I dial Owen’s number, and he answers, “Hey, sis.”
“Hey, buddy! How was work?” I miss him already.
“Good. I got to stock the shelves today. Then Emily let me have pizza for dinner. She doesn’t count how many pieces I eat.” He giggles. Nice dig, bro.
I am constantly trying to get Owen to be conscious of his caloric intake since individuals with Down syndrome tend to struggle with their weight. He usually balks at me, rolls his eyes, and then comments that maybe I should stop eating chocolate. We end at a stalemate.
“Well, it sounds like you’re having fun. After I get done with this book tour stuff, you and I are going to take a vacation. We can go anywhere you want.” My wheels are turning at the thought of all of the uncharted territories we could explore together. Owen is a huge history buff, so the possibilities are endless.
“Really? I want to go to California. There are hot chicks there.” Jesus. Take. The. Wheel.
“Let’s not refer to women as ‘hot’. How about saying that California has pretty girls?”
“Okay. They have pretty hot girls there.” He laughs. I sigh and realize that this is just another battle that I am not going to win.
“So, think about all of the places you want to visit, and we’ll plan a trip. Just the two of us.”
“Can Jameson come?”
Well, that is a surprising development.
“Um, he’s probably busy, buddy.”
“I like him. He’s fun, and he thinks I’m hilarious; plus, he can be my wingman.” Wingman? Really? Ugh.
“We can talk about this later. I need to get ready. Behave.”
“Addie, I am a man. I know what to do.” His tone is laden with
annoyance.
“Love you, Owen.” God, I miss him.
“Love you too, Addie.”
We disconnect. Before I even step away from my phone, it rings. Dorothy. Fuck my life. I answer it because she’ll just continue to bug the shit out of me. I might as well get her out of the way.
“Hey, Dorothy!” I try to sound excited, but my tone ends up flat anyway.
“Addie, thank God I got a hold of you. I saw that your father resurfaced. Are you okay?” The concern I hear is fake, but I’ll go along with it. I’m surprised it took her this long to call. She thrives on other people’s drama.
“It’s fine, Dorothy, really. I’m too busy with the book launch and tour even to think about it,” I lie.
“You are so strong, Addie. You know, I had a premonition that he would come back into your life.” Fun fact, Dorothy likes to dabble in honing her psychic ability. I use the term “ability” loosely.
“Oh, wow, that’s fascinating. Well, I’d better run. I have to meet my publicist for the book launch, and I need to get ready.” I can’t wait to get off the phone.
“Of course! Enjoy the evening! Send me a selfie of you in your dress! I bet you’re going to be gorgeous. Remember, Matthew, and I are here if you want to talk. I understand better than anyone.” This whole conversation is giving me the creeps. And another fun fact, I don’t do selfies. At all. I always end up looking constipated because I’m concentrating so hard on looking natural.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Dorothy. Thank you.” I end the call and exhale. She does understand—her father left her family at a young age—but I learned a long time ago that she isn’t trustworthy. I shake off the feeling of dread and label it as nervous energy, knowing that any time I talk to Dorothy, there’s always a sense of distrust that lingers. She isn’t a safe person, and I know that I need to be wary of her agenda. Because she always has one. But I can’t be concerned with her right now. My focus needs to be on the book launch and tour. For now, I have a date with a large tub that will be overflowing with bubbles.
Jameson
I wait in the lobby for Addie to come down. We’re due at the party in less than thirty minutes, and with L.A. traffic, I know we’re going to be late. Addie is always late. It’s infuriating.
Right when I’m about to text her, I see her approaching. The simple black dress hugs her curves, its off-the-shoulder neckline giving a peek of her alabaster shoulders. Her short hair is slicked back, giving it an edgy, artsy look. She is stunning.
“You’re late.” I can’t help but berate her. It’s the only way I can keep my distance (and I love how flustered and annoyed it makes her). She’s infiltrating my thoughts and breaking down my walls. I can’t allow it. She shrugs and proceeds out through the doors to the waiting car.
“You look nice. Did your luggage ever find its way to you?” she asks as we get into the car. She tries to hide her smile, but I know that she is thoroughly amused by my situation.
“No, my luggage is set to arrive tomorrow. It had a lovely time in Boston. I had my assistant call and arrange for a suit.”
“Well, I’m glad that you have someone so efficient. When is your birthday?”
“December twenty-fifth. Why?” Her line of questioning intrigues me, much like everything else about her.
“Oh, a Christmas baby! How does that work, anyway? Combination presents or separate? I mean, it would be ideal to get double the goods, right?”
“My mother was a single parent working two jobs to make ends meet. I hardly got any presents, let alone doubling the goods. You never answered my question. Why are you asking about my birthday?”
Her brows furrow, and I can see the pity in her eyes. It isn’t as though I am embarrassed about my upbringing. My mom did the best she could. Sometimes she went hungry so that I could eat. Sometimes I would hear her softly crying when she thought I was asleep. It’s just, I wanted so badly to repay my mother for her sacrifices, and by the time I could, it was too late.
“Your mother sounds like a special person. Do you get to see her often?”
“My mother died. Now answer the question. Why are you
interested?”
“Oh, I’m sorry about your mother.” Her eyes fill with sadness.
“Thank you. She was a wonderful person. Now back to your question.” I desperately try to change the subject because talking about my mother stirs up both guilt and grief. I prefer to contain it by avoiding it at all costs.
“I asked because I want to know when I should send you some new luggage. Obviously, not like mine, since you’ve been so vocal about your distaste for it, but it does need to be unique. I was thinking of something colorful. Bold. You know, something that jumps out at you when it makes the rounds on the carousel.” She snickers.
“Addie, can we stop talking about my luggage? Honestly, I have never had an issue before today. Someone more superstitious than I might think that losing it was linked to you. Maybe you’re bad luck,” I tease.
“No, this isn’t on me. It’s on your dull luggage that blends in with every other boring bag.” She grins, and then her face pales as we pull up to the front of the Beverly Hills Plaza Hotel.
On the way here, I watched her fidget as we got closer and closer to the event. She has a pattern of smoothing her dress, then wringing her hands. I want to touch her, hold her hand. Assure her that this will all be fine. But instead, I look out the window to escape the feelings that are overwhelming my thoughts.
“Oh, my God! I can’t even believe that this is the place for my launch party!” she says, her eyes lighting up as we pull up in front of the building. “Oh, my God! I think I’m going to puke. No, I think I’ll just stay in the car. There will be too many people in there. What if I make a fool of myself? What if I trip in these godforsaken heels?” She looks at me for answers.
“Addie, you’re going to go in there and blow them away. This is your moment. Nina and I will be with you the whole time.” Now I sound like a goddamn cheerleader.
“Okay. I can do this. I worked hard to get here. I deserve this.” She exhales, digs into her clutch, and pops a piece of chocolate into
her mouth. “Let’s do this!”
I feel like I’m watching her have an Oprah aha moment. What? I watch Oprah. She is the queen of living your best life, right?
As the driver opens the door, I slide out and then turn around and offer Addie my hand. She hesitates. Our eyes meet, and she puts her hand in mine. A sizzle travels up my arm, and the air crackles around us. I reluctantly release it and put my hand on the small of her back to ease her forward.
The flashes from the cameras are blinding. Everyone wants to know who Addie Snyder is and what makes her special. They don’t know the half of it, but they will.
The moment we enter the ballroom, Nina approaches looking ever so calm, cool, and very collected. She is the epitome of grace and elegance.
“Addie, you look gorgeous!” She leans in, embracing Addie warmly.
“Nina, I am going to puke.”
I grab two glasses of the circulating champagne and hand them to the ladies.
“You know, a little Xanax would help in this situation. I assume you have the equivalent of a candy store in your clutch.” Nina smirks.
Addie scoffs. “A very small candy store, but this delightful bubbly is quite helpful.” I realize that she is chugging it. Nina looks at me.
“Jameson, please make sure that her liquid courage doesn’t get out of hand.”
I nod in agreement.
“You’re going to be fine,” Nina soothes. “Remember, this is all for you and Owen. Everything you’ve worked for, all of the sacrifices you’ve made have all cultivated this moment.”
“Now, I’m going to cry.” Her eyes pool with tears. Nina cups her face.
“Now, let’s curb the puking-slash-crying impulse. You are going to ruin your makeup. Let’s circulate and meet some of these people.”
We navigate our way around the room, stopping while Nina and I alternate introducing her to various individuals. I feel edgy. On alert. Reminiscent to when I was on a mission, oddly enough. There is something off about the vibe of the room. I don’t spot anything immediately obvious as I casually glance around, but I know this uneasy feeling in my bones. I stay close to Addie. Nothing bad will happen on my watch.
Addie
I am not a paranoid person, but something isn’t right. I try to shake the feeling—the intensity of being watched. I look around the room at the number of people in attendance. There is something so overwhelming yet humbling about being the focus. Maybe my paranoia stems from being the center of attention. After all, I certainly have never been one that people notice. I’m always the one hidden in the shadows.
You’re not good enough.
You aren’t pretty enough.
You will never amount to anything.
My mother’s voice echoes in my head. I need to silence her and enjoy the moment. I refuse to allow a voice from the past to ruin this for me.
“Addie, I would like you to meet Cecilia Winthrop. She is vice president of Winthrop Entertainment and a big fan of your book.” Nina beams, and I keep wondering why no one here is larger than a size four. Cecilia is stunning and statuesque with her slender figure and ivory skin. Her chic blond bob frames her face and her mermaid-cut dress molds to her figure. Her breasts are so perky; it’s as though they’re greeting me with a salute. I almost giggle, but I compose myself by stuffing a crab puff in my mouth. I am such a smooth operator. I hold up a finger to indicate that I will be with them momentarily. Meanwhile, my taste buds are having their own celebration with the delightful hors d’oeuvres. I must get a plate of those.
“Cecilia, it is a pleasure meeting you. Thank you so much for coming and celebrating my book.” I don’t give a toothy grin because I think I might have crab stuck in my teeth. As people pass by and tap me on the shoulder to get my attention, I give them awkward closed-mouth smiles and nod.
“Addie, such a pleasure. I loved your book and was chatting with Nina about the possibility of bringing it to the big screen.” She smiles warmly at me.
Seriously?! Mind blown. Book to the big screen. That sounds crazy. Where is the guy with the crab puffs when you need them?
“Wow, Cecilia. That’s amazing and so surprising.” I am grinning like a clown, not even concerned about the crab I think is in my teeth. All of this is surreal, but I still can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. Paranoia envelops me.
It helps that Jameson is always by my side. More like glued to my hip. When I go to the restroom, he waits outside. When I want another drink, he goes with me. It is odd but weirdly comforting at the same time. Plus, for the love of God, he smells amazing, and that suit—well, it’s molded to his muscular frame, accentuating the best ass I’ve ever seen. I think I’m sweating. Is it hot in here?
“Addie, I know that this is a lot to absorb, but trust me, this will be the next step in bringing your story to a larger audience. We can talk more later. Enjoy the evening. You deserve it.” She raises her glass to me as she moves on to mingle with others.
A man approaches me. He gives me a slight smile.
“Good evening, Ms. Snyder. I’m Senator Wendell Brooks. I just wanted to come by and tell you how much I enjoyed your book.” He looks a bit uncomfortable.
“Oh, thank you so much, Senator. I appreciate you taking the time to read it.” While I am talking, I think about how odd it is that a politician would sit down and read a book like mine. I mean, isn’t he busy crushing the dreams of the people he serves? I feel like I knew him at some point as if we met previously. But before I can ask, the hairs on my neck bristle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man. I turn to look at him, and the familiarity of his features takes my breath away. It can’t be him. Jameson must notice how my body tenses because he moves closer. Normally, I would be all over that, but this isn’t about my lady parts. This is about confronting my past.
“Hello, princess. It looks like you’ve done well for yourself.” The man in front of me is my father, Richard Snyder, or Dick, as he despises being called. I don’t honor him with the title of “dad.” He is merely a sperm donor. He is the man who left because Owen wasn’t “normal.” He is the man who walked out the door, leaving his family to pick up the pieces. The rage within me is percolating. I need to escape but I am frozen. Just like in the picture I saw online, he’s still handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair. His presence is commanding. Some might find him intimidating, but I don’t. The smile he gives me doesn’t reach his vacant eyes. “What? No hug for your father?”
Jameson moves closer. Our shoulders touch as he quickly fills the space. His body seems like a protective shield beside me. Jameson’s warm breath tickles my ear as he leans in. “I can get security if you don’t want him here.” I shake my head, indicating that I need this moment, although it is comforting to know he has my back… and it is a shame I can’t enjoy his closeness: Timing, friends.
“Why are you here?” I ask, but I don’t want to know the answer. After the story was dumped on social media, I knew it was only a matter of time. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.
“Is that any way to greet me? You look well. I was sorry to hear about your mother.” At this point, I start to wonder if I have been transported to an alternate universe.
“You don’t get to express your sympathy. That right was surrendered when you walked out and never looked back.”
“Oh, Addie. Always so dramatic. The reality is that you don’t know the whole story. You have, of course, only heard your mother’s side; but there is so much more to it.” He smirks.
“What are you saying?” My head is spinning.
“I’m just saying that there’s more to the story. You have allowed your mother to create this fictitious life, and you’ve believed what she chose to tell you.” He utters the words as if he is ordering a meal at a restaurant.
“I didn’t allow anything. I was a child. When you left, Owen only had me; Mother wasn’t e
xactly maternal. So excuse me for not buying into the victim role you seem to relish playing.” My body shakes with fury.
“Look, I’m just asking for some time to sit down with you. Meet Owen. After all, I don’t know how defective he is with his disability. Plus, I want to share in your success. Isn’t that what a family is supposed to do? Share.” He smirks. Again. Can this man not even fake a smile?
“Defective? Owen is not defective. If anything, you are the one who is faulty. And are you insinuating that this little act is going to benefit you financially?” My anger wavers as confusion overtakes it.
“Well, that sounds so ugly, don’t you think? I prefer to think of it as an investment. I’ll be in touch.”
As he saunters off, I am left stammering, speechless at my big party during my big moment. This feels like a scene that I would conjure up in my mind—a fictitious dramatic scene for a book. Arms envelop me, and I hear people talking, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. Then everything goes black.
Jameson
I watch the scene unfold between Addie and her father. It is surreal. My intel told me he was in town, but I wasn’t given any information suggesting that he would be making his move toward Addie tonight. I feel like I failed her. I should have been informed.
As her asshole of a father departs, chatter and whispering spread around us like wildfire. Stares linger on Addie, despite my moving to block them, facing her to make it look like we’re simply talking about what just happened. In reality, I think she might collapse. Cameras flash as the media circles their prey, ignoring my attempt to protect her. This is the last thing she needs. Her anxiety about being in such a social situation was almost too much for her to bear. Her need to be invisible is still strong, despite her sudden fame. This might break her. I feel like a total failure, but I can’t think about that right now. The most important thing on my agenda is getting her out of here.
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