arranged date?” I mock.
“Yes.” His eyes sparkle with delight. “I arranged this so I get to choose how it’s going to go.”
My stomach tightens, in a bad way. “You did?”
“Of course. You’re beautiful, Sami Ford, and single by some miracle. Maybe it’s meant to be.” He takes a step forward.
“Maybe.” I let slip the strangest laugh ever, almost a bleat like a sheep. “But I’m not in the market for a husband.”
“Sami, we’re not getting younger. We have to start thinking about the future.”
“Why does everyone think I’m not?” I step back, a bit stunned by his boldness considering we haven’t seen each other in a couple of years.
“What are you doing?”
“Stuff.” I refuse to share the secrets.
“Carson told us about your marriage pact. Which is ridiculous. You should marry someone who’s crazy about you, not possibly into your driver and the maid.” He folds his arms across his broad chest.
“This is an insane conversation for twenty-three. I feel like any minute someone’s going to step from the shadows and offer me a goat for my virginity.”
His laugh suggests he doesn’t believe I’m a virgin. I let that one slide, joining him in the giggle. “You’re funnier than I remember.”
“And you’re more brash.”
“Why waste time? Why not just say the thing I’m thinking?”
“Because it gets you into trouble.” The way he is, reminds me of my dad, arrogant and confident. I can’t imagine being married to someone like him. I can’t even imagine being married. “Have you met Lori?” I change the subject.
“Yes, of course. Lawrence, he’s a good guy. His grandpa and my dad are old friends.” He scoffs. “Lawrence is the old man’s favorite. I heard he’s going to inherit most of the family business.”
“What? He’s just one of the random grandkids.”
“He’s the only hard worker amongst them, and the old man made his fortune, he doesn't think he should have to give it away because they’re family. Lawrence is the only one who works for himself completely and is independently wealthy.”
“He is?”
“Yeah. He had a job when he was a kid and invested his trust fund. He’s worth a fortune on his own.”
“That’s so weird. He seems so—” I laugh as I say it, thinking of Nat, “Down to earth.”
“He is.” Zach sighs and comes even closer. “What’s the deal with you and Matt? For real?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you love him?”
“Maybe.” I nod. “Maybe I do.” It’s insane to admit this to Zach but I think it might be the best way to ensure he doesn't waste his time chasing me down.
“Bummer.” He winces. “I heard you like hockey so I was kinda hoping—”
“I have a friend who might be right up your alley. Natalie Banks.”
“The cute blonde that dates Fairfield?” He looks confused.
“He blew it. He’s out. She’s single right now and living in Hartford.”
“We play there quite soon. You should come and we’ll all meet up afterward and hang out.” He smiles wide.
“Sounds like a plan.” The rest of the night is fun. Our parents get along great and Zach and I gossip like old women.
It’s nice to have him as a friend again.
Chapter 13
Trust fund kids
April 3, 2016
Natalie
“Remember when I called you, crying in the bathroom at work because Brady had just told me he liked me and wanted to date me?” I glance over and grin at Sami in the seat next to me.
“Yeah, that was awful. I felt sick. Never in a million years did I think you and Brady might be more than puck buddies.” She winks.
“Me either. I was thinking about that the other day, him standing in the rain confessing his feelings. Both of us trying to find balance. And then a couple of months later we move in together anyway.” I laugh. “It’s all so weird.”
“It was fast and intense, but I don't know that there’s a pace you’re supposed to go. I think that’s different for everyone.” She sounds funny again.
“Are we going to talk about the fact you’re still wearing that ring on the wrong hand?” I don't understand her.
“No. Nothing to tell. He asked me to think about it all and date like normal people and that's what we’re doing.”
“Why aren’t you wearing the ring on the right finger? Promise rings go on the same finger, just the left hand.”
“It’s not a real ring, it’s a fake.” She holds the ring up. “It’s a Swarovski crystal.” She laughs. “It’s actually not even a real promise ring.” She’s clearly embarrassed by the whole thing.
“A billionaire bought you a fake ring? You’re really not engaged at all?” My jaw drops.
“No. I told you we weren’t. I agreed to think about it.”
“But he asked you to marry him?” My insides start hurting, like they used to with her and Matt before she confessed about them and their weird relationship.
“Yes and no. He asked me to think about the prospect of marriage and us and a future and promised me his heart, with the ring. It was romantic.” She’s defending herself and him. This is serious.
“So you have been, like for real, dating since January?”
“December.” She pauses. “Well, actually much longer. We were dating for months, sort of dating.”
“His idea?” I have to assume.
“No. Mine. I didn't want to date at all, but then I started to see I was being petty.” She scowls. “Why?”
“I just think it’s weird that you have this thing and no one really knows what it is, including you two, and then you start dating but not really. And now you’re wearing a ring and not engaged, but your hearts are promised to each other, which means you’re discussing marriage. And yet you’re not even trying to live together to find out if you can stand living with the other person.” I exhale loudly after the long spiel.
“I never said it wasn't weird.”
“Or tried to explain it.”
“I don't think there’s
any point.” She smiles when she looks at the ring. “We’re complex. I need to prove I’m not some drunken hot mess, and he has to prove he’s not a hockey player thug. His parents don't like me at all, and my dad wants me to marry Zach Palfrey.” Her cheeks redden even more.
“What? Still? Even after you tried to hook him up with me?”
“It was before Brady. I didn't know you and Brady were already Clintoning.”
“Gross. Are you serious though? Your dad still likes Zach, even after you and Matt have pretty much come out to the public?”
“Very. My dad doesn't believe the Matt rumors.” She meets my gaze. “But Zach isn’t going to happen, no matter what my dad says. He’s hot. He’s funny. He’s sexy. He’s great at hockey. But he’s not my type.”
“He’s not Matt.”
“He’s not Matt,” she agrees. “So we are both trying to come up with identities the other parents can cope with. I don't want to be cut off, especially now that my dad is one of our partners. And Matt doesn't want to be disinherited, which his father would be fine with. His dad likes Tony, his older brother, much better anyway.”
“God, that's cutthroat.”
“I know it. His parents are worse than mine. Ever since the inception of Princess and the Pauper, my dad has complete faith in me. Honestly, I could end up in rehab for real or even marry a cameraman; my dad wouldn't even flinch. So if his family does disown him, we’ll be fine.”
One of the cameramen glances back at us, grinning. She doesn't even notice.
“Yes, life’s hard for you trust fund kids.”
“It is, dick.” She nestles into her seat on her private jet, with her special espresso that she had flown in from a random small batch brewing company in Stratford-upon-Avon, England.
The irony of the sentence is lost on her.
Though I can’t deny the greatness of the latte. It is the best coffee I’ve ever had. The first time we went to see Shakespeare’s birthplace, we randomly happened upon a shop that served it, Monsoon Estates Coffee. We were both in love then, and she has it flown over every month.
I sip my latte too, savoring the smooth taste.
When we finally land in Steamboat, I’m ready for a nap.