Private

by Xavier Neal

  “J.T.-”

  “It was my fault for not digging a little deeper before blaming it on Brynley. It was my fault for not seeing what was so obviously staring me in the face. I should've known she had an end game in mind. No woman suddenly starts to pay attention to you like she did without an ulterior motive. I just....I just wanted a taste of what I knew you and Bryn had. For someone to look at me like she did you. Like the money didn't matter. My envy resulted in you losing more than just the woman you loved but the anonymity you desired. I'm sorry for my mistakes. I understand if you want me to turn in my resignation and begin to look for a new place of business as well as a new place of residence.”

  At the end of his speech, I lift my eyebrows again. “Are you done?”

  He looks puzzled and cautiously replies, “Yes.”

  “Good, because if you've got another lecture like that laying around it needs to wait. I hate when you're late for meetings. I damn sure don't want to be late to my first one in person.”

  His expression softens.

  “Stop blaming yourself for what happened, J.T. I think in a way we're all to blame for being too blind to different aspects of the situation. I don't hold anything against you. And neither should you.”

  He tries to smile.

  “Besides, fire you? Come on. Batman has to have a Robin, though you're more like Nightwing most of the time.”

  J.T.'s bafflement returns. “How do you even know who Nightwing is?”

  “Might have missed some of the movies I should've watched as a kid, but I did a couple things right. Now, let's go. I've got a company to see.”

  Our SUV ride with Hurst proceeds smoothly despite the early morning traffic. J.T. spends the majority of the time reviewing the topics for discussion while I stare desperately at my phone in hopes today is the day she returns a message. We haven't had actual contact since I threw her out. She didn't even take all of her things. She grabbed her phone, a hand full of clothes, which she stuffed in the trash bag she brought them in and left. She didn't even take the blue eyeliner and mascara she loved. They're still sitting on my bathroom counter. Haunting me. Taunting me. Waiting for her to return and put them on before starting our day together.

  “Wes,” J.T. thankfully interrupts before the thoughts of her absence can consume me.

  Seeing the entrance to the tall tower now right outside my window, I sigh, “Right.”

  “Mr. Wes, would you like me to escort you gentlemen inside?” Hurst questions from the front seat.

  “It's alright,” I assure. “Just park the car and we'll see you upstairs.”

  He gives us a nod and we exit the vehicle. We're just steps from entering when a woman excitedly pops off a nearby bench and darts towards us. “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

  J.T. takes the initiative to place himself between the two of us.

  “You're Weston Wilcox, correct?”

  My best friend quickly states, “Mr. Wilcox is not open to questions at this time.”

  “But he's like right there.”

  “Even so, Mr. Wilcox is not open to questions.”

  “But-”

  “Ma'am-”

  “Right.” The woman with slightly frazzled dirty blonde hair blows it out of her face. “Thanks anyway. I knew it was a long shot.”

  Her defeat seems genuine, which pushes me to ask, “How long have you been a reporter?”

  “Not long,” she sighs, adjusting her work bag. “If you even wanna call me that. Truth is, I'm in charge of the fluff pieces for the website.”

  “We really should go,” J.T. whispers under his breath.

  I ignore him. “Fluff pieces?”

  “You know local cat looks like she's wearing Batman mask. City reports a new fondness for pomegranate candy. Local sea otter gives birth. That kinda crap.”

  The last reference momentarily gnaws on my vocal chords. “Then why are you here?”

  “What was the harm in trying?” She innocently shrugs. “The worst you could do was not answer questions and the best you could was to get me my dream job practically handed to me on a silver platter.”

  Her words and description touch deeper than I'm sure intended. “How long have you been waiting for me to show up?”

  “Uh...” She contorts her face. “Well, I waited for the crowd to stop congregating every day, which after a week they did, so...about a week. Few hours every morning.”

  “You just...sit on the bench and hope I show up?”

  The woman sheepishly shrugs. “Pretty much. Sometimes I read while I wait.”

  J.T. tries again, “Wes, we really should-”

  “I know,” I reply back. “But first, Miss....”

  “Ava Danielson.”

  “But first, Miss Danielson is going to ask me three questions, making her the first official face to face interview, I've conducted in ten years.” Her brown eyes begin to glisten. “However, make them quick and make them count. I'm not sure when I'll do another interview.”

  “You're serious?” She squeaks.

  “I won't count that as one of your questions, but yes. I am.” Checking my phone, I quickly add, “I have a meeting to get to, so proceed promptly.”

  In a haste, she begins digging through her phone for a recorder.

  At the same time, J.T. leans over to ask, “You're sure about this?”

  Remembering the outfits and the shit jobs, Bryn went through and still couldn't get so much as an interview towards her career path, pushes me to nod. What's the harm in giving people a boost towards living the life they want when I have the power to?

  “Um....okay,” she begins trying to mask her fluster. “You're Weston Wilcox. The public, including your own company, hasn't seen you in ten years.”

  “That's a statement. Not a question.”

  J.T. clears his throat and gives me a sharp look to tone it down. Fuck. I guess I forgot just how difficult these things can be.

  “Is this sudden sighting a one-time thing or will you be making further appearances in the future?”

  “I have every intention of doing what I feel is best for the company. Mr. Reese has done a remarkable job bearing that responsibility over the years and I believe we've reached a point where it will be a wiser decision to share public appearances among other things.”

  “Do you think your company will be making other changes in the near future?”

  “We will. We have recently begun elite marketing campaigns across the country hoping not only to further expand the brand but continue to allow it to grow with its consumers.” She drops her jaw preparing most likely for a follow up when I remind her, “That's two questions, Miss Danielson. You've got one left.”

  The statement briefly shuts her mouth. All of a sudden there's a brief internal struggle and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in alarm. “The woman in the photo. Was she....a one time fling or should we expect to see more of her at your side?”

  A familiar urge to hide from the personal question as much as the pain pumps through me. With a deep sigh, I reply, “As far as my personal life goes, there are things that I will continue to keep private.” Seeing disappoint surge, I add what I believe to be the indefinite truth no matter how hopeless everything feels right now, “However, I will say this, the woman in the photo will one day have Wilcox at the end of her name.”

  The information unhinges her and J.T.'s jaw in unison.

  “Now if you'll excuse us, Miss Danielson. We have a meeting to attend.”

  “Th-Th-Thank you,” she stutters out to say. “Thank you for this!”

  I offer her a sly smile before begging her to move again. “Don't misquote me or it'll be the end of your career.”

  J.T. opens the door for us and mutters, “You know what you just said about Brynley is going to be plastered everywhere, right?”

  My eyes shift to him. “That's the idea...”

  She won't take my private messages, but maybe, just maybe she'll take my public one.

  “N
o thanks,” I deny my mother's offer of her tuna sandwich. “I spend enough of my time surrounded by seafood.” She giggles as I toss my crust back on the plate. “No. I'm serious. I smell like the ocean threw me up every night. By the time I leave Vanessa's she's gonna need to burn the mattress down to the ground.”

  After crying into three or four containers of ice cream the night I got the voicemail about the internship, I called my mother to check on her myself. Of course she wanted to talk about Wes, but I refused. Swore if she brought him up in any way I would hang up. She tried. I kept my word. To no surprise, it took three additional clicks and dial backs before she started taking me seriously. While we didn't discuss him directly I did express not wanting anything especially any job that had to do with him. She basically told me to stop being petty and childish, to be grateful and take a chance that may never come again. So far the internship has been exhausting but in all the best ways. There are currently six of us enrolled and we are all equally enduring the shitty parts as well as the rewarding ones. The only thing that could make it better is if it were paying. Can't say I enjoy watching Sea Otter's play with their balls by day and then men play with theirs by night.

  “How long is the internship again?” She asks pushing her plate away.

  “Four months. It's basically three months of learning and training then one month of evaluating to see who would be the best fit for the institute.”

  “Obviously you will be.” Her motherly words receive a smile. “How's that grilled cheese with bacon by the way? Should I try it next time?”

  The guilt over ordering Wes' favorite type of sandwich in a sad excuse to try to feel close to him gurgles my stomach. I know I shouldn't want anything to do with him. That I should just move the fuck on. But it's not that simple even if I wish it were.

  “He misses you too, ya know.”

  “Mom-”

  “What? You can eat his favorite sandwich but I can't talk about him?”

  “Exactly.”

  She gives me a stern look. “I'm sure you've seen the interview he did a week ago.”

  The one where he declared to the world as loud as he possibly could he was going to marry me. Oh yeah. I saw that. I saw it and broke my phone by throwing it at the wall shortly after. As proud as I am I gave him the confidence to step into the light, to feel strong enough to say shit like that, it irks me that he blamed me for forcing him to have to deal with the world before he was completely ready.

  “Let's change the subject,” I suggest on a sigh. “How are things with you and Clark? Why'd you wait so long to tell me?”

  “Why did you wait so long to make time to listen?”

  Sensing a long, overdue, motherly lecture coming, I lean back in my patio chair.

  “I wanted to tell you in person, Brynley. I wanted to see your face. Make sure you were okay with it. I know it's been years since your father died, but that doesn't mean part of you might not have accepted the idea.”

  “Mom, it's been ten years. I cannot imagine not having been laid in ten years.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not everything is about sex, Bryn.”

  “Lies.”

  My mother giggles and gives me a quick swat on the arm. “And it hasn't been ten years. Clark and I started dating...about three years ago.”

  “Three years?!”

  “It was slow at first. Very slow. Quiet one on one dinners. An occasional walk around the property, that sort of thing.”

  “Because you were suddenly in a Jane Austen novel?”

  She swats at me again. “Neither of us wanted to rush into anything.”

  “Clearly...”

  “I was waiting for the best moment to tell you. The few times a year I do get to see you are usually spent discussing woes of roommate nightmares and job debacles. Dumping my happiness in the middle of your struggle to find yours seems wrong.”

  “So you wait until our first lunch after me being dumped to tell me?”

  “You weren't dumped,” she insists, checking her vibrating phone. “You two simply had a large disagreement.”

  “He threw me out of his house!”

  “You would've left anyway.”

  True. But still.

  “That's what you do when you're angry. You scream, shout, and storm away, but you always come back. Remember when you were a kid and Chris bit you?”

  “I loved the shit out of that damn thing and he bit my finger!”

  “A misunderstanding. He thought it was food.”

  “He was being an asshole.” Realizing her less than subtle comparison, I wrap up the conversation, “As much as I'm enjoying a thorough look at how the few things I choose to love manage to fuck me over, I have to get back to work.”

  She smiles sweetly and asks, “Will I see you again?”

  “Will Wes be the topic of the table?”

  “Not if you don't want him too.”

  I lean over and peck her with a kiss on the cheek. “Then yeah. Next week?”

  After she nods, we hug, she pays, and we split. As normal, I clock back in with less than a minute to spare. The rest of the afternoon casually floats by. Luckily for me, it's the day Bruce and I get to spend the majority of our time participating in animal observations. These are my favorite afternoons. I get the necessity to do everything else such as food prep and maintenance, but there's something exciting about getting to observe the feisty creatures in their daily routines, looking for anything out of the ordinary that could possibly be worth worrying about. The trainer we shadow is summoned away early for some unexpected mandatory staff meeting resulting in the two of us being let go early.

  Bruce waits for me to grab my bag on the other side of my locker. “Have you done your reading this week?”

  The locker shuts and I see his sweet face waiting. “Yup.”

  “Damn,” he pretends to sigh. “Was gonna use that to try to get you to come hang out with me.”

  “You do know reading is a one person kinda gig, right?”

  Bruce chuckles at the same time we start walking. He was one of the first people to introduce himself to me and he was also the first guy to ask me out. The others seemed to have taken the hint, but he's slyly resistant. I'm not even a hundred percent sure any more if he means it or if it has just become a running joke between us.

  We exchange comments about the day during our stroll down the hall, however when we get to the other side of the staff only door, he abruptly stops his statement to ask, “You going out to your car or to spend some time watching Steven?”

  I give him a sassy smirk. “Steven. It's kinda our date night.”

  Bruce chuckles, shakes his head, and says, “I will never understand your love of sharks.”

  “Good thing you'll never have to,” I tease backing up slowly to take the path towards the hall. “See you tomorrow.”

  He gives me a final wave and turns to the opposite direction. Quickly, I make my way around wandering children and strolling adults to the one place in the building I find breathtakingly magical.

  Flopping down on the bench beside someone, I'm lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Steven just as he swims by. Instantly my face lights up and I anxiously wait for him to make his rounds again. I may partially hate the idea of majestic creatures in captivity, but the institute's dedication to rescuing aquatic life hurt by humans or abandoned because they're injured, does make me feel better. Like Steven, he was injured in a commercial fishing accident. They initially didn't think he'd survive. Because of places like this, not only did he survive, he recovered and is now thriving in a safer place for him.

  “They're scary yet beautiful,” the man beside me says.

  “Hm. They could say the same thing about us. Humans kill more sharks a year than the other way around.” It takes a moment but as soon as it hits me, I sharply turn my head. “But you knew that.”

  “I did,” Wes retorts. “I also know the affinity for shark fin soup alone is the cause of millions of sharks’ deaths.”


  “How'd you know when and where to find me?”

  “Your mother gave me a hint.”

  “Ugh. Traitor.” My attention turns away and back towards the ocean life floating above me. “What do you want, Wes?”

  “You.”

  His lack of hesitation hits harshly. Rather than bother entertaining the comment, I state, “You had me. You're the one who hurt me then threw me back in the ocean to die.”

  “I know,” he whispers out. “I'm sorry.”