by Q. B. Tyler
“Mother I don’t have any olives. And I’m sure you have Hendrick’s at home.”
“A gin martini without olives?” She puts a hand across her chest in the most dramatic fashion, and had it been anyone else on the face of the Earth, I would think they’re kidding. But no, my mother is definitely serious. “I might as well drink this out of one of those red plastic cups.” She moves out of the kitchen without another word. Charlotte is staring after her, mouth slightly open in shock. She looks at me and then back to the door and then back to me again.
“I have no words,” she whispers. “Literally not even one.”
“I’ve been trying to come up with the words for years.” I follow her gaze. “They fail me every time.”
I walk out of the kitchen, leaving Charley alone and shoot my mother a look. “Can you not?”
“What?” she asks as if she’s clueless to her calculated comments.
“Watch your tone with her, Diana, I mean it,” I growl, knowing she hates it when I call her by her first name. “I am not J.R., you will address me as the woman that spent fourteen hours in labor bringing you into this world,” she would say.
And then the next eighteen years making me wish you hadn’t.
“William, what do you even know about this girl, really? I am just trying to understand—”
I snort. “No, you’re not. You’re using the fact that you’re my mother to stomp all over her, when you know Charlotte does ultimately want your approval. And I won’t have it. Ever. But you are damn sure not going to insult the woman I love under my roof.”
She huffs. “She shouldn’t be so sensitive.”
“I am warning you, Mother. Don’t make me do it again.” I walk by her, daring her to walk into the kitchen to bother the woman who is probably still shaking like a leaf.
I move into the living room and my father immediately drops his phone from his ear, a hushed “I’ll call you later,” falls from his lips and I resist the urge to chuckle.
“Really? Your wife is in the other room.” I don’t even try to hide my disgust and disapproval.
“Keep your voice down,” he says half-heartedly, as if my mother finding out that he was talking to whoever didn’t concern him. “I have plans for dinner, so let’s get started, shall we?” I frown, not because I think he’s having dinner with a woman, but because I remember what Charlotte said about them having dinner plans with Drew.
It’s probably for the best anyway, my mind attempts to rationalize in an attempt to hide the hurt.
“Why did you even bring her here?”
“She is your mother, and she’s concerned.”
“Maybe she should be more concerned with her relationship and less concerned with mine.”
“What goes on between your mother and me is not your business and it works for us.”
My eyebrows almost shoot off my face. “Works for who? You? Your infidelity works for Mom? How?”
“Trust me, your mother is fine.” I watch as he drowns the contents of his highball glass, and I feel the itch to join him. No Will, no drinks while they’re here. Having a drink around my parents is a slippery slope. Once I open that door, it wouldn’t take me long to be completely obliterated as I would be taking a sip every time either one of them pissed me off. I’d once gone through four drinks in the span of an hour.
“Fine, whatever. I can’t have this conversation with you for the millionth time. Can we talk about why I called you over here?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” My mother comes back into the room, and I wonder if she waited until after she knew we were no longer discussing my father’s latest indiscretion.
It is much easier to ignore it that way.
She sits in the chair that she handpicked for me, telling the decorator she hired that it was the perfect addition to the room. It was beige and hard and I fucking hate it. She is literally the only person who ever sits there.
I believe my father is about to start talking when Charley reappears in the room. “It’s ready if you want to eat first or…” she trails off, and I can hear the nerves in her voice. “Mrs. Montgomery, I can make you something else?”
My mother doesn’t move and my father’s eyes are glued to his laptop he’d just opened. I watch in disbelief as neither one of them acknowledge her.
After a moment, my mother remembers her manners and smiles. “It’s really much too late for me to eat anything.”
Charley frowns and looks down at her watch, visibly confused at my mother’s inability to eat past five. My mother must mistake Charley’s confusion for judgment because she continues. “Once your metabolism slows, you’ll understand. Usually around a woman’s late twenties early thirties, one has to watch what they eat and when they eat it,” she nods.
I roll my eyes. “Baby, come sit with me,” I tell her as I wave her over, ignoring my mother’s jab at my fiancée. I sit down and pull her as close as she can get to me without being in my lap and wrap an arm around her waist before giving her a gentle squeeze.
“Let’s forget about food for now, we ate before we came anyway,” my father says and I want to kick them both out for the insensitivity towards Charley’s feelings. “So, let’s weigh the options, shall we?” He sets his computer to the side. “You go to the board, explain everything, they suspend your license.” He opens his arms as if to say ‘what’s next?’ “What happens?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of factors. I wasn’t just messing around with a patient. I fell in love with her. She wanted to leave her husband. She’s of a consenting age—”
“Well, I would certainly hope so!” my mother exclaims.
“I just mean she’s of an age to make her own decisions without suspicion of being coerced,” I say before turning back to my father. “I don’t know what the future holds if I tell them everything. The AMA condemns any kind of sexual relationship between a doctor and a patient, but our situation is a little different. It’s against the code of conduct, but—”
“But what, Will?” J.R. interjects, and I’m getting so irritated with them for prohibiting me from getting my thoughts out with their constant interruptions. “I was just reading an article that there are some members of the AMA that believe under no circumstances can a patient give consent at all. Let’s put the violation of patient privacy aside, which is a completely different bear, what will they do when they learn about you and Charley?”
“Worst case scenario, I lose my license.”
“And then what exactly comes next?”
“I do something else. I can do other things. I can counsel other people. Some help centers don’t require a license, and a variety of degrees which I have will suffice. In my situation, I could file for a reissue in which case I could be reinstated. It just might be hard to stay in Atlanta and practice again with my reputation. But I could very well start somewhere new.”
My mother gasps. “And now you’re leaving?!” She shakes her head. “There has to be some other way.”
“Not if he’s hell-bent on telling them.”
“You make it seem like doing the right thing is so terrible. God J.R., your lawyer is showing,” I groan as I rub my head. “It’s the right thing to do, I took an oath for fuck’s sake. Try to understand that!”
“In relation to those patients whose privacy was violated, those people are none the wiser. Charley’s ex-husband agreed he wasn’t going to say anything. We are the only people that know! What is the point of turning your life upside down? I understand the principle, but…you don’t have to cut off your nose to spite your face,” J.R. bites back.
“I can’t have this over me anymore. The guilt will eventually eat away at me,” I tell him honestly. And that’s if I don’t drink myself to death first.
“Why?! They’re not going to know. If you’re feeling guilty, stop counseling them. Recommend them to someone else and move on,” my mother adds.
“Will, we got the tape from Matt when we met with him. There’s no chance of
it getting back to them,” my father says.
“And what happens if he made a copy?” I ask.
“I made it clear what would happen if he made trouble in that regard. He gets it.”
I sigh. “So, you’re saying I just say nothing, pretend it didn’t happen?”
“That’s my vote,” J.R. says, as he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.
“And if it comes out later that I knew about it, I’m fucked.”
Both of my parents are silent, and I turn to my side, and study Charley for a moment. Her head is bowed slightly, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap, and I swear I can hear her heart pounding from where I sit. “What do you think, baby?”
She looks up at me and then at my parents who’ve now turned their attention to her as well. “I think…” she starts. “Only you have to live with yourself and the choices you make. If you don’t say anything, and you get to keep everything intact, but you’re miserable and unhappy…is it worth it? I don’t want to watch this eat you alive. That’s when people turn to other vices instead of the people that love them. I don’t want to watch you spiral.”
Does she know? Can she sense the inner turmoil that is building within me? Does she know I have another vice—besides her?
“He’s stronger than that. And as his mother I resent the insinuation that he’s not,” I hear my mother say, and I don’t think for one second that Charley was calling me weak. She’s right. One hundred percent. It doesn’t matter what any of us say. It’s about whether I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror every morning.
“He’s the strongest man I know.” Charley smiles before she turns her gaze to me and rubs her hand over my jaw. “But guilt…” she trails off before she turns back to my parents. “I’ve had quite a lot of experience with guilt lately and…it will consume you.” She looks back at me and her eyes penetrate me. “I want you to do what’s best for you, and I will support whatever you need to do so long as it’s…nothing crazy. I love you. I will always support you. If we have to leave Atlanta, then we leave Atlanta. I would follow you anywhere.” She smiles and I resist the urge to pull her into my lap and kiss her with everything in me.
I settle for cupping her face and placing a gentle kiss on her lips that I hope conveys how much I love her. I let my forehead rest against hers just letting myself be calmed by her gentle breathing.
“I love you too,” I tell her.
I hear my father clear his throat and I see the pink in her cheeks as I think she may have forgotten we weren’t alone.
“It seems like you’ve got your mind made up. So, I guess the only question is—when is this going down?”
* * *
THE MEETING IS SET FOR Monday, allowing me one final weekend of normalcy before I turn my life completely upside down. I hate the unknown; it makes me feel out of control, something that triggers me to drink more than usual, but I am trying my best to ignore the little voice that urges me to have just one glass. I haven’t had a drink in two days, after I’d soaked my liver in scotch the night that J.R. and my mother stopped by and voiced their opinions while Charlotte tried to relieve her tension through a two-hour bubble bath. Once she was out, I buried myself inside of her over and over again, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her delicious little body.
It’s Saturday, and Charlotte and I have decided to spend the weekend not worrying about the future and just enjoying each other. It’s the first time we are out in the open in Atlanta as a couple, and we want to enjoy the newfound freedom. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off Charlotte all night, her black dress that exposes tanned skin and sexy curves gives me a hard-on that I can’t shake. Lips coated in red, smile up at me over her menu. “You’re staring again.”
“It’s just because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” I look around the restaurant and catch more than a few people looking at us. “Every man is jealous that you’re here with me and not them.”
A pink tint finds her cheeks as she bites down on her lip. “You always make me feel beautiful.”
“And I will continue to do so for the rest of our lives, future Mrs. Montgomery.” Desire flashes in her eyes and I notice she squirms in her seat. I raise an eyebrow at her. “Are you wet?”
She swallows and nods her head several times as she sets her menu down. “I want you to fuck me.”
“And here I thought my tongue in your pussy right before we left would be enough to get you through the night.” My voice is low, not wanting to alert any of the patrons of our sexual banter, but equally seductive.
Her hand reaches across the table and grips my forearm. “Well, you’ve been looking at me like you want to devour me all night. You know I react to your looks. All of them. I always have.”
“Always, huh?”
She nods. “When…he would be late, and I arrived on time, you always complimented what I was wearing, particularly when I wore dresses. You told me I looked lovely, nice, I think once you told me I looked beautiful. I almost dropped to the ground and spread my legs for you right then and there. It’s why I started wearing them every time. Because I thought you liked them.”
“I love you in everything. And nothing,” I add and she giggles. “I had no idea, you noticed.”
“I noticed everything. Because…you noticed everything about me.”
And it was true, I had noticed everything about her, from the beginning, all I could see was her.
The waiter comes over with the bottle of champagne we ordered. I hadn’t planned to drink, but Charlotte absentmindedly said something about celebrating our first official date and asked what champagne I thought was best.
See what happens when you aren’t honest with your partner? I’d seen it time and time again in counseling. If one partner has an addiction problem—alcohol specifically—it can be the spouse without the problem that can accidentally drag them back in with something as harmless as a champagne toast.
Case in point. I look at the champagne as he pours our glasses, and I watch as the bubbles make it almost to the surface but begin to dissolve just before they begin to spill over the edge. Veuve Clicquot champagne had become my favorite by default, having been raised that Moet and Dom Perignon were simply too flashy. Besides, that’s what Ingrid and Humphrey drink in Casablanca, my mother would giggle as she downed the bubbly liquid amongst her friends.
“Cheers, baby.” She lifts her glass and holds it out for me to tap mine against and I do so without hesitation.
“Cheers to you.” I nod at her, before letting my eyes close as I take a long sip. There’s an explosion in my mouth and throughout my body as it recognizes the taste instantly.
I knew you couldn’t stay away.
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat as I set the glass down, not wanting to drain the entire thing in one gulp.
“Are you nervous for Monday?” Ah fuck it. I pick up the glass and down it before sitting it back down. “I guess that’s a yes.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Don’t be nervous, I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”
I nod, knowing that it was never an argument I could have won. When I planned the meeting, I started to tell her that she didn’t need to be there. The words weren’t even out of my mouth before she was shooting me a glare and telling me to “not fucking go there.”
“I know, it’s just a big risk.”
“But you’ll feel much better afterwards, getting it out in the open. Secrets always find a way of coming out. And like you said, you want to be able to live with yourself.”
I repeat her words in my head. Secrets always find a way of coming out.
Secrets.
I have a secret.
I let out a breath and sit back against my chair, my eyes raking over the vision in front of me and trying to forget the fact that there’s something I need to tell her.
Not tonight.
Do it tomorrow. Just enjoy tonight.
“Wh
en did you want to get married?” I ask changing the subject.
Her eyes light up so bright, it almost stops my heart. “When you’re ready.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she tells me without hesitation. “I love you and I want to be with you…forever.”
You better not marry this woman without being honest with her about everything. Would she be this willing to dive into marriage with you when she learns that she’s not your first love like she believes?
That title belongs to alcohol. And she is a jealous fucking bitch.
“Sometime early next year?”
“I don’t need a big wedding. I’ve done that and…I just need you and Lauren and my mom and whoever else you want.”
“I don’t want anything big.”
“I’m sure your mother will want to invite everyone in Atlanta.” She rolls her eyes in a circle as she takes another sip and the itch in my fingers to pour myself another glass overtakes me. “Do you want more?” Charlotte asks as she points at my empty glass. She lifts the bottle to pour it for me as I nod.
Then no more.
Two hours and two bottles of champagne later, Charlotte and I have switched to harder drinks and I’ve moved my chair to allow myself to touch every inch of her skin. We are tucked into a corner of the restaurant where there aren’t as many eyes witnessing our slightly drunken public displays of affection.
“You mean the world to me, Charlotte. You know that?” I mindlessly play with her hair as her hand strokes my thigh, her hand moving up higher each time. I strain against my pants, my cock rising to the fact that her hand is wandering dangerously close to it.
“Of course. You tell me all the time!” She giggles, her voice a little louder than usual and I wonder if the whiskey in her Manhattan is getting to her.
“Because it’s the truth.”
“Do you know that you mean the world to me? I didn’t even know it was possible to love someone this much. I read all those romance novels where women were like bursting with love for a guy, and I always wondered what that was like? But I am just consumed by you. Is that unhealthy? That’s unhealthy, right? What is your official Doctor opinion?” she rambles and I chuckle at her ability to go off on tangents so easily. God, I love her.