His brows furrow as his lips flatten. He stares at me as if I’ve grown a third nipple, and it’s in the middle of my forehead. “I’m not sure what men you’ve been around, but women’s opinions are just as important to me as anyone else’s. So, tell me, where do you think she should go?”
“Honestly?” I wonder aloud, and he nods encouragingly. “Wherever makes her happiest is where she should go. If I could redo my degrees all over again, I’d study in France. I’d let the best and brightest teach me and have culture on my side. It’s something I regret from being at Brighton because it limited my growth.”
“Brighton? Culinary arts, hmm?” he asks with a newfound interest.
“Yeah, Gray over here mentioned her aunt went there? Loren Tanner. She’s my idol!” My excitement gets the better of me, thinking of the chef that made me work harder than any other lesson could. I watched videos of Loren in class. June used her as our case study for what to strive for. Her hand techniques in cutting a chicken within thirty seconds was how I learned stealth and concentration.
“Ah, yes. Lo. Maybe Gray could introduce you two,” he offers, scratching his chin thoughtfully. His fingers trace his fork, the distraction in his eyes reminds me of a burdened man. Is that what he is? A man who hides behind niceties to feel less alone?
I start to say yes, but Gray shakes her head at us both. “I’m sure Lo is super busy with everything going on, Dad. You know how it’s been there since everything happened,” she enunciates slowly as though there’s a hidden message that I’m not quite getting.
Francis stares at her thoughtfully, his eyes saying more than her words did. Something transpired and there must be bad blood, he’s giving off too many unsubtle vibes. Whatever it is, I want to know. Curiosity always has been my worst trait. Gray almost seems scared of the topic, so again, I change it to benefit her.
“Brookewood is great, though,” I add. “I’ve heard the best things about their programs. I’m sure if you want to go, you’ll like it.” I direct my words at Gray, and the gratitude from saving her again is reflective in her gaze.
We eat in silence, almost stuck in a pregnant pause of uncertainty. Subjects that are better left unsaid.
After dinner, Gray and Francis hang out by the pool, and I excuse myself. My dad deserves to know I’ve monumentally messed up. Especially the information pertaining to Wes. He’ll either be extremely happy or severely disappointed. There’s no in-between with him. He wasn’t always this way. Not before Mom disappeared and not before her.
“Josey bear, what do you think?” he questions, holding two very normal ties up to his chest. One’s dark navy and pinstriped with cornflower, and the other is argyle in shades of red. I remember Mom saying red shows absoluteness and almost a headstrong quality, while blue shows understanding and gentleness.
Tonight is Dad’s biggest political speech for the next campaign. Tonight, he’s discussing how we’re treating humans at ICE facilities. He should represent blue. Prove he’s trustworthy, show he’s not like them, convey to them he’s willing to change the world for the better.
“Blue, Daddy. I like the blue.”
He smiles sweetly at me, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “You’re right, it’s the perfect color. Thank you for always showing me the right direction when I get lost. You’re my compass, Josephine. Don’t forget that.”
Tears stream my face at the memory. He used to care. He used to respect my opinion. He used to ask for it and take it into consideration. Then, one day, all hell broke loose, and I lost everything. I miss our dream team. Making decisions together, hanging out, and being best friends. Would he have saved me if he still chose me? Would my choices and life reflect differently now if not for his lack of care?
“Josephine?” he sounds out on the other end of the phone. His voice is strained, almost sad, yet nearly emotionless too. He’s stuck between a lifeless marriage and a soul-sucking career choice, and I’m the red-headed stepchild.
“Daddy,” I sound out, my voice still small. The wetness from my eyes leaks down my cheeks in heaps, hitting my shirt as I’m unable to control the emotions swallowing me whole.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. His concern isn’t like it once was, but you can tell the man who raised me is still in there; he’s just lost. “Talk to me, princess.”
“I-I—” I start to cry but am interrupted by Marsha’s cruel voice.
“Clay!”
My heart dies at that moment, his voice void of any emotion when he returns.
“What do you need, Josephine?”
“Just wanted to talk, Dad. I’ll let you go.”
“Is that Josey on the phone?” I hear Marsha in the background right before she picks up the phone. “Hello.” Her normal chirp—the façade—slices through my eardrums. “So nice to hear your voice. You never call anymore.” I roll my eyes in response. She’s so good at faking it. So fucking good that I almost believe her.
“Yeah, hey,” I mutter, not feeling it. I swipe away my stray tears and straighten my spine, unsure of why she wanted to speak to me. We don’t get along. We can’t stand one another.
“I’d like you over for dinner tomorrow night. We need to discuss your future.” She says future like it’s taboo and I don’t have a career plan already. Must be another of her wedding scheme bullshit ideas.
“Sure thing, what time?” I play it off like it’s the simplest thing rather than the single most painful thing I’ll be forcing myself to do.
“Six. Your father is on a tight schedule.” Of course, he is.
“See you then,” I respond, not leaving room for more pointless words to be shared.
“And Josey, don’t upset your dad. He has enough going on as it is.”
I close my eyes, forcing the tears down, and nod, realizing she can’t see me. “See you tomorrow, Marsha.” I hang up before she hurts me even more. I didn’t even get the chance to talk to my own dad. She controls everything, especially us.
Tomorrow will either fix everything or further ruin what I’ve tried to build.
Either way, I’ll survive. I always do. Even when the person I love the most hurts me each step of the way.
Chapter Seven
The Day Before
Joey
“They want me to go to dinner tonight,” I tell Gray the next day when she’s emerged from showering after her swim in the pool, all while we sit eating popcorn. Best post-breakup day: popcorn, chick flicks, and shit talking. That’s why we’re here in the media room. Yeah, they have a fucking media room. The TV’s as big as one at a real movie theater. They even have an area dedicated to snacks and drinks and shit. It’s like I’m on cloud nine while being dragged down by memories. At least there are carbs.
“What do you want?” she asks tentatively. I stare at her, contemplating my answer. What do I want? My mom back. My dad back. Wes? No. He was a waste of my time. No one cheats unless they’re missing something or an absolute asshole. Or both. The fact that I didn’t realize what we were missing just shows we were lacking somewhere.
“Honestly, I need his help. Not just financially, but he’s the best decision maker I know. It’s the only reason I agreed. While it’s a shitty thing to say, I feel cornered. Between my job gone and Wesley and I not being together... I’m fucked.” She nods as she places more popcorn in her mouth. She’s understanding in ways most chicks aren’t at her age. As if her life experiences—like mine—have taught her things she shouldn’t know yet.
“What about Wes, any reparations there?” she questions quietly, almost like it was out of habit and not because she believes there should be. I shake my head before answering, and she almost smiles.
“We were only meant to last what time we did. It’s like he was what needed to happen to get me to a new position in life. It’s an asshole-y thing to say, but it’s true. It hurts. Even thinking about it right now makes me sick, but it also provides clarity. It should hurt worse. I should be absolutely devastated. But I’m not. And that’s mo
re telling than what I witnessed.” I rub at my eyes, wishing I could bleach them of that memory.
“Understandable. Even if relationships make zero sense to me, I’ve witnessed cheating and what it does to those around the ones involved. I’d jump ship or run far away. It’s just not for me,” she admits, drinking her Dr. Pepper to wash down the words.
“You okay?” I’d avoid asking her this altogether, but I can tell she needs to get something off her chest. It’s not always about me, even if she deflects to make it so.
“Just remembering the past few years of my life.”
“What happened?” She bites her lip almost too harshly. I watch her, seeing the way the life drains from her face. She’s sad; that much is obvious. Being burdened by life at such a young age isn’t something I’d wish upon a bad person, let alone someone as kind as Gray.
“I had a best friend,” she whispers, and her tone relays death.
“Who was she?”
“He,” she clarifies. “He was my entire world. We grew up together and were born two weeks apart.” I nod at her to continue and watch as she swallows another sip of her drink. “His dad and my mom...” A single tear floats down her face, resignation forming in the desolation of her expression.
I drop the bag of popcorn. My heart in my throat. Is this why she smiled when I said there’s no coming back?
“They had an affair. Our parents. His dad and my mom.” She wipes at her face, her cheeks blotching with sadness. I wish to drench myself in her pain and take it off her shoulders, though handling the burdens of others isn’t something I’m unused to. If anything, my entire life is piles and piles of others’ garbage.
“It destroyed us all. What they didn’t realize is how detrimental it was to him and me. Our friendship suffered. The one person I loved and confided in, the one who kept me up, protected me... he was taken from me with the knowledge of their betrayal.” Tears freely stream down her face now as her eyes mirror storm clouds full of rain, waiting to plunder the world beneath as it bleeds of its burdens. With a shaky nod, she finishes. “I knew, and it broke him.” Her body shakes with sobs that I feel in my throat as if they were my own. I scoot closer, wanting to give her comfort but not knowing how. I’m not a touchy person; it’s just not me. Not since then. It’s like she knows and brings me the rest of the way into her embrace as she lets out all the hardships forced upon her. “He hated me. So much. He still does.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” I attempt even though I don’t know the whole story. But if he can’t forgive her for being a kid with a secret she shouldn’t have had to keep, then he’s not right for her.
“He does,” she admonishes. “After this mess, he abandoned me—our friendship.” She hiccups, and I pull back, seeing how upset she truly is. “We had a plan. Finish school together, go to college together, get married someday.”
My face scrunches with realization. “You loved loved him?”
“Unfortunately.” She nods, giving me a derisive snort. “He uses it against me now. In school, he ruined my life. Until I left for France, at least.”
I nod, surprisingly understanding of how this goes. Guy is a dick, guy likes girl who takes it, and then he changes. That’s what she’s going to live through. Hopefully, she gives him a run for his money. Hopefully, she hits him back with a strong exterior rather than being a punching bag. It’s apparent in how well she’s handling all of this that she’s resilient.
“Maybe he’ll grow out of it,” I emphasize the grow part, hoping he doesn’t turn out to be a complete loser. “Sometimes guys can’t express the pain they experience so they gravitate to being assholes rather than speaking about their struggles.”
“Maybe,” she concedes as she wipes at her face furiously. “But I won’t be around to watch. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell Dad. I don’t want to come back to school here. Not unless I know he won’t be there. He doesn’t deserve me. Not with how he is now. I want to live and be free of the horror my mother has put our families through.”
“I understand.” And I do. My mother’s disappearance ruined our family’s reputation by stealing my father’s kindness and bringing me a horror film monster for a stepmother.
She sniffles a bit before we try to go back to our movie, but our mood has soured it. The cutesy love story of J-Lo and Ralph Fiennes seems unrealistic and so far from reality. Love isn’t this easy or kind. There’s weight to every choice, repercussions for every action, and consequences no one plans for.
By the time I’m supposed to head to dinner, I’m dreading it. I don’t even shower before getting ready.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper into the mirror even though I’m not feeling a single word of it.
“You really do,” Francis’s voice hums from behind me; his words like a Band-Aid, healing me and promising protection. “Don’t stress about your parents. I’m sure they’re going to bend over backward for you. I would.” Is he... flirting with me? From my position in front of the mirror, I watch him as if he stood in front of me. His eyes roam my body unhurriedly, drinking me in. The admiration caresses me with hope, offering something no one in my position should take. Reaping the benefits of his home is one thing while taking advantage of his body is another.
I blush. Turning to him leaning against the doorjamb, I watch as he smiles. “The only bending backward that they’ll do involves them laughing. They’re not cool like you.”
His chuckle makes flutters rush my body, my palms perspiring along with it. I wipe them on the boyfriend jeans I’m wearing and pray he doesn’t think I’m being a dick, rather than my dry as gin humor.
“You’d be amazed at the affect you have on people,” he says softly, almost too low for me to hear him as he looks at the floor. He’s a charming sonofabitch. “Drive safe. If you need a ride or just someone to talk to, I’m only a phone call away.”
I eye him skeptically, wondering if he’s serious or if my jaded heart expects a string or twenty tied.
“I don’t—” I start, but before I can finish, he places his hand outward, gesturing to my pocket.
“Phone?”
Handing it to him, I watch as he types quickly before giving it back. “If, by chance, you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call.” When our focuses collide, he’s smirking, displaying his signature dimple. I’m melting like that green bitch in The Wizard of Oz. Trying not to laugh at myself for how odd my mind is, I offer a tentative smile.
“Thank you,” I barely muster, feeling many things, though none of them acceptable. Especially when his daughter is my friend and three rooms down. As I walk away, I check my phone before pocketing it.
Mon Roméo.
My Romeo.
That’s what he put in my phone.
I’ve been called stupid on many occasions, but this won’t be one of those times.
Chapter Eight
The Day Before
Joey
As soon as I arrive at my dad’s, I’m a ball of sick and nervous energy. This can’t go well. Especially when Marsha’s here. My fingers stumble over the gate code, reminding me that the worst he can say is no.
But where does that leave me?
Homeless.
Jobless.
Worthless.
Swallowing the bile slowly rising from anxiety, I wait as the gates open. My car glides in as I allow it to coast. Parked only ten feet from the entrance, I debate whether I can survive this or not. Can I? Will I accomplish anything at this point?
Why didn’t I save more money? Usually, I’m one to plan so far ahead that my plans have plans. This time, though, I didn’t think it through. My loyalty to Wes was double his to me, if not triple. He betrayed me, my trust, and made me believe a backup plan wasn’t necessary.
Guess when it comes to love, I’m flawed.
“Josephine,” Marsha calls out as I make my way to the front door. She opens it before I get the chance, but that’s just like her, wanting the upper hand on everything. �
�You’re late.”
“I’m on time,” I argue.
“If you’re not early, you’re late,” she reprimands, a conniving smile on her face. It makes her face appear uglier. If not for her polarizing attitude and degrading humor, she’d be beautiful. Marsha has that politician wife look. Her hair is always pinned up. She’s twenty-seven, blonde, and tenacious as hell. It’s not a far reach that she went for my father, and he fell for it. When you’re lonely and suffering unspeakable loss, it’s easy to fall into the venomous trap of a black widow.
“Come, come.” She ushers me inside like a dog, or a doormat, or in this case both. I stare at the walls. It’s a routine, especially since I only visit every once in a while. The pictures have changed again. Almost every single one of Mom and me is gone. There’s only one left of Dad and me. Graduation. It’s sad, seeing how these pictures are plastered all over like a memorial.
Here lies Josephine. She’s not dead... just non-existent.
Dad sits at the dinner table with his newspaper in hand and his mood unreadable. Our relationship is as stagnant as this silent air. If I didn’t remind myself to breathe, the darkness would take me, and it’s not looking too unwelcoming right now. He grips the paper when he hears Marsha’s heels hit the tile floor, and I try to not smile. In his world of politics where he has to pretend to be happy and in love, he can lie. But here, where no one is around but her and me, he hides behind nice words. His facial expressions, though, give away more than he’ll ever admit.
“Hey, Daddy,” I call out in a small voice like I’m a little girl all over again and not a woman who’s suffering every day. The newspaper falls to the table, and his eyes meet mine. Amber, the exact shade of mine, stares at me. Understanding flickers. Care. For this moment, this tiny morsel of breaths collectively stolen, he shows his love. In his expression, you can see he misses me, that he’s sorry, and he wishes things were different. It’s not enough, though. The simple glances of love and support don’t rectify his actions.
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