by Sadie Grubor
In the kitchen, I grab my favorite mug and pour the caffeinated goodness. On my third sip, Mercedes appears in her full rainbow of quirk.
"You look like hell," she blurts as she reaches into the refrigerator.
"Thanks. Good morning to you, too," I reply, sarcastically.
"Still not sleeping well?" she asks, pouring a glass of orange juice before propping against the counter next to me.
I shrug.
"Is it anxiety, the bad dreams, the stress...?"
"I'm pretty sure it's everything."
I sigh, not correcting her about the dreams. There's nothing bad about them, other than I'm obsessing over my soon to be ex-husband.
"Hmm." She eyes me for a moment before finishing off the rest of her juice. "Alright, time to make the donuts." She giggles and gives a light nudge to my arm.
Groaning at her crappy joke, I follow her to the bakery kitchen, my coffee still firmly in my hand.
Damon
The moment they tell me my mother was the mastermind behind Vivianne, embers of fury begin a slow burn in my gut. My family's faces all hold the same expression — fear and expectation. And they have every reason to feel this way. Urges to scream, throw, rage, and strangle my mother lie right beneath the surface of my calm facade.
With a deceiving composure, I excuse myself from the group. In the restroom, I splash cold water on my face and breathe deep. Droplets of water spray from my nostrils with each forceful exhale. Patting my face dry, I stare at myself in the mirror. Angry eyes stare back, but this time, there is a control containing the rage.
Taking quick, determined steps, I walk through my office and out the door.
"Damon, wait!" Hugh's footfalls follow his shout.
"Son, don't do this!" my father calls.
"Kick her ass, Damon!" Scarlett cheers, causing a twitch of amusement to lift one side of my mouth.
Without knocking, I enter my mother's home. Her servants look alarmed at my intrusion and hurry out of my path. I stop before the large woman who raised me when my mother was too busy to interact with her own child. Now the caregiver to the woman I want to throttle stands at the mouth of the large living room she used to sneak me in to play when forbidden.
"Virginia." I nod.
She stares into my eyes. Unlike the rest of the staff, I only see curiosity and hope on her face.
"Damon," she sighs. "I suppose you are here to speak with your mother."
It's not a question and takes me by surprise.
"You know about—?"
She shakes her head.
"No, baby boy, I have no idea why you are here to see her, but I've known this day would eventually come."
"What day?" I swallow, touched by the childhood endearment but unsure of whether I really want the response.
"The day you finally figured her out. The day you entered this house as a man determined and not the easily manipulated boy she's worked so hard to force you to be."
"How do you know I—?"
"Don't you forget who raised you, baby boy." She smiles, knowingly.
I return the smile for the briefest of moments.
"Where is she?" The darker urges to shout and attack deepen my voice.
"The study." She motions toward the stairs before cupping my face and retreating into the living room, closing the door behind her.
I inhale through my nose and hold the air inside, hoping to bring a sense of calm. It only takes the edge off the anger. Turning, I take the stairs two at a time and walk in long strides until I reach her door. Without pausing or knocking, I propel my body through the door and to the center of the room.
Her head snaps up from her desk, shock painting her face.
"Mother," I seethe, every bit of the anger and repressed frustration evident in one word.
"What's the meaning of this outburst? You don't just barge into—"
"How could you?" Stalking forward, I lean over her desk, pressing my palms onto the dark wood of her desk. "Do you hate me so much you would destroy my life?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Calm yourself." She leans back in the tall back leather chair.
"You can honestly sit there and pretend? You're okay with all the pain and loss you've caused?"
Tears form in my eyes. The night I lost my family flashes through my mind. The gurneys, white sheets, ambulances, police officers…all the loss and tragedy is like a slideshow of anguish. Something buried deep down within me snaps.
In four long strides, I round her desk and grab her chair. Spinning the chair toward me, her body jerks first to the right and then the left.
"Damon!" she cries.
Leaning down, I grasp her shoulders in my hands and shake.
"How can you live with yourself? You killed my son, your grandson!"
"Damon, stop it," she pleads, smacking my hands from her arms. "Please, stop!"
"Give me one goddamn good reason why I shouldn't wrap both my hands around your neck and squeeze the last lying, manipulating breath from your body?"
My hands slide toward her neck.
"Stop!" she screams, grabbing my wrists.
The flesh of my hands feels the fragile paper-thin skin of her neck. My fingers flex and she stiffens. I drop my hands, running them through my hair.
She slumps into her seat, sobbing.
"I can't. Believe. You. Were. Going. To—"
"Shut up, you aren't hurt," I spit.
"Damon, I don't know what has caused this break, but I didn't kill your son. You're delusional and—”
"Don't you dare!" I shout. "I can't believe you can sit there still lying about everything you’ve caused."
"Let me call the doctor,” she hiccups.
"I'm done. I quit this life with you and your company."
Her eyes round, panic flushing her face.
"You can't quit. This is our family's company! You are my legacy!" she shouts, standing with perfect ease, her fragile façade fading away.
"I hope you live forever in this lonely hell you’ve created for yourself, Mildred! I never want to see you again. And if you come near my family, I will make you regret it."
She gasps.
"Walking away from this company and our family is not an option, Damon! I'm your mother. My blood is in your veins." Her hands clench at her sides.
Shaking my head, I let the disbelief wash over me. All she cares about is her family's legacy, losing her son means less than nothing.
"I. Hate. You," I say, accentuating each word.
She blinks, pressing a hand to her chest as if she'll find a heartbeat there. We both know she won't.
"You don't mean that," she whispers, almost convincing me that she may actually feel something.
"Oh, Mildred, this is the first time in my life I've ever truly and irrevocably meant those three words." The admission slips through clenched teeth.
"I'm your mother." She hits the desk with a small fist.
"You are nothing."
With those final words, I turn and leave her standing there, mouth gaping.
She yells for me on what sounds like a real sob, but she's always been an amazing actress. I refuse to look back.
From the moment my driver closes me in the back of the car to the time we park in the underground garage, my phone rings non-stop. Without looking at the screen, I know it's my mother or someone calling on her behalf. I'm also sure it will be a scheme or manipulation to get me back to the house.
When I arrive to the executive floor and the small lobby, my phone finally falls silent. The security guard nods as I pass through groups of employees waiting for the elevator or at the front desk. Just outside my office, Mrs. Shaw's blue eyes lock onto me and her spine straightens.
Poor woman. I have not been easy to work for.
"Mrs. Shaw, please follow me."
I don't stop to make the request; instead, I walk into my office and take a seat behind my desk.
"Yes, Mr. Knyght?" Her voice wavers with nerves
and her fingers tighten on the pencil and pad in her hands.
"As of an hour ago, I resigned from my position here."
Her eyes widen and mouth parts.
"I don't want you to worry about your job. I'll be discussing everything with my brother and ensure you will be kept on at current compensation and benefits."
Her mouth opens more, but nothing comes out. She snaps it shut and swallows.
"I'll need your help to finish a few things as well as to take some notes and get you up to speed with some situations. It will be for your benefit, so you are able to assist whomever replaces me."
When she doesn't move, doesn't blink, and doesn't appear to be breathing, I prompt her.
"Mrs. Shaw?"
She clears her throat.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm just a bit surprised. Of course I'll assist you with whatever needs done."
"Good."
I exhale.
"Let's start by getting my brother in here as soon as you can, okay?"
"No need, I'm already here." Hugh enters, worry lining his face.
"Hugh, I'd like to review some things with you and Mrs. Shaw before I leave."
"Another vacation?" he carefully asks.
I smile, knowing he's overheard something or perhaps my mother has spoken to him.
"No. I've resigned."
His eyes widen and lips part in shock.
"You quit?" Scarlett exclaims, pushing by Hugh and charging to my desk. "Don't let that bitch—”
"Mrs. Shaw, I'll call you when we are to begin."
She gives a small nod and hurries from the office, closing the door behind her.
I turn my attention back to Scarlett.
"She didn't do this. It's my decision, for once."
Scarlett shakes her head fervently.
"No, Damon, she did do this. She's forcing your hand, even if it's not in the way she planned."
"I'm getting as far from the Banks family, from my mother, as I can. I want nothing to do with her again."
"Fine, then make her release all her stock and hold on the company. Kick her out. Don't let her change your life by her actions. It's time for you to change hers!" Scarlett smacks my desk. "You are this company, Damon."
"No, it's my mother’s and she will always have a hold on it, and me, if I stay."
"Scarlett is right." Hugh steps next to his fiancé. "Damon, you don't see it and you think it's your mother, but you're so wrong. It's you our investors and clients believe in. They are not relying on an elderly woman who they all can see won't let go of the strings."
I open my mouth to protest.
"Wait. Hear me out." He puts up a hand.
"When there is a problem with our major clients, such as Baxtor Broadcasting, who do they reach out to?"
"Blanche and my mother go way back," I argue.
"True, but it's Vincent — her son — who contacts you. He runs the company, Damon. Blanche hasn't controlled things since Vince took on the role of CEO. She holds stock, much like your mother, but she is a silent partner. He listens to her input, but makes the decisions."
"And if his mother were to advise against our initiatives, then—"
"You are kidding, right?" Hugh's brow rises, disbelief wrinkling his forehead. "You believe he makes his decisions based on what his mommy tells him to do? Do you think so little of him?"
"No, of course not, but—"
"But nothing," Scarlett interjects. "It's the same here. Everyone knows you are the force behind this company. No one believes for one second your mother has any ruling authority. Not even the investors."
"Every time we end an investor meeting where your mother attends, the first thing most people want to know is when they will hear your thoughts and plans. They crave your input, Damon." Hugh presses his hands on my desk, his palms flat.
"Just think about this before you make any final decisions. That's all I ask," Scarlett implores.
Olivia
Another week passes without a word from Damon. I'm still not sleeping well and the lack of sleep shot my immune system to hell, causing me to pick up some flu bug. Between the bakery, Alex, and not feeling well, I think I may lose my mind. Luckily, Alex still takes naps, so I'm able to sleep when he does. It's still not enough to help, though. For the last two days, I've been confined to my apartment and restricted from entering the bakery. Mercedes spends most of her day with me to help with Alex, except for today. Today, my father picked him up to spend time with his grandson and to give Ced and I a break.
A knock at the door is the first thing to get me off the couch I'm sharing with Mercedes, aside from bathroom breaks.
"I'm sorry to just drop by, but..." Alfonso pauses, taking in my wrinkled pajamas, frizzy hair, and blotchy face. "You don't look so hot."
He drops his bag by the door before sitting in a chair next to the couch.
After closing the door, I curl back up on the couch. I notice that Mercedes has straightened and fixed her clothes for a better appearance.
"I caught the flu," I croak, snuggling back into the couch.
"That sucks." Alfonso shifts his gaze from noticeably checking out Mercedes to me.
If I were feeling better, I'd excuse myself to leave them alone for a moment. It's the first time I've really seen him more than nod at her in a friendly greeting.
"Did you come by to tell her how awful she looks or is there a point to your visit?" Mercedes snaps at him, uncharacteristically.
My eyes widen at her remark and his obvious unease.
"Yes, I have news about your divorce."
Instantly, I forget about the weirdness between Alfonso and Mercedes. My spine straightens and every muscle tenses, waiting for him to launch into Damon's return fire. Seeing the weary eagerness on my face, he continues.
"Mr. Knyght is not fighting your petition." A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
He's not fighting the divorce? He's going to let us go? He's not fighting for us?
A part of me feels like twerking, while another part, one which shall not be admitted to if asked, feels like crying, screaming, and yelling.
"Olivia?" Alfonso invades my mixed thoughts. "I thought you would be happy?"
It's more of a question than a statement. I shake my head and blink.
"I am," I blurt. "I'm just surprised by this turn in events."
LIAR! You're disappointed.
"I don't think surprised is the right word," Mercedes chimes in, looking at me and avoiding Alfonso.
Her hand links with mine and squeezes.
"I agree," Alfonso speaks, drawing my attention, but not Mercedes’. "There's something else I need to discuss with you, though."
"What?" My relief ebbs.
"Mr. Knyght is petitioning for paternity and joint custody."
Shock tingles across my skin and widens my eyes.
He wants to take him for half the time? Take him to New York, near his crazy, controlling mother and chauvinistic father? Oh, hell no!
"No!" Shaking my head, I reaffirm my objection.
"Liv…" Mercedes begins.
"I won't send my son off to New York for part of the year."
"Olivia, Mr. Knyght has already established—"
"No, Alfonso!" I snap. "I want you to do whatever you have to in order to object to the petition. He can see his son, but only in Pittsburgh and supervised. I can't trust what he and his mother will scheme and plan."
Throwing back the blanket, I stand, determination stiffening my spine. My attempt at showing strength quells from the churn of my stomach. Darting off to the bathroom with my hand over my mouth, I kneel before the toilet.
I'm lying against the cool tile floor when Mercedes enters, following a light knock.
"You need anything?"
Grabbing onto the edge of the sink, I pull myself to a seated position.
"I think it's time for a doctor." Mercedes purses her lips.
"There's nothing they can do for the flu, Ced."
&nbs
p; I raise my arms to her and she grabs my hands. She helps me to stand. Noticing my wobbling legs, she stays close to my side as I brush my teeth.
"What's going on in here?"
The sound of Felicity's voice surprises me.
"When did you get here?" I ask around the toothbrush in my mouth.
"Alfonso let me in just before he left." She shrugs. "He said he will be in touch with you soon and hopes you feel better."
"Okay, thanks." I remove the toothbrush and rinse my mouth.
Suddenly, the mint of the paste was not a good idea.
With Mercedes help, I reclaim my position on the couch and snuggle the cushions and pillows.
"I'm going to clean up the bathroom a bit and pee. Be right back." Mercedes steps away and Felicity replaces her, kneeling next to the couch.
"Can I get you anything?" Felicity asks.
"I'm good, thanks." I give her as much of a smile as I can muster given the state of my stomach.
She stands, looking around the apartment.
"Where's Alex?"
"Dad," I rasp, closing my eyes and breathing through my nose.
"Damn," Mercedes’ curse is muffled by the bathroom door, but still audible. "Liv, do you have any tampons?"
"They're under the—"
"Already looked, there's nothing there," she responds before I'm finished.
"There should be a box…"
My stomach flips again, but this time for a different reason.
Heart racing and mind spinning, I push off the couch and trudge toward the bathroom.
"Liv?" Felicity follows closely. Her arms are out, as if I'll fall at any second.
Barging through the closed door, I fling open the cabinet under the sink.
"What the hell?!" Mercedes shouts from the toilet, her bright pink skinny jeans bunched around her knees.
No blue box.
Air rushes from my lungs. Standing slowly, I grip the edge of the bathroom countertop.
"Liv?" Felicity hedges.
"Check the hall linen closet for tampons." My voice shakes, sounding fragile.
"Okay." She disappears, but returns quickly with an unopened box.
My brain is in overdrive, calculating, adding, and trying to account for the unopened box.
"What is going on?" Mercedes asks over the flush of the toilet.