Defending Her Dignity

by Jade Webb

  Lawrence laughs again, and I can see the corners of his emerald eyes crinkle as he chuckles. “Yael, it’s okay. I look like shit, I know. It’s been a bit hectic here and I haven’t been able to sleep much.”

  Carrying the phone, I walk back to the car and slide into the front seat. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, but thanks for asking. Just keep Isabel safe. Nothing has come up, has it?”

  I shake my head. “It’s been quiet. Still taking precautions, but so far, so good.”

  “It’s been a month now. Do you think we’re in the clear?”

  The question sends an unexpected quiver of sadness through me. Obviously if there is no lingering threat, there’s no need to have me around. And though it hasn’t been very long, it feels like I’ve somehow managed to find a place for myself here, and the thought of having to give that up makes me unexpectedly sad.

  “You okay?” Lawrence asks after I don’t reply for a long minute.

  I look up and shake my head. “Yeah, of course. I don’t know if we’re in the clear, yet, but I feel hopeful. We can talk more about whether or not you want to keep me on when you get back.”

  “Yael, that’s not what I meant,” he starts, before a knock at the door jerks his head away. A muffled voice says something, and I can see Lawrence’s jaw tick in frustration. “Yael, listen, I’m sorry but I have to go. I’m flying in tomorrow morning. I want to finish this discussion.”

  I don’t get a chance to tell him goodbye before the call disconnects, and I’m surrounded by a heavy silence as I turn on the car and drive away.

  I pull into Dottie’s—the coffee shop by Isabel’s school that has become my daily spot to loiter before picking her up—and grab my bag from the passenger seat. I’ve been running errands all day and even managed to sneak in a quick lunch at the apartment with Eva, who spent the entire time admonishing me for not sneaking into Lawrence’s bedroom while he was on his business trip and uncovering any “good dirt.” I still had a good two hours to kill before I needed to pick up Isabel from school, so I decided to swing by Dottie’s for my caffeine fix and hang out until Isabel gets out for the day.

  As I step inside, the smell of roasting coffee beans and sugar hits me instantaneously. I quickly spot Ricky, one of the baristas (a word I had just recently learned and added to my vocabulary) I see often now that I’ve made it my routine to stop in here most days before picking up Isabel at school. With his sandy-blonde hair and dark-rimmed glasses, he’s the image of what I had assumed a barista would be. He wears a sky-blue Dottie’s apron over a fitted black T-shirt that shows off all his toned biceps and an impressive assortment of dark ink that snakes up his arm. He’s cleaning up behind the oak counter, a smile on his face as he sings along to the John Legend song quietly playing in the background. When he catches me waiting at the register, he offers me a wide smile as he spins on his heel. I bite back a laugh as he drops his towel onto the counter and walks over, a welcoming grin on his face.

  “In for your daily fix?” he asks with a wink.

  “You know me well. Let’s add an extra espresso shot in this one, though.”

  Ricky offers me another playful wink before spinning around and getting to work on my coffee. He whistles as he pours the dark Columbian brew into a large ceramic mug. He adds the sugar and espresso shot before sliding it across the counter in my direction. I hold it up to my nose and inhale slowly.

  “Thank you. Oh, and I also need one of your oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, too. To go.”

  I place the mug back down on the counter and rifle through my bag for my wallet. As I dig around, I feel a warm hand cover mine. I look up to see Ricky, leaning over the counter, his hand on mine.

  He shakes his head and offers me one of his beguiling smiles. “No charge.”

  I shoot my brow up in surprise and look at him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

  The easy smile never leaves his face. “No catch. At least not for today. Might cash it in later, though.”

  I mumble a quick, “Thanks, Ricky” as I shove the cookie into my bag and grab my mug. I need to get away from Ricky and his too-white smile and too-perfect hair. I’m not enough of an idiot to not realize that he’s clearly flirting with me. And normally, I would be flattered, possibly even enough to accept if he offered anything more. But now? Now, I feel nothing. No spark, no excitement. Nothing. He’s fun, handsome, and sweet. He is, on paper, everything that I should want. But there’s something missing.

  He’s not Lawrence.

  The thought pops into my head before I have a chance to banish it back to the recesses of my imagination where it belongs. Too often my thoughts have automatically wandered back to Lawrence. I’m undeniably attracted to him. And why not? He’s handsome and sweet and a great father. But still — just a few hours ago he was discussing terminating my contract. And where would that leave me? Unemployed, broke again within a few months, and pining after a man who didn’t want me. If I wanted to torture myself like that, I would just catch a flight back home. Lord knows there was plenty enough back there for me to pine over.

  My phone vibrates on the table, offering me a welcome distraction, and I smile as I see it’s my cousin calling.

  “Hey Yaeli, how’s it going?” my cousin asks as I answer the phone.

  “Good, good. Just waiting to pick up the little ninja at three.”

  “Anything new to report?” he asks, getting straight to business.

  I shake my head. “No. Nothing at all.” I pause a moment before asking, doing my best to sound unaffected and disinterested. “Oded, do you think having me around twenty-four seven seems a bit like overkill?”

  “Yeah, but you know, he’s protective,” Oded answers dismissively. “He wants to make sure that his daughter is protected.”

  “I guess so,” I reply, not entirely convinced. “Has he discussed terminating the contract with you?”

  “No, why? Has he mentioned something?”

  “No,” I answer quickly. “I just want to make sure I have a back-up plan.”

  “Yael, relax. He prepaid for a three-month contract. You’re good. Why don’t you just enjoy not having to be saving someone’s ass all the time? It’s a solid paycheck, and a chance to score the best gig of your life with Daphni Monroe.”

  I blow a hair out of my face and drop my chin to rest on my hand. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Yeah, of course I’m right. You struck gold here, Yael. Don’t fuck it up.”

  I force out a laugh and tell Oded that I need to hang up the phone before I decide to come over and kick his ass, and we say our goodbyes.

  I know he’s right: this is a golden opportunity. I’m making more money in a week than I did in a month back home. And I could have a chance at traveling the world with Daphni Monroe. Still, why didn’t any of that spark any excitement in me? I was only twenty-four years old and I had the world at my feet. I should be excited about the opportunity to explore the world.

  And yet…something about having a place to call my home was also calling me. Never in my life had I had a place that felt like home. Growing up, my house had been devoid of anything personal and had felt like a glorified barrack. Even my room in my apartment with Eva had only a few scattered pictures taped to the plain white walls. I longed for a place of my own, a place where I could feel free to be myself. A home.

  Still, dreams like that were dangerous for people like me. I was someone who didn’t form attachments to people or places. The idea that I could stay in a single place was a pipe dream. I hadn’t been raised on the fantasy of having a family and settling down in a house with a white picket fence. I had been raised to be a fighter, to protect others. And that is what I needed to be focusing on: protecting Isabel. Because if I let myself think that I wanted another life for myself, it would only end in misery and heartache.

  16

  Lawrence

  I let my head drop onto the wheel the instant I
pull into the garage and blow out a heavy sigh. It’s been a fucking excruciating day. My flight had been delayed after another crisis came up that necessitated me turning back around from the airport to clean up somebody else’s mess. The whole trip had been one long headache. Endless meetings spent prepping for other meetings, only for those meetings to be canceled—it was all such a waste of time. And yet, this is the world I grew up in. The world of Monroe Industries. The gilded throne I would be inheriting.

  Fuck, did I even want it?

  I shake the question from my head and get out of the car. I can’t let myself follow that train of thought, because the idea of letting Peter lead Monroe Industries turns my stomach. He would run the company into the ground, destroying everything my family has built. No, this was my birthright. Even if I didn’t necessarily want it, it was my responsibility to take over.

  I force a smile to my face as I jog up the stairs to the side entrance into the kitchen. I hate carrying the baggage from a long day at work home, and I refuse to let it ruin my time with Isabel.

  It’s eerily quiet in the house for a Friday night. I look down at my watch and see it’s already ten thirty. Shit. I must have missed putting Isabel to bed. I drop my briefcase on the kitchen island and make my way to the living room as I pull at the tie around my neck. On the TV, the ending credits of some made-for-TV movie are scrolling on the screen.

  I pause mid-step the second I see Isabel. She’s asleep, her blonde hair spilling out underneath her. She is tucked under Yael’s arm, and they are both covered in a large blanket. Yael looks like she has also fallen fast asleep, a peaceful smile on her face as her arm curls around Isabel. Julep, in all her furry glory, lies beside them, her tongue drooping out of the corner of her mouth as she sleeps.

  Though I can’t quite explain it, the sight of the three of them together causes some kind of reaction inside of me. It looks like a picture of something I hadn’t even known I wanted. And as much as I want to fight and deny it, I know I can’t. Something about Yael has awakened a need inside of me—a need for something more in this life. A need for her.

  I lean down and pull Isabel’s warm body into my arms. She stirs a little, but she stays asleep as I carry her upstairs to her bed. Julep follows behind us, her tail wagging as she climbs the step behind me to take her place on the foot of Isabel’s bed. Thanks to all of Yael’s work and training, Julep has thankfully mellowed out quite a lot and has grown fond of sleeping at the foot of Isabel’s bed, protecting her.

  After tucking Isabel into her bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin and giving her a light kiss goodnight, I head back downstairs. Yael is still asleep, and I’m tempted to let her rest, but I know the cleaners are coming tomorrow morning and I don’t want them to wake her. I crouch down on the couch beside her and gently shake her shoulder.

  “Yael, I need to wake you up to get to bed,” I whisper.

  She slowly blinks her eyes open and a smile spreads over her face when she sees me. Only after brushing the sleep from her eyes does she fully awaken, and her sweet smile quickly transforms into a scowl.

  “Why are you home so late?” she asks with an edge to her voice as she pushes herself upright.

  “My flight got delayed,” I tell her, a bit annoyed at the sudden turn in her mood.

  “Well, I hope it was important,” she snaps back as she folds the blanket and rises from the couch.

  “Okay, sunshine. I’ll remember to not wake you up anymore.”

  She turns around and glares at me. “Do you even know what tonight was?”

  I look at her, confused, causing her to roll her eyes in frustration. “It was Isabel’s ballet recital tonight. She had a solo. You missed it.”

  “No, the recital is next Friday.” I shake my head, confident that Yael was mistaken. There is no way I would have missed Isabel’s performance.

  “No, it was tonight. It was on your calendar.”

  Frustrated at her error and attitude, I dig my phone out of my pocket and quickly look up my calendar. A loud “shit” escapes my lips as I read through the day’s events: 6:00 p.m. - Isabel’s recital. I even had a note to leave work early and pick up flowers.

  I fall back on the couch and drop my head into my hands. “Fuck. I missed it!” I rake my fingers through my hair and look up at Yael as another realization dawns on me. “Shit! Her costume. I didn’t get a chance to finish it!”

  I never swear this much, and thankfully Yael doesn’t seem to mind. I feel like a complete piece of shit. Being a single parent meant I had to be both mom and dad. I had vowed when Fiona walked out that I would never miss a single recital, parent-teacher conference, science fair, nothing. This was the first time I had done it. And it felt terrible.

  I feel Yael’s hand come to rest on my shoulder. It’s a light touch, and when I tilt my head to look at her, I can see how uncomfortable she looks. In my short time knowing her, I’ve come to learn affection is not something she gives often. It seems only Isabel and Julep have been lucky enough to have been awarded a hug or a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “I finished the costume last night,” Yael says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It didn’t look so great up close, but from really far, far away, she looked amazing.” She reaches for her back pocket and pulls out her cellphone. Taking a seat on the couch next to me, she pulls up a video. “Here, I made a recording for you.”

  She clicks the start button and I lean in closer to watch the video. Yael is sitting front-row, and I can easily spot Isabel in her bright pink leotard, covered in crystals. At the bottom left corner of the stage, a pianist sits at a shiny black baby grand piano. When he starts to play, a line of ten ballerinas come walking out onto the stage. Isabel is the second to last and wears a bright smile on her face. Her hair is intricately braided and she’s wearing her leotard, fully bedazzled to match the other dancers in her class. Together, they begin their performance. Almost instantaneously the stress from my four days away and all those shitty meetings just fades away, and all I can focus on is the smile of my baby girl. About midway through their performance, the other dancers step back and Isabel begins her solo routine. I have it practically memorized and I can see when she nails every spin and pirouette. I’m beaming as I watch her. As much as I hate that I missed her performance, I’m so happy to see that she did such a beautiful job and I can’t wait to congratulate her — and apologize — in the morning. As Isabel finishes her solo, the music slows and the rest of her ballet class join her back in center stage for a final bow. They then all scramble off stage in a single file and the video stops.

  I look up at Yael and offer her the best smile I can muster. “Thanks for recording that.” I let out a huff of air and fall back into the seat cushion behind me. “Ten years and I haven’t missed one recital until today. Was she really upset?”

  Yael shrugs. “For a little. I told her that you had to work but that you would be watching her performance later and it made her feel better.” Her dark brown eyes, shielded by her thick lashes, look over at me. She’s concerned about me. And while having someone concerned or worried about me would usually irritate me, knowing it’s coming from Yael feels oddly comforting.

  Almost instinctively, I place my hand on Yael’s thigh and angle my head to look her in the eye. “Thank you,” I tell her, with full sincerity. I know I should move my hand: this feels too intimate. And yet, something is stopping me — my body craves to touch her, and even though it’s only the fabric of her jeans beneath my palm, it feels so good. It feels so natural to be this close with her. I don’t want to break this connection, at least not yet.

  When I still don’t move after a long moment, I watch as her eyes quickly dart down to where my hand rests on her thigh. I’m expecting her to shift away, make an excuse to rush away. Instead, her brown eyes look back up at me and when they find mine, something palpable in the room shifts. I catch it in the air, and in the way her breath hitches. I recognize it immediately because I can see she is finally affected by me t
he same way I have been by her this past torturous month. She’s attracted to me. I can read it in her eyes, as easily I’m sure as she can read it in mine.

  And if I know anything about Yael, the second she realizes that, she’ll bolt. She will run out of here faster than I can stop her. And even though she can drive me absolutely insane, the thought of not exploring this further seems impossible for me. I need to know what this could be. I need her to stay.

  “Uh, I was about to have a drink. Would you like one?” I ask as I reluctantly pull my hand away from her thigh. It’s a cheap ploy, but it seems that the only time I can disarm her long enough for a conversation is a late night drink. Even though she’s not a big drinker: she just toys with the bottle in her hands, it gives me the opportunity to be with her one-on-one, something that I am desperate to have more and more of, especially after the shit day I’ve had.

  “I should probably get to bed,” Yael says.

  I feel like I got a sucker punch straight to my stomach. I can’t read this woman. I mean, it has admittedly been… awhile since I’ve been with a woman, but I’m not an idiot. I can read desire, I know when a woman is interested. And Yael is interested. But her constant hot and cold is throwing me off my very rusty game. Still, I nod and force an agreeable smile to my face. “Right, well good night, Yael.”

  She bites down on her lip, sucking her plump lower lip into her mouth. I instantly recognize the gesture: it’s her thinking face, and a move I’ve seen her do a few times now, and it fills me with a trickle of hope.

  “Well, one drink,” she concedes after a long pause.

  I offer her a quick nod as I push myself off the couch and head into the kitchen to pop open a new bottle of Merlot. I grab two wine glasses and carry it all back to the living room. I try not to look too triumphant or giddy, because I can sense that any wrong move, any stupid joke that makes its way out of my mouth, will send her running.