Needing Her

by Allie Everhart

  Pearce’s father got back into town last week and he’s making Pearce work all the time. When his father was gone, Pearce cut way back on his hours and I got used to having him around. But now it’s back to the way it was when I first met him, where he works nonstop and I hardly ever see him. In fact, this past week I only saw him once, and that was just for a few hours late Tuesday night.

  While I wait for Pearce, I decide to watch TV. I settle into the couch and turn on the TV, but then notice the elevator door opening. I jump up to greet Pearce, but it’s not him. It’s a man who looks like an older version of Pearce, along with an older woman. They’re both tall and thin and very well dressed. The man is wearing a black suit and tie, and the woman is in a sleek black dress, topped with a black wool coat.

  I stand in front of the elevator. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  The elevator opens right into Pearce’s loft, but you have to punch in a security code to access this floor and Pearce has never said who else has the code besides him and me. He obviously knows these people, and given how similar the man looks to Pearce, I’m guessing these are his parents. Wait. His parents? I’m not prepared to meet his parents! I’m not even dressed nice. I’m wearing jeans and a sweater and have my hair in a ponytail.

  The man and woman walk past me into the living room, looking me up and down.

  The man speaks. “I think the better question is, who are you and why are you here?”

  “She’s the maid, dear,” the woman says. She directs her attention to me. “How much more time do you need? We could go wait elsewhere until you’re done.”

  “Um, no, I’m not—”

  “Is Pearce here?” the man asks, interrupting me.

  “No. He’ll be here shortly. Are you his family?”

  The man goes over to the bar. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business, but yes. We’re his parents.”

  This is very uncomfortable. They think I’m the cleaning lady? Do I look like the cleaning lady? Why don’t they know who I am? I know I haven’t met them before, but I thought Pearce would’ve at least told them about me.

  I go up to his mother. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Rachel. Pearce’s girlfriend.”

  “Pearce’s what?” The man drops the glass he was holding and it shatters on the hardwood floor.

  “His girlfriend,” I say, hesitantly. Pearce obviously didn’t tell them about me.

  “Pearce doesn’t have a girlfriend,” the man says, as he walks back over to me. “And if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be you.” He eyes me up and down, looking disgusted with my appearance.

  I’m trying to be nice, but I already don’t like this man. And I don’t think I like his wife either. She, too, looks disgusted at my appearance. I don’t understand. I’m not dressed up, but I’m not exactly unkempt. I’m wearing a red sweater and my best pair of jeans, but they’re looking at me like I’m covered in dirty rags.

  “How long have you been seeing him?” the woman asks.

  “A few months.” I say it softly, suddenly afraid to talk to them. They’re very intimidating.

  “Months?” The man almost yells it. “That’s not possible. If Pearce was seeing someone, I would’ve known about it. I’ve had him—” He stops and clears his throat. “I know everything Pearce does, and if he was seeing someone, I would be the first to know.”

  I say nothing, figuring it’s best to keep quiet.

  The woman straightens up and lifts her chin, her eyes peering down at me. “What is your name, dear?”

  “Rachel.”

  “Last name,” the man orders. “Nobody cares about a first name.”

  I swallow. “Evans. Rachel Evans.”

  “Where are you from?” he barks. “And what do your parents do?”

  “I’m from a small town in Indiana. My parents have a farm.”

  He huffs and walks away. “You have got to be kidding me. Is this some kind of joke?” He heads toward the kitchen. “Pearce, are you in here?” He checks the bedroom. “We don’t have time for your jokes and I’m not finding your humor to be the least bit funny.”

  “He’s not here,” I say. “He said he’d be home around seven, or maybe before, if he finished his work.”

  The man comes back and stands by his wife. “Pearce is at the office?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “When I left there, his office door was closed and the lights were off. I assumed he was here.”

  “Well, when I talked to him earlier he was at the office.”

  The man takes his wife’s arm. “Eleanor, let’s go.” He points to me. “I suggest you leave as well. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “But I—” I stop when I hear the elevator door open. I turn and see Pearce standing there, holding a bouquet of red roses, wearing the big smile that’s always on his face whenever he greets me.

  “Pearce!” His father storms over to him. “Why is this woman in your apartment?”

  Pearce drops the flowers, his expression one of sheer panic and shock. “Father, what are you doing here?”

  “Your mother and I were going to—never mind. We have other things to discuss, such as who this woman is and why she’s here in your apartment.”

  I wait to see what Pearce will say. But he’s standing there, still in shock, not saying anything.

  His father speaks again. “She claims to be seeing you. Is that true?”

  Pearce looks at me. He can tell how nervous I am and how tense his parents are making me. He goes past his father and puts his arm protectively around me.

  “This is Rachel Evans. And yes, we are seeing each other and have been for several months.” He gently rubs my arm, trying to help me relax. “Rachel, these are my parents, Holton and Eleanor Kensington.”

  I nod. “Yes. We met earlier.”

  The man I now know as Holton glares at Pearce. “You think this is funny?”

  “This isn’t a joke, Father. I’m telling you the truth. Rachel is my girlfriend.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about her?” his mother asks.

  He keeps his eyes on his father. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  I’m starting to understand why Pearce never introduced me to his parents. They’re not nice people. Not even a little. They’re not even nice to their son. They both look like they’re about to strangle him. I don’t get it. He’s 25. A grown man. They shouldn’t be getting this upset about who he’s dating.

  “Get her out of here,” Holton orders. “And then you and I are going to have a talk.”

  Pearce holds me tighter against his side. “She’s not going anywhere. If anyone’s leaving, it’s going to be you.”

  I can hear Pearce breathing hard and feel the tension in his muscles. He’s nervous or angry or both.

  “Holton.” Eleanor turns to him. “Perhaps we should stay. I’d like to learn more about Rachel.”

  I can’t tell if she’s being nice. I get the feeling she isn’t. I feel like her decision to stay is so she can get information about me to use against me later.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Pearce says. “I think you two should go.”

  “Eleanor is right.” Holton grins, and not a friendly grin, but a smug grin, like he’s determined to do the opposite of whatever Pearce wants. “We need to learn more about this girl. We’re going to dinner.”

  His mother half smiles at me. “I assume you’ll want to change clothes and freshen up a little.”

  Pearce takes my hand. “We’ll be right back.”

  We go in his bedroom and he shuts the door. “Rachel, forgive me for their behavior. They never should have spoken to you that way.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them about me?” I whisper, even though I’m sure they can’t hear us.

  “Because I knew they would react this way. They’re very judgmental and controlling and completely unreasonable. I knew they wouldn’t approve of you. I told you that.”

  “I know you did but I guess�
��I just didn’t think they’d be that…rude. Sorry. I shouldn’t say that about them.”

  “No, you should. They are rude. They just don’t see it that way. They act this way to anyone who doesn’t fit in our world. I told you they don’t accept outsiders.”

  “What are we going to do? Should we go to dinner with them?”

  “No. I’ll just tell them to leave.”

  He turns to go but I hold him back. “Wait. Maybe we should go. Maybe things would get better if we all sat down and talked.”

  “They won’t. If anything, they’ll get worse before they get better. But if you want to go, we’ll go.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t. Now I’m changing my mind. They really hate me. I’m sure they don’t want to have dinner with me.”

  “They’ll make us go to dinner eventually. We might as well get it over with. I’ll go out and wait with them while you finish getting ready.”

  He returns to the living room while I change clothes. I stay here so often that I keep some of my clothes in Pearce’s closet. Luckily, I had a dress to change into. It’s not that great of a dress, but it’s better than wearing jeans.

  I can hear Holton in the other room, scolding Pearce like he’s a child. I can’t hear everything he’s saying, but his tone is harsh and condescending. No wonder Pearce avoids his family. I don’t know how he puts up with this. Maybe his parents aren’t always like this. Maybe they’re only acting this way because I’m here.

  I go in the bathroom and put on more makeup. Then I take my ponytail holder out of my hair and let my natural waves fall over my shoulders and down my back. I brush it out a little and spritz some hair spray over it. That’s good enough. I don’t want them waiting forever for me to get ready.

  When I leave the bedroom, I see the three of them sitting on the couch. They all stand up as I approach.

  Pearce smiles and comes up to me. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  His parents say nothing. They just stare at me with disgust. When Pearce said people in his world wouldn’t approve of me, this isn’t what I expected. I thought they’d either ignore me or fake being nice. I didn’t think they’d actually come out and express their disapproval so openly like this.

  Holton insists we all ride together in his black Mercedes. Pearce and I sit in the back seat and he holds my hand the entire way. His father keeps glancing back at us in the rearview mirror and mumbling things under his breath.

  Holton takes us to a very fancy seafood restaurant. The hostess says it will be an hour wait, but when Holton says his name we’re immediately seated.

  While we wait for our food, Pearce talks to Holton about work, probably hoping to get his father’s mind off his anger toward me. But it doesn’t work. Holton keeps throwing mean, almost threatening, looks my way and Eleanor tries to avoid looking at me at all.

  “Are you done with those financial reports?” Holton asks Pearce.

  “No. But I’ll get there early tomorrow and get it done.”

  “You’ll go there tonight and get it done. The morning’s not soon enough.”

  “You don’t arrive at the office until six. I’ll have them ready by then.”

  “You’ll have them ready when I tell you to have them ready. And I want them ready tonight.” Holton has been ordering Pearce around like this since we arrived at the restaurant. And when he’s not ordering him around, he’s insulting him or criticizing him.

  Pearce’s jaw tightens as he takes short shallow breaths. I hate seeing him so stressed. No wonder his body is always wound so tight. I take Pearce’s hand under the table, hoping it will calm him.

  Pearce and his father continue to talk about work, and when there’s a short break, Eleanor asks me about school. I tell her a little about Hirshfield but her eyes wander to whoever’s behind me, like she’s lost all interest in what I have to say.

  “Rachel is an expert in American History,” Pearce says, trying to get her attention back. “She works at a museum and gives tours. She tailors each tour to her audience. I went on one of them and it was excellent.”

  “Speaking of museums,” Holton says. “Your mother ran into Rielle last week at a benefit for the art museum. Rielle was asking about you.”

  “Father, we were talking about Rachel’s job. Perhaps you’d like to ask her about it.”

  I prepare for Holton’s question, but instead of asking me about the museum, he says, “My son was in a relationship with Rielle, and likely still is.” He smirks. “I hope you didn’t think you were the only woman in his life.”

  “Father, that’s enough!” Pearce lets go of my hand. “You and I need to step outside. I’d like to speak to you alone.”

  Just as he says it, our food arrives, so Pearce and his father remain at the table. My meal looks delicious, but I don’t have much of an appetite. Holton and Eleanor have me so uptight my stomach hurts. I eat what I can, in between Eleanor’s questions.

  “Who is your designer?” she asks, patting the edge of her mouth with her napkin.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Your clothes. Who styles you?”

  She knows I don’t have a stylist so why is she asking? Just to prove how wrong I am for her son? How I don’t fit in his world?

  “I’m my own stylist.” I say it with confidence. I’ve had it with their put downs. They already don’t like me, so what do I have to lose by sticking up for myself?

  “What salon do you go to?”

  “I go to one near campus. It’s very small. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.” I smile at her, and I’m going to keep smiling through the rest of dinner. Maybe I can kill them with kindness. “I like your earrings,” I tell her. “They’re beautiful.”

  She touches the large square diamond on her left earlobe. “Holton bought them for me for our twentieth wedding anniversary.”

  “Do you like expensive jewelry?” Holton asks me as he cuts into his salmon with his fork. “Is that why you’re pursuing Pearce?”

  “Father, stop it!”

  I rub Pearce’s arm and whisper to him. “It’s okay.” I direct my attention back to his father. “To answer your question, Mr. Kensington, no, I am not interested in expensive jewelry. I’m dating your son because I think he’s a kind and caring man and I enjoy spending time with him. You’re very lucky to have him for a son.”

  Holton huffs. “You obviously don’t know him.” He stares at Pearce. “He’s a complete disappointment as a son.”

  I want to reach across the table and slap him. How dare he say that. How could he even think that?

  Pearce seems unaffected by the comment, like he’s used to his father’s abuse. But I’m not used to it and it makes me furious.

  “Your son graduated from both Harvard and Yale. You can’t possibly tell me you’re not proud of him.”

  “Rachel,” Pearce says quietly, urging me not to continue this.

  “He was only admitted to those schools because of my connections,” Holton says. “And because of the Kensington name. A name he disparages when he refuses to work hard and put in the time and effort needed to grow our company.”

  I can’t believe he just said that. He really thinks Pearce doesn’t work hard? Is he serious? I know I should keep quiet, but I can’t. “Your son works harder than anyone I know. How can you even—” I stop when Eleanor interrupts me.

  “When do you graduate?” she asks.

  I take a moment to compose myself. “December.”

  “And what are your plans for after graduation?”

  “I’m hoping to get a job at a museum in New York.”

  “They won’t hire you,” Holton says. “The Manhattan museums hire only the best. There are candidates far more qualified than you. Ones who attended an Ivy League school.”

  Pearce sets his fork down. “If you continue this, Father, Rachel and I will be leaving. We came here for you to get to know her, not to insult her all evening.”

  “I
will do as I please,” he says. “And you will not disrespect me by speaking to me that way.”

  Pearce turns to me. “Rachel, would you like to leave?”

  He says it calmly, but his face is red with anger. We’ve only eaten half of our dinners, but it would probably be good to get out of here. Pearce’s temper continues to rise the longer we’re here.

  “Maybe it would be for the best.” I turn to his mother. “Unless you’d like us to stay, Mrs. Kensington.”

  “No. Leave,” Holton says. “I’ve had enough of my son’s insubordination. And Pearce, you need to go into the office and get those reports done.”

  Pearce ignores the comment and stands up, pulling my chair out for me.

  I smile at his parents. “It was very nice to meet both of you.” It really wasn’t, but I was brought up to be polite, even to people as hateful as this.

  Eleanor nods while Holton just continues eating. As we’re leaving the table, Pearce stops suddenly. I turn back and see Holton has a tight hold on Pearce’s arm.

  “End this,” he says through gritted teeth. “Now.”

  Pearce rips his arm back and places it around me, then leads us to the coat check. He’s fuming mad so I keep quiet as the woman goes to get our coats. The hostess calls us a cab and we wait in the bar for it to arrive. Pearce is quiet and tense and still very angry, so I just sit next to him and hold his hand.

  A few minutes later the cab shows up and takes us back to Pearce’s loft. When we get inside, we take off our coats and he leads me to the couch to sit down.

  “I’m very sorry about tonight,” he says.

  “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know your father treated you like that. I couldn’t take hearing him say those things to you.”

  “I don’t care about myself. I’m used to it. But I won’t stand for him or my mother treating you that way.”

  “Well, you warned me. I just didn’t believe you. I’ve never met anyone like them.”

  “Everyone I know is like them. That’s why I’ve tried so hard to keep you away from that side of my life.”

  “But if we’re going to be together, I’ll have to be part of it. I won’t have a choice.”