He reached over to the other active frying pan to flip bacon over. It was almost done and the aroma filled the air. Enjoying the mouth-watering smell, he explained, “Eli gave me a hard time about everything being black, so I had a silver one. Back to what I love. Speaking of which, get your sweet ass back home. And by home, I mean my home.”
She giggled, not a normal thing for Catherine. “I was hoping you’d say that.” The sound felt giddy to him and very feminine. His wolf loved it.
“Well, then why aren’t you already here?”
She laughed outright. “I’m on my way.”
“Fly home.” He poked the eggs around with a wooden spoon and salted them. “Leave the car.”
“My parents would love that. It’s theirs. I’ll drive. But I’ll leave now. Good enough for you?”
“It’ll have to do. Speaking of which. I want to meet them.”
There was a silent pause on the other end of the line. But he’d heard her heart jump. He wouldn’t tell her that. Best not to give away all his secrets…
“We might want to wait for that,” she said, quietly.
With his fingers he picked six slices of bacon from the sizzling hot pan and tossed them onto a black plate. “Why is that?”
“Probably best to take it slow,” she explained. The vagueness didn’t make him happy.
“Speak.”
“Dontae…”
“Say it.” He flicked off the gas of both burners and flipped the eggs from the pan to the plate, landing them perfectly beside their counterpart. “You’re not talking. Just say it already.”
“They loved my ex, okay? Like really loved him. They don’t know I’ve ended it. So, if I introduce you they’ll think…” she trailed off.
He stared at the wall, and at the past. “They’ll think you cheated on him.”
“Yeah.”
“I see.” He exhaled and drummed his fingers on the counter, trying to think of the right thing to do. He wanted to say Fuck them and your ex, but that was pure ego. And it wouldn’t help anyone. His desire to make her happy fought with his desire to be pissed right-the-fuck-off. He exhaled again.
“Dontae—”
“—No. It’s fine. It can wait. But you need to—”
“—I know. I will tell them we broke up as soon as I get back. I’m leaving now. Then, while I really want to see you, I’m going to go home, sleep in my bed and see them first thing in the morning. I want to clear this up before we begin. I mean, I know we already began. I just don’t want to feel like I did… the last time. Can you understand that?”
He made a noise. “Part of me hates it. Part of me thinks you’ve changed. For the better. So, do what you need to do.”
“Thank you. Do you want me to bring you back some lobster? I can go get you some on my way out.”
“The only sweet pink meat I want is between your legs. Come back to me.”
Her voice lost its nervousness. “Since you put it that way,” she chuckled. Then she hung up and he stared at the phone.
“That’s how I end phone calls,” he mumbled, shaking his head as he grabbed his plate and headed for the balcony. It was an overcast, chilly day, but the view of skyscrapers and bustling human activity was worth it. They’d left the forest years ago, and not one day had passed where he’d regretted it.
Chapter Nineteen
“What do you mean??” her mother said, pale green eyes devoid of comprehension. “Did you have a fight on your vacation? That’s normal. Traveling together is difficult. It doesn’t mean you throw the baby out with the bathwater.”
Sitting on their cream-colored Hermes couch, Catherine fiddled with the car keys as she stared at her shoeless feet. In her parent’s house no one wore shoes. New York was too dirty. You left them by the door so as not to track prints over the impossible-to-keep-clean white carpet.
Her mother sat across from her—on another Hermes couch, this one light grey—drinking her usual morning beverage: Sauvignon Blanc, with ice, no matter how expensive the bottle or refined the grape. Henry Zenith was listening in from the kitchen, about to make coffee in a French press.
“What happened,” he called out before he hit the grind button, transforming the beans into shiny crumbs.
She’d prepared this speech all the way back to New York. But now that she was here, she felt very self-defensive. That always equaled for her, wall up. Emotions detached. Face blank. Head held high. Back straight. Feet ready to run. But today, she was slumped and staring at her manicured, pink toenails. “No. He wasn’t with me. I broke things off before I went. It just wasn’t the right match. I don’t love Jonathan…” The way I love Dontae, she wanted to say. “…the way I should.”
Her mother craned her neck back, her chin doubling. “So what? He would have made you a very good husband. And you’re getting older.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Right!”
Catherine rolled her eyes, detachment quickly waning. “What are you saying, mother? I’m drying up? Because if that’s what you’re saying, you can just—”
“Coffee’s here!” Her father hurried in with a forced smile. “She’s got a lot of years ahead, Margot, and who knows? Maybe Cate doesn’t want kids.”
Her stomach turned over. As helpful as he was trying to be, it wasn’t working. She wanted children more than anything. And she’d just gone back to a man who had always warned her kids were not in his future. Their future. Ever. He had no use for them. He used to say all kinds of things: They get in the way of your life. How can you travel with kids around? You have to wait until you retire to do anything. Name one person who’s happy with children. Okay, two. But I bet you can’t name three!
It was depressing to know that while choosing him, she was also choosing to shut off that side of herself. For good. I must really love him.
“Well, it doesn’t matter right now, because Jonathan and I are done. He’s at Mark’s. He called me back last night and told me movers would be coming next weekend. That was the earliest he could book somebody. So, and not that you care, but for the next however many days that is, I have to live among all of our stuff and feel the loss of that. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to pass on the coffee and go somewhere where I don’t feel shittier.” She rose up.
“Sit,” her mother commanded with her glass as an instrument. “Cate! Sit.”
Sucking on her teeth like an angry child, Catherine slowly did as she was told. “Alright. I’m sitting. What?”
“Is there someone else?” Mrs. Zenith’s eyebrows went up like she knew the answer, which was irritating, to say the least. Catherine glanced to her father and found him waiting for the answer in pretty much the same way.
“God, you guys. Just because you’ve had affairs doesn’t mean everyone has!” They kept staring, unmoved by her attempt to distract them with a proverbial mirror of their own inadequacies. “Well, at least you don’t deny it,” she grumbled. “Give me that coffee.” Her father pushed it toward her, amusement in his eyes. “Stop looking at me like that, Dad. I didn’t cheat on Jon, but there is someone else.”
“Already?” Margot asked.
“Yes, already. But it’s not what you think. I didn’t meet someone before Jon and I broke up. It’s someone I used to date.” She paused and begged for inner courage. “Remember Dontae?”
Her mother, always the one to speak first, dryly replied, “The man you used to live with whom we never met?”
“How could we forget,” muttered her father with distaste. “So you went on vacation with this Dontae character?”
Catherine sighed. “No. That’s not what happened.” She gave them the short version, leaving out the part about her true love not being totally human. They reacted mildly to all the major coincidences she and Dontae experienced, with only slightly rising eyebrows. Sometimes only one. “And so we’re going to give it another shot,” she finished, sitting on the edge of her seat, expecting little if any, support.
Her mother fini
shed what was left of her wine, which wasn’t much. Her father drank down his coffee. Both of them stared at the antique coffee table that had been in the same spot since 1878.
Setting down her wine, her mother sighed, “Well, that’s some story.” The sigh may have been because the glass was empty. “I have to admit, I would have done one thing differently.”
Curious, her father looked over. “Oh? What’s that?”
Catherine however, was not interested. Of course she’s going to critique how I handled myself. Nothing is ever as good as she would have done it.
“I would have made damn sure Jon didn’t get ahold of my phone. Poor man. He doesn’t need to know about this Dontae person.” She glanced around. “What? I’m just saying, if I hadn’t known about your father’s dalliances, I would have been a happier woman, I can tell you that!”
“Oh?” Henry Zenith curtly replied. “And what of yours, Margot?”
“Mine were a reaction to yours, you idiot.” She shot him a short glance then looked at her empty glass like it was the saddest thing she’d ever seen. Her father got up soundlessly, grabbed it and went to get a refill. As soon as he was out of earshot, her mother mumbled for only Catherine to hear, “He knows I’m right.”
“It’s not a matter of right and wrong, Mother.”
“It’s always a matter of right and wrong.” She pushed some hair-sprayed white hair around, but it didn’t really move. Even at eight-thirty in the morning, she was perfectly coiffed. “Who is this Dontae person? What’s his last name? Does he have family in the city?”
“No. He doesn’t.” Catherine smiled at the secret she now shared with him. “But he comes from a strong line.”
“His name?”
“Sheppard.”
Her mother blinked to the ceiling as though the name sparked a memory. “Wait. Where do I know that name from? Dontae Sheppard, you say?” She lit up with recognition. “Of D.D.E.N. Inc.? That Dontae Sheppard?”
Very surprised, Catherine paused. “Yes! How do you know them?”
“Dear? Henry?! Are you listening?”
“Of course I am.”
“What was it we were just reading about, that condominium in Chelsea using Bamboo for insulation?”
Henry walked back in, nodding as he handed the fresh glass to his wife. “Yes! That was them.”
“Well, that’s who Catherine’s leaving Jon for—”
“—God, I wish you wouldn’t say it like that.”
“—He’s one of those architects there.”
Reclaiming his place on the couch, Henry made a sound. “Really? Well, they’re doing interesting things. Popped up a few times over the years in design magazines, haven’t they? Keeping a fairly low profile themselves, it seems, but the companies who commission them sure are getting boosts in their stocks by touting what they’ve done. All great stuff for the environment. Lots of recycled materials. Yadda yadda. Great stuff.” He picked up his coffee and noticed it empty then glanced to the kitchen to decide if he felt like making another trip, and thought better of it.
Taken aback but pleased, Catherine asked, “How’d you remember his name?”
“Are you kidding?” her mother chuckled. “Dontae Sheppard. What a name! Is he as handsome a man as it implies?”
“He’s something else,” Catherine smiled, loving the inside joke. “I can’t wait for you guys to meet him.”
“Bring him over for dinner on Sunday,” Henry suggested.
The idea of a meeting like this taking place so soon was devastating to think about, so Catherine said she’d get back to them after they looked at their calendars. This didn’t sound at all odd to the Zeniths because everything in their busy social lives was based on maintaining a packed schedule. She would be able to skirt the issue for an indefinite amount of time.
When she got to Dontae’s later that evening, she’d completed most of the things she’d hoped to do that day. She’d separated her things from Jonathan, for the most part, so that when the movers came the job would be simple, and less painful. Even though she didn’t love him like she should to become his wife, the years they spent together were real. Their friendship, tangible and true. All breakups are like a death. You go from seeing someone all the time to acting as if you don’t know they’re still on the same planet as you. Sometimes in the very same town, just down the street. So she took the time for a valuable sense of closure, to pack a little. Tears were shed. Things thrown away. Walls stared at. Finally she showered, dressed herself in her favorite red dress, and put Visine in her eyes to hide the evidence.
Dontae opened the door as she walked up. She paused in surprise and then smiled, running into his arms. “I missed you,” she whispered into his chest, breathing in his masculine scent. “For years I’ve missed you.”
He kissed the top of her head, then pulled up her chin to kiss her properly. She expected him to say something sweet, but he murmured against her lips, “I wish I could say the same, but I hated your guts, so…”
She laughed but he crushed her lips to his and tightened his embrace so much she could barely breathe. “Easy there, Hulk.”
It was his turn to laugh, and he led her into the flat by the hand, kicking the door casually closed. “You remember my place.”
She scanned the black hallway, nodding. “That’s a new sculpture. A Tremblay?”
He smirked. “Still know your art, I see.”
“Of course. And she’s amazing. I’m starving. What are you cooking for me?”
“Well, as I mentioned on the phone,” he said, as he led her into the kitchen, “Meat and potatoes.” She glanced around and was not that surprised to discover everything relatively unchanged. Dontae was a minimalist. He didn’t believe in clutter, only style and luxury. “But if you’re looking for more specific details, Filet Mignon and Smashed Potatoes.”
“Smashed?”
He nodded, opening up the oven to show her. “Red potatoes roasted until they’re very soft, then broiled for a crispy outside, then you smash them with a wooden spoon until they’re half squashed, basically. Delicious.”
“Smells soooooo good.” She closed her eyes and breathed in the delicious aroma. “I’m starving! So red wine, then?”
As he closed the oven door, he paused, then shut it. “I thought we’d not drink tonight.”
“Are you kidding? After the morning I had with my parents?” She left out what she’d been doing all day. “I need a glass of wine. Or seven.”
He walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. His white button up shirt was rolled at the sleeves and as he washed his hands it pulled at the broad expanse of his shoulders. She admired his body, the way his clothes hung on him. His feet were bare, which was adorable. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t talking. She leaned a hip against the kitchen island and kicked off her high heels. “Everything okay?”
He turned off the water and stared straight ahead. There was nothing to look at, so a slip of anxiety snuck into her system. She picked up a shiny red apple from the bowl next to her and played with the stem, her mouth going dry. It felt like ten years passed before he finally turned around. She glanced up and slowly set down the fruit, waiting.
“You can’t have wine, Catherine.”
“Why?” She blinked a few times. “If you’re thinking about my stories about my mom, you don’t have to worry. I’m not an alcoholic, too.”
He shook his head, waving his hand like that wasn’t it. “No, I mean, you can’t.”
“Why can’t I?” she stammered. “I mean, are you afraid we’ll fight or something, because I don’t want to fight!”
“We’re not going to fight,” he assured her with unwavering patience.
She bounced her hip against the island, exasperated. “Well, then I don’t know why you’re saying that I can’t. That I, personally, can’t have wine. I mean... the only reason I’d not be able to drink wine was if I was…” she trailed off, staring at the floor. Her eyelashes fluttered upward. “pregna
nt?”
He walked to her.
“I’m pregnant?”
He took both her hands and held them. “I’m fairly certain you are. A test wouldn’t hurt. But I’ve smelled pregnancy enough times to know.”
“Oh my God. Is it—”
“No!” he exclaimed. “It’s mine. Mine! Don’t worry! I knew you were fertile when we…coupled.”
A series of emotions raced across her expressions. “Oh my God. I’m going to have a baby?”
“We are.”
“But…but…why do you look happy? You hate kids!”
He shocked the hell out of her by busting up laughing. Then he shook his head on a lingering grin as she gaped at him. “No, I don’t. But I couldn’t have kids with you when you didn’t know I was a wolf.”
Shock slammed into her chest. “Wait. I’m going to have a baby werewolf?! How am I going to explain that to the doctor?” His smile disappeared and he pulled her into his arms. “Isn’t that going to hurt? Am I going to die?”
He covered her lips with a patient index finger. “Listen.” He lifted her up onto the island and stood in between her legs, his hands on her hips, hers on his chest. “I like this dress by the way. Especially with it up around your hips like this. But no, the baby will be human. It may not even change. Ever. But if he or she does, it will be at puberty. We’ll have to go away for that, and for a couple years. Until we train our child to control the shift and how to use their abilities. Then we can come back. That’s a long way away.”
She stared off, thinking of his friends. They looked like normal people, better than normal actually. All of them had a power to them, not a weakness, and now she knew the reason.
“My child will be like you,” she whispered, realizing. “He…or she…will be special.” She met his gaze. “Our child will be like you.”
“And you, Catherine. I hope he…or she,” he smiled. “...gets the benefit of your beautiful green eye color.”
She couldn’t help but kiss him at the unexpected compliment. “That’s the first time you’ve said you like my eyes.”
Werewolves of New York: Dontae Page 10