by Ines Vieira
Most importantly, what did he want from me? Didn’t he already take enough? My heart, my mind! Because both were filled with him constantly and now so was my sight. Quaid stood straight looking out beside one of the floor to ceiling windows, but as soon as he heard me close the door behind me, he turned my way. Yes, my sight was also his and it yearned to memorize every curve of his locked jaw. Long neck attached to strong, broad shoulders. Arms that went on for days, thick and strong, ending with hands that had given me sweet tender moments. Yes, my eyes had missed him too, since I had forced them to always look the other way and hide whenever he was in the same vicinity as me.
Except for that one relapse when they searched him out in the cafeteria. One hell of a relapse. That afternoon Grant came out, loud and clear on how he loved my friend and he wouldn’t turn his back on him for anyone. Not his family, not his reputation, not even his well-endowed inheritance. He wanted to live and love how he saw fit and to be put in a box by the people that were supposed to accept him in the first place was just not something he could tolerate any longer. So he took the plunge and fought for what he wanted and what he wanted was Drew. I was so happy and emotional for Drew that by instinct my eyes went straight to Quaid to share the moment with him. Because moments weren’t moments if they weren’t shared with him. Coming to the realization that my moments were no longer his moments and that I would never get to share my biggest moments with the one person I would need to share them with, was heart-breaking. My eyes started to water right there in the cafeteria; air started to feel too stale to breathe in at this realization. So when Quaid mouthed 'I love you' to me, I just lost it. I lost it completely and ran all the way home a total wreck. I am not a crier. I have never been a crier, yet I have cried more tears these past couple of days to fill the Sahara. Another certainty.
“Ten minutes, Quaid.”
“Why all this hostility Jess?”
“Is this how you want to spend your ten minutes? 'Quid pro quo Clarice' and all that?”
“It’s a start. So why, Jess? Why the hostility?”
“Will you promise to answer all my questions honestly, Quaid? I mean it. If you want your ten minutes, you need to be honest. Otherwise, I’m out the door and you’ve burned an obscene amount of cash for nothing.”
“I promise. Now you’re on my time and as you keep reminding me I only have ten minutes, so answer me, why the hostility? Remember now; this honesty thing has to go both ways.
“It’s safer this way.”
“Safer?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t feel safe with me?” Quaid asks and pulls out a chair to sit down. His fingers run frantically through his hair, a sign I know well. What I’ve said not only confused him but hurt him too. In another life I would already be by his side soothing him, telling him not to listen to me. That he is my safe haven. My lighthouse, showing me the way home. He is my safety and that is the paradox of it all. Because if I let my barrier slide, if I show one moment of weakness, I know that my heart is not safe.
“You asked your question. Now you answer one of mine. Why didn’t you tell me in all the time we were dating, that you own the DiStefano ?”
“Because I don’t. My grandparents do.”
“Semantics. You’ll inherit this along with I don’t even want to know what, yet you didn’t seem to think I should know about it. Why?”
“What do you mean why? I told you it belongs to my grandparents and whatever their estate or their affairs are, they have little do with me.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you? But it’s a part of who you are, and you didn’t share it with me. You kept this and a whole bunch of other things from me.”
Quaid stands up from his chair and walks to the center of the room with his palms placed over his eyes and I see he’s trying to gain back control of the conversation. It’s not going the way he intended. Well, whose fault is that?
“Did you think I would look at you differently?” I ask and he shakes his head in response.
“Did you think I was a gold digger and would only see you as an easy meal ticket for a twelve-carat life?” He at least had the decency to scoff at that remark.
“Were you ashamed of me?”
“Never.”
“Then what?”
“Because once I started to tell you about my family, something I said or did might have peaked your curiosity to other venues that I wasn’t ready to tackle.”
“You mean Olivia?” I scowl bitterly.
“Yes,” he grunts. I start to ask my next question when he holds his index fingers to his lips.
“Jessica, you said quid pro quo, but so far I’m the only one facing the firing squad. I’ll answer all your questions, honestly and truthfully, but I need you to at least answer some of my own. Please.”
“Fine,” I say pulling my chair out since it seems it’s my turn to be interrogated.
“Have you been practicing?” Out of anything he could have asked this is his first concern.
“You mean the defense classes?” I ask having a total Carla moment, too blown away by Quaid’s question. He nods and sits in the center of the bed; arms stretched over his legs, hands clasped together under his chin.
“Yes. Izzy and I have enrolled in a Jiu Jitsu Self Defense class close to the school. We try to go for a lesson once a day at least, if only for an hour.” That small sliver of pride shows up yet again in his eyes, but it’s the state of relief that seems to lift from his shoulders that gets me this time. I could also tell him how I now carry a Swiss knife, a rape whistle, and mace in my purse at all times, but that would probably put all that tension back on his shoulders. Just thinking about why I thought I would need to purchase those things in the first place would set his imagination off to darker pastures.
“That’s good,” he says and apart from his first question, he now seems tongue-tied to ask another.
“I know work is going well, but what about school? And your activist group? Is it all working okay?” Quaid asks and this time his question comes out almost shyly. Like how a boy in junior high would talk to a girl he was crushing on. Damn it all to hell, but how am I supposed to keep up my hostile demeanor when he’s giving me all this bashful goodness?
Merda!
“School’s good. The group too.”
That’s it, Jess. Cut and dry. Stay strong! Stay Strong!
“You done? Because I have a question that is itching to get out.”
That’s it, girl! Bring the fury back to this game.
“Just a couple more and I promise you can have at me.” I feel myself deflate as I slide lower down the chair. I wave my hand at him, indicating for him to proceed with whatever other nonsense he considers as interrogation techniques. If he even thinks I’m going to be this easy on him, he’s gotta another thing coming to him.
“You told Carla very clearly we’re officially over. Were you ever going to tell me or was I going to have to find out in a more unpleasant way?”
Merda. So now he’s going for the kill!
“I thought me not answering your calls and refusing to see you was confirmation enough our relationship was over. I didn’t think it called for an actual sit down.”
“You didn’t think the end of our relationship was worth at least a discussion or you were too much of a coward to have it with me?” Even though the words he said were mean and aggressive, the tone in which he delivered them was too hurt for me to be even pissed about it. Mostly because he nailed it on the head.
“For the sake of honesty in this exercise we’re doing, I’m going to have to say yes to both. Yes, the end of our relationship deserved a proper discussion about it and yes, I was too chicken shit to have it with you. Happy?”
“No, Jess. None of this makes me happy. You just told me you chose to live without me. So I am far from fucking happy right now.” Quaid places his open palms over his eyes while grabbing his hair to the front of his face and I know my sweet-controlled boy is one secon
d away from losing all decorum.
“Is there someone else?” he grunts and this is the only question he’s asked me so far that pisses me off. How dare he even think that?!
I get up from my seat and start pacing the floor back and forth, trying to calm myself not to run at him and take that ugly question from out of his mouth and make him swallow back each poor excuse of a word.
“Don’t you fucking even go there with me, Quaid! Don’t be a cliché and don’t you dare make me out to be one either!”
“I’m sorry. Shit! This is all going wrong. This is not why I wanted to see you. Or at least not how I planned this would play out. Shit!” Quaid is also up from the bed, pacing back and forth and if there are cameras secretly installed in this room then I’m sure we’re giving someone a great show. Both acting off our rockers. Quaid takes two steps towards me, and instinctively I take two steps back.
“We’re not done, Jess. Not even remotely. I came here with the intention of doing something and damn it, woman, I’m going to do it. So grab a chair and sit that pretty ass down, because this might take a while.” Bashful Quaid has left the building and in his place, is his caveman alter ego. Still, I do exactly as he asks, and place my chair in the middle of the room, while he places another right in front of me, but with the back of the chair facing me instead.
“Okay, it’s your nickel and time’s a ticking. Tick tock, Quaid.”
“Oh just give it a rest with the bratty attitude and give me a sec.”
This is our default setting with each other. Always has been. I act like an unruly child, while he acts all almighty. We pick and scab at each other, yet before, this usually led to really fun foreplay. Now, it’s only leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, drying up all the distasteful words I would have spat out a couple of months ago. Quaid sits on the chair facing me, placing his arms on the headrest of the chair, and locking his eyes intently on mine.
“The rules still apply. Honesty above everything.”
“Agreed. So why was it so important to see me?”
“Aside from the fact I’m going crazy without you?” I shut my eyes hard at this exasperated remark. I did agree to honesty, didn’t I? So I can’t be squeamish if the truth he gives me is uncomfortable to hear, now can I?
“Yes, aside from that.”
“I think you left me for all the wrong reasons and if you’re going to leave me, then I need valid ones instead.”
“Really? Is this why you did all this today? You want to make sure we’re breaking up for the right reasons and not the wrong ones, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, in a way. But we’re not breaking up,” he smirks pleased with the resuming of his plan.
“No Quaid, I’m pretty sure I just told you we are. I mean, did, in fact, break up.”
“Not after I show you all the reasons you have for this so-called break up to be ludicrous, and therefore turning your decision into leaving me a moot point. Uncalled for, if you will.”
“You’ve been watching too many Suits episodes on Netflix, haven’t you?” I can’t help the grin that escapes me imagining Quaid binge-watching one of my favorite shows even though he no longer needs to indulge me. “I knew you liked that show!”
“What can I say? Harvey’s the man!” he teases me and sweeps an errant strand of hair that must have come loose from my bun, behind my ear. It’s the first time Quaid has touched me since he left me in the middle of my parents’ living room and there is no denying the electricity in the room has upped its dose tenfold with one simple, innocent act.
“Don’t,” I whisper showing the first signs of vulnerability since I entered this match. Quaid pinches his eyes, closing them shut. Trying to keep away the hurt my rebuttal brought on.
“Just say what you need to say. No more questions, Quaid. Just tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“From the beginning. Start there.” He nods and cleans his damp hands over his jean covered thighs and stands up.
“Sure, why not?” Quaid says pacing yet again. He takes a minute looking out the window, watching the sun slowly waking up the city. His posture looks as if he’s going through something in his head, checking each option one by one until a decision is made. When Quaid comes back to his seat facing me eye to eye, there is no hesitant smile. Only resolve. Whatever his confession, I know just by the way he’s staring at me, I’m going to get the God’s honest truth.
“My father didn’t have the most pleasant of childhoods. As you’ve been able to attest, my grandparents were never the nurturing kind. All the money in the world couldn’t make up for the fact he had little affection and even less praise. He never got any attention in that house and although he had two older siblings, he was still left to his own devices. The age difference was too great and my father was considered an unwanted mistake. Something my grandparents were very vocal in pronouncing anytime he did anything that didn’t live up to their standards. He attended boarding school after boarding school. Getting kicked out of two or three a year, as he figured that negative attention was at least some form of attention.”
“Unfortunately, it just wasn’t enough. He had his first depression at the age of twelve, something that embarrassed my grandparents to no end. The only thing that brought him any joy was sailing. ‘The Boat Room’ as you named it, was his room. Where he spent most of his days when he did live in that house, locked up in it, building model boats inside clear crystal bottles as a way to pass the days that must have been grey filled with grey. Like me, he wasn’t much of a talker and as the years passed he only talked if it would guarantee he would find some form of trouble. That’s when my mother came into the picture. He was seventeen and she was barely sixteen. She had just moved to New York on a modeling contract. Supposedly to be the next big thing to grace the cover of all those high-end magazines my grandmother loves so much. One look at my father though and she knew the real prize would be landing him, not Vogue. At first, her presence seemed to do him some good. He went out more, participated in all the social events my grandmother so lovingly adores to sponsor. But if my grandparents’ world was cruel and vicious, then I guess my mother’s world was just as hollow. Only here it offered some vices that could make my father forget what a crappy life he had.” Quaid takes in a breath and I’m spellbound by all he’s revealing to me. I’m frozen in place too shocked to say a word or encourage him to continue.
“An addict’s life never has a happy ending, Jess. Add the fact that my father was already mentally unstable and you get the picture. He killed himself inside one of my grandfather’s precious yachts. He left no letter, no recording, nothing. He probably thought this world was better off without any vestige of him in it. The only thing he didn’t account for was that my mother was already pregnant with me. A sixteen-year-old unwed, fame-seeking addict now carried his child and he left this world clueless to it.”
“Olivia,” I whisper, realization hitting me square in the face about how blind I had been.
“You have her eyes,” I hush. It was right there in front of me, the resemblance and I missed it. He looked so much like his father, or maybe I should say uncle, that I didn’t even pick up how there were no resemblances to Taylor at all. But with Olivia’s dark beauty, Quaid fit the bill perfectly.
“My eyes and giving birth to me was the only thing Olivia is responsible for, trust me. Once she made my grandparents aware she was pregnant, Olivia thought she would have it all. She didn’t account for my grandmother’s frugality though. Even after a paternity test confirmed I was their youngest son’s child, grandmother dearest, refused to give Olivia a dime, saying that my inheritance was my own and she wouldn’t see any of it. So Olivia being just as conniving, even as a teenager as my grandmother, she approached the two people she knew would give a shit about me.”
“Your parents,” I fill in the pregnant pause to his speech.
“Taylor can’t have kids of her own. She and Craig h
ad been married for a couple of years and had been trying unsuccessfully to conceive. Knowledge that Olivia must have come by either from gossip alone or maybe by my biological father. However she got it, she took advantage of it, once Debora made it clear she was on her own. You’ve met my mom, Jess. Can you imagine what it must have been like for an actress like Olivia to knock on her door and ask for help? No way was Taylor going to turn her away. So as soon as Olivia gave birth to me, she handed me over to Taylor and Craig to raise as their own even though no legal paperwork was signed over, only guardianship. Olivia’s one stipulation was that they live in the city and raise me as a Stevens. It was probably Olivia’s way of making sure my grandparents were a constant in my life. I once thought this little request as odd, but now I see it was Olivia’s way of guaranteeing I could still be used as leverage later on in life as well as guaranteeing my inheritance. But you see my mother was already my mother before she legally became it. Taylor looked out for me in every way she could. My father was sick and tired of being under my grandparents’ thumb, yet he held fast for her. For me. So yes, while they were forced to stay close to my grandparents, they gave me everything a child really needs in both parents. Their unconditional love. I want to tell you that was the end of Olivia’s meddling in my life, but it wasn’t. By age five she ran into my mother and me and saw how much I adored her and Olivia’s ego couldn’t handle it. She demanded that I be made aware of whom she was and that she spend time with me as well. Said that a mother should get to know her son and vice versa and she was at a better place now to be there for me. My parents' begrudgingly accepted her terms with one stipulation of their own. Olivia needed to sign all the paperwork that changed from Taylor and Craig being my guardians and legalize them as my parents. It was only a few days ago that I found out my grandparents finally caved in and offered Olivia money for her to sign the paperwork. Any and all visitation that she had with me needed to be done at the penthouse, far from prying eyes. That’s when the real fun began,” Quaid scoffs running his fingers through his hair. I stretch my arm and place my hand over his, urging him to continue.