“No, no one has stirred my heart the way . . . no . . . the answer is no.”
“I’m surprised things haven’t gotten more complicated by now since you’ve juggling multiple suitors,” Dr. Richards said, pivoting on her last point.
“Well actually things have gotten incredibly complicated,” I laughed. “I don’t know why I’m laughing, because it’s really not funny. I’ve been able to keep my own emotional distance, but things are starting to get messy with these guys. The men in my life seem to want to have a more serious relationship with me.”
My mind floated back to today’s misstep with Brooks and my conversation with Malcom. Juggling men was more trouble than it was worth.
“Brooks Fitzgerald McKenna has even suggested we consider marriage. Ugh. There mere thought of being married to Brooks McKenna sends me over the edge.”
“Well let’s discuss this a little further. It’s human nature that one party in a relationship would want more. Relationships don’t stay static. They either grow or they end, but they don’t stand still.”
I nodded, signaling my understanding.
“And when you add sexual intimacy into the mix, relationships can really begin to get complicated.”
“Yes, I’m finding that out Dr. Richards. Brooks and Malcom are both unhappy campers right now.”
“Case in point,” Dr. Richards said, taking a few notes on her notepad.
“A couple of weeks ago, even Nicholas opened the door to the possibility of our getting back into relationship. And he and I are not sleeping together. As a matter of fact we can hardly stand to be in each other’s company for too long.”
“Umm,” Dr. Richards murmured, allowing me to ramble on.
“He had the nerve to suggest we start over. Have a ‘re-do’,” I said, moving my fingers in air quotes. Nicholas wants us to put the past behind us and start over.”
“How do you feel about the possibility of rekindling a relationship with Nicholas, Harper?”
“Well, the whole idea of it plain scares me,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t tremble. It’s hard to forget the holes people leave in your heart. Betrayal is not an easy memory to shed.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Richards said, still taking a note here and there.
“Some days it only takes a word on a page, a song on the radio, a look in a person’s eyes to trigger those memories you thought you had shed. It’s not so much the loss of the person that you feel early on in the heartbreak process. It’s the years of deep loneliness and loss that you discover down the road. It’s the loss of the idea of what you thought you could have been as a couple.”
“What are you afraid of Harper?” Dr. Richards delved deeper.
“Dr. Richards, ten years ago, I was madly in love with Nicholas Becker. I still love him,” I said, pausing and catching my breath. “In some strange way, I guess. It’s just that now, I’ve learned to save some of the love for myself. Nicolas can’t hurt me like he once did. I love myself differently now.”
“You have your boundaries back,” Dr. Richards added.
“I must admit I’ve even been a little angry at myself for not having saved enough love for myself back then. I gave so much of it away not knowing if he even deserved it.”
“That’s good to hear, Harper. How do you love yourself differently now?” Dr. Richards asked.
“I suppose over time, I’ve learned to love myself first. Even if Nicholas and I gave it the old college try, and it didn’t work out, my life wouldn’t fall apart at the seams, because this time I’d be saving some of that love for me. Going forward, I will not ever put love on a pedestal with someone for which it has no place . . . or better yet is undeserved.”
“I’m impressed, Harper. You’ve actually grown into your womanhood. That’s very good, dear.”
I gave Dr. Richards a huge smile. I was proud of myself too at how far I had grown the last several years. I was so much wiser now. I no longer wore my heart on my sleeve for folks to stomp on it.
“So when Nicholas asked for a re-do, why did you turn him down? It sounds like you feel stronger and confident enough to handle any outcome. You could in fact hit the reset button.”
“I turned him down because I could,” I said, blinking. “I don’t intend to make his life any easier after all he’s put me through. Nicholas wants instant forgiveness at the snap of a finger.” I snapped my finger up in the air.
Dr. Richards’ brow furrowed a bit.
She thinks I’m still carrying too much anger.
“He even had the balls to lose his temper with me, angry over my inability to come right out and forgive him.” I feared my face had a ferocious scowl. I was getting angry again.
“A decade later is not asking for instant forgiveness Harper. Don’t you think it’s time to forgive? Forgiveness helps you as much as it helps him. You are holding on to quite a bit of anger.”
Yup. That was pretty much how I thought Dr. Richards was going to perceive my slight outburst. She thinks I’m holding on to too much anger still. Okay. So maybe I am. I decided a long time ago, that if Nicholas and I ever got back together I was not going to make life easy for him. He could slip and slide with someone else, but he was not going to play that game with me. If he ever had any chance of getting me back, he was going to have to work for it.
“I’m not sure it’s worth the time, energy, and effort to take a chance on Nicholas Becker again two times in a lifetime,” I shot back. “I hate it when Nicholas thinks he can tell me what to do. I decide who, when, and how,” I said, venting some more.
“Well that’s true when it applies to your choices that only affect you. But a relationship is full of compromise. It has to be nurtured. Don’t you believe you’re capable of compromising in your relationships?” Dr. Richards asked, ignoring my momentary anger.
“I suppose I should give that some further thought,” I said.
“Motherhood for example, is all about teaching children about compromise and sharing. You’ll come to know this as a mother. But compromise works for the grown-ups too, Harper. Perhaps you should begin to work on being able to see yourself compromising with Nicholas, and others, for that matter,” Dr. Richards added gently. “It’s a good skill to have.”
“If you say so, Dr. Richards. But Nicholas and I have been in such a tenacious competition these last ten years since our breakup, it’s hard to imagine he and I ever working on the same team. He hurt me to the core back then when I got pregnant. He made it clear that he didn’t want to be a husband or a father.”
“Yes, it was hurtful.”
“When he calmed down and acted like a normal person months later, he started saying that he loved me, he loved the baby, and wanted to be a family. I’d lost the baby by then. Then he bitched like a madman, accusing me of having had an abortion. He was all over the place. How dare he?”
“Yes, we can all agree, he did behave poorly.”
“Why should I reward him now that he’s decided to grow up and act like a mature person and wants to re-create the same picture again with me?” I huffed.
“Maybe because then he was young, inexperienced, and now you could choose to forgive him?” Dr. Richards said, raising her brows.
“So? I was young too. I was much younger than him.”
“Yes but you were at a different place emotionally than he was. There’s a lot of truth to the fact that women mature faster than men. People grow at different paces,” Dr. Richards said, not really inviting me to respond.
I knew she was giving me a chance to think about my choices in this moment with a clear head without distraction.
“It sounds as if Nicholas has fully evolved into his manhood. The fact that he could see his way to forgiveness is very telling. You should consider that he has felt hurt too on some level. His hurt drove his behavior for a long time too, but now he seems to want to let it go and grow,” Dr. Richards reminded me.
Yes I knew Nicholas was hurt as much as I was, but I thought we were in lov
e enough to weather any storm. Then when the stormy winds of relationship hit, he jumped ship. It damn near felt like mutiny. No part of him was going to help keep our ship afloat.
“Perhaps Nicholas can offer you what you need now. Give you that which you couldn’t get from him then,” Dr. Richards suggested.
I nodded my head so as to say that might be possible now, years later.
“Harper, you should try the idea on for size and answer the question for yourself whether Nicholas could be the partner, husband, father, you need for him to be now. Sometimes in life, time has a magical way of healing us and our circumstances,” she said.
“Sure Dr. Richards, I could try the idea on for size, but that’s all it is for now, an idea.”
“I think you should give some thought to unpacking that suitcase of unpleasant memories between you and Nicholas and let the baggage from the past go.”
Dr. Richards rose from her chair, moving to her desk grabbing her calendar.
“Even if you choose not to do a re-do with him, forgiveness will serve you in the long run. Think about it. We can discuss it some more in our next session,” she said, smiling her beautiful warm smile while writing a note down in her appointment book, then handing me a card.
“I’ll think about it Dr. Richards,” I assured her.
“Here’s a fertility clinic that you may want to consider. I’m personal friends with Dr. Francis Stone at Stone Fertility. You may want to make an appointment with him and familiarize yourself with the sperm donor process so that whatever you decide, pursuing motherhood alone or with a future partner, you’ll at least be making an informed decision,” Dr. Richards said, handing me the slip of paper with Dr. Stone’s address and number.
As I exited Dr. Richard’s office, I felt a twinge of guilt thinking maybe I had been too hard on Nicholas all these years. I was getting pretty good at making him pay. I made him pay in more ways than one. I had mastered the ability to hit him where it counted . . . in his pockets.
One thing for sure, Nicholas understood money. And, I had been making him dig deep for some time now. Whenever there was something that I knew he wanted, I snatched it right out of his little ‘turn-everything-to-gold, moneymaking hands. I snatched everything he wanted, almost like he snatched my heart, making me pay to the gods of emotional pain, never ever looking back.
Every time Nicholas answers his phone saying, “God speaking,” my mind automatically goes into overdrive saying ca-ching, ca-ching. Time to pay up, Mr. Big. I figured sooner or later, I’d get his attention and he’d have to come down off his personal little mountaintop and pay homage to the god of my heartbreak. It gave me great satisfaction, making it my mission in life to snuff out his little burning bush of bullshit.
Was it time for me to quit needling him? I suppose. Perhaps it was time for me to move on too, and stop giving Nicholas the one-two and at least trying to move to a place of friendship. How hard could that be, right?
But then again, he just seriously burns my ass.
Choices.
You are going to have yourself a baby all by yourself, Harper Montgomery.
I can choose to do this alone. I am the queen of payback. And everybody knows, payback is a bitch.
Thank God my limousine drive back from Dr. Richard’s office to my home was peaceful without the added pressure from Malcom. My driver Winston was waiting for me, like Malcom said. I knew by the way Winston was driving that Malcom was trailing not too far behind. Malcom was a stickler about Winston not taking careless risks in traffic whenever I was in the car.
I was glad to be having some down time at my penthouse suite in Soho. Winston’s wife Nell was my housekeeper. She was a gem. She was good at anticipating my needs, having laid out my favorite denim jeans with the hole in the knee, a turquoise blue cashmere turtleneck, and my beige Ugg moccasins. I swear that woman could read my mind. It was almost as if she had sensed that I was overdue for some down time. I opened my refrigerator, noticing Nell had made me a huge pot of fettuccini alfredo this evening, one of my favorites.
The recessed ceiling track lights in my kitchen were dimmed softly. The lights were very soothing against the white marble floors and the white cabinetry. I found the soft mint-colored walls and the water-like rippled glass kitchen countertops very calming on those days when I was in a funky mood.
Living in Soho’s most elite penthouse, an exclusive Sotheby’s International property, my own urban oasis, afforded me floor to ceiling windows, ample sunlight, and staggering views of the city. It was everything that I wanted in a home, despite the fact that my travel schedule kept me away more than I wanted. It was rare moments like today that I really got a chance to enjoy my home.
Nell had put a large bowl of green apples on the dining room table along with service for twelve already set. The table was set with my favorite yellow Momma Ro china along with matching yellow tapers. The fireplace off the kitchen was already lit. The sheer curtains were semi-closed, allowing for some privacy but still giving me a peek at the New York skyline.
I turned on the Bang and Olufsen sound system deciding to calm my mind, listen to some music, and digest my session with Dr. Richards. Cassandra Wilson’s “Time After Time” began to play. It was perfect for connecting me with my current mood. The song reminded me of days long gone with Nicholas. Nicholas used to say the “Nearness of You” by Norah Jones was “our song.” I disagreed, saying Cassandra Wilson’s rendition of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time after Time” was “our song.”
Gosh, we never agreed on anything even back then. So they both became “our songs.” Hmmm. Compromise. Perhaps that was Dr. Richards’s point. Maybe I did know how to do that a little bit, or did I?
I tossed the fettuccini in the microwave and moved toward my white mushroom shaped bar stools, picking up the style section of the New York Times. I cracked open a bottle of Opus One from my wine cellar, pouring myself a large glass of the cabernet. I waited for the chime of the microwave to ring. Reflecting, I twirled around in a circle on my bar stool. The peace and quiet gave me a chance to think about how I wanted to pursue the Joduku acquisition.
I waited for my pasta to heat, grabbing my Macbook to check in to see if Charlotte had any word back from The Montgomery Consulting Group’s competitive intelligence team on who was going to be my competition.
I flipped through my Gmail account looking for threads from Charlotte hoping there would be something in my mail by now letting me know who the competition would be. I had an email from Charlotte letting me know the artwork bid was up to six-hundred thousand dollars. I heard the ping of my microwave. Thank God my pasta was ready. I was famished.
Let’s see. Just how far do I want to ride this artwork pony? Do I let him suffer some more or play nice? Do I let him have the piece? Do I practice compromising? I pondered the whole matter a bit just as my phone rang.
“Harper?
“Yes Mother, how are you?”
“I’m fine honey. I only have a minute. I was calling to remind you about Daddy’s fundraiser. I expect you to be there. It’s important that the family support him.”
“Yes, well I have to check my calendar . . .” I mumbled through a mouthful of fettuccini.
“Not,” Mother warned. “My girl has already contacted Charlotte and the fundraiser is already plugged into your schedule. This is your mommy reminder, dear,” she said, in her busy voice. “It’s at the Lincoln Center two weeks from tomorrow night at six p.m. I’ve already called Mackenzie. She’ll be there to take photographs. Nothing special. Everyone looking beautiful and having fun,” Mother said. “There will be a silent auction, so bring your checkbook, dear. I expect Mackenzie’s picture’s to make the Sunday style section.”
Elizabeth was always one to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.
“Fine, Mother, I’ll be there if it’s on my calendar.”
I twirled my pasta around on my folk, throwing my head back, practicing my sensual eating move in case I needed to pull out the big guns on
my next dinner date.
“How’s the acquisition coming, dear?” she said, pausing.
“As a matter of fact Mother, I was sitting here going through my email to see if we have a string on the competition yet. I’m pretty sure CEO Nobu is going to want to open bids around twenty million. I have no doubt we can make the buy at several million less.”
“I know that Carmichael Ketchup is in good hands with you at the reins.”
“Well I’m glad I have your support and confidence, Mother. After all, I’m doing this for you. This is your parade, remember?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. I don’t anticipate any rain on my parade.” She laughed. “If, anything, I’m hoping this will end in a really long overdue homecoming of sorts.” Then she giggled.
“What exactly does that mean, Mother?” I said, recognizing that her comment awakened my spidey senses. And my intuitions were good. Something was brewing. I just didn’t know what.
“Oh nothing dear, I’m thinking out loud. Don’t mind me. So how was your session with Dr. Richards?” she asked , sounding a bit cagey.
“Oh it was fine.”
Throw the grenade.
“I told Dr. Richards that I’m pretty sure I’m ready to have a baby, so I’m doing some research into some fertility clinics for the possibility of doing the whole sperm donor thing.”
I put my fork down, closing my eyes waiting for my grenade to hit. Silence. A deep sigh.
Bingo. Direct hit.
“Harper Carmichael Montgomery. You do not need a baby made by some . . . some . . . some . . . freaking stranger!” Mother yelled through the phone. “Don’t you think for one minute you’re going to let some . . . some . . . some . . . outsider into the Carmichael Montgomery gene pool. The senator and I—Will. Not. Have. It,” she snapped. “Besides, you have no problem with fertility. That’s for women who can’t make babies or find husbands. That’s not your problem. That’s not who you are.”
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