by Sierra Hill
Grandmum threw a fit over that, insisting that I was insulting her intelligence and capabilities as the head of her company.
“I know that, Grandmum. You’re not an invalid, but you do need assistance as you get your strength back. You’ve already had two dizzy spells this week – and those are only the ones I’ve observed. I’m sure you’re not telling me everything.” I give her a chastising glare over the rim of my glasses, her nose tipping up in the air stubbornly.
“Nonsense. And while I appreciate you being here with me, I don’t need your constant hovering. Perhaps you should focus that energy on something besides an old woman. Maybe finding a young woman to fall in love with and marry.”
This conversation seems to be on repeat, always returning back to this idea of love and marriage. In fact, last night, she had the nerve to invite her friend, Martha, and her granddaughter, Whitley, over for drinks and cards, obviously hoping to play matchmaker between us.
While Whit and I have known each other for years, she’s not, nor ever has been, a woman I’ve been attracted to. Not that she isn’t beautiful, but she has the personality of a snail. Boorish and dull.
I let it go and didn’t confront my grandmother on it because of her state of health. Instead, I played nice and tried to act interested in learning all about Paris fashion week that Whitley just attended and how many followers she has now on Instagram, increasing her influencer status amongst the millennial set who care about that kind of shit.
I decide now is as good as a time as any to open up the discussion on the status of my love life. And see where she stands on queer rights and marriage equality.
“Grandmum, not everyone is traditional in the idea of marriage.”
I take a fortifying sip of my scotch, gripping the crystal tumbler in my fingers so hard it just might shatter, and wait for her reply.
Her head is down as she reads the Wall Street Journal, one of many of her daily newspapers delivered to her door.
“Perhaps not,” she acknowledges, her tone flat but with enough edge to show her true opinion. “But I am. And that doesn’t change my desire to see you married.”
The paper rustles in her hands as she lays it flat across her lap. I feel like a kid again and shrink back into the chair as if she’s about to ream me out for doing something I shouldn’t have.
“Do you think I loved your grandfather, Lucas? Or your mother loved your father?”
I blanche, taken back by the implication, but remain stoic and silent, waiting for her to explain.
Staring at a photo frame on the table next to her, she holds in her grasp, fingertips brushing fondly over the sterling silver frame.
“Lionel was one of a kind. Ahead of his time with his opinions on human rights and women’s rights. He never once balked at my desire to run the company. In fact, he took a back seat to it all in favor of his writing and art.”
She snaps a sharp look in my direction. “You take after him in that, my dear boy.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Well of course I do. What a silly question.”
“But you just implied that you didn’t love him,”
She smiles wistfully, replacing the picture on the table and turning to face me, bracing her hands against the frame of the desk.
“I was very fond of your grandfather. We had a good life. But I didn’t marry him for love. I married him out of responsibility and duty. I had children – your mother and your aunt – out of duty.”
My throat constricts as to what she’s suggesting and my tone is petulant. “Is that what you expect from me? To marry out of obligation and duty?”
She lifts a shoulder. “If you want your inheritance, then yes, Lucas. You must marry. That is my stipulation. You’ve made your choice of career and I am proud of your achievement. But now you have another choice. You can be gifted with an inheritance that will never have you wanting for anything as long as you live.”
I sigh, ready to argue and tell her I don’t care about any of that. But she levels me with her stare.
“Or, you choose to be willful and walk away from it. Either way, you have little time to decide. I’m giving you until Christmas.”
31
Kyler
“Well, this was a shit night for tips.” I grouse to Dax who was on shift with me tonight. “I don’t know how the hell I’m going to be able to pay for next semester’s tuition if I keep having crap nights like this.”
I shove the tips into my front pocket and grab my bag out of the back room where we have a small bank of lockers. My mind mentally calculates all my expenses coming up in the next month and I just can’t seem to find a way to make ends meet these days.
While Peyton and I don’t live in a lavish place, we also don’t live in a dumpy apartment complex. But I may have to end up moving out if things keep going like they are now. Either that or I’ll need to find a third job. Which, honestly, I don’t know how I would ever find sleep.
Dax slaps me on the back as we head out to the parking lot, lighting up a cigarette and passing it to me. I wave him off, trying to give those things up as a way to save more money.
“I hear ya man,” he says through a ring of smoke puffing from his lips. “Maybe you could become a stripper. That’d bring in some extra cash.”
I choke on my laughter and give him a noncommittal shrug. “Well, that’s definitely an option.”
He takes a puff and blows it out. “I’m living with four roommates right now and may end up having to move back to Prescott to live with my sister and her family. God, that would be a shitshow. Her husband is a fucking bible thumper.”
While it’s dark outside, the lights overhead provide enough coverage that he can see the curious look on my face.
“Do they know you’re gay?” I inquire, unlocking my car door with a snick of the button.
Dax crinkles his forehead and flattens his lips, shaking his head. “No. That’s why I moved away. I think my sister has an inkling, but she subscribes to the don’t ask, don’t tell philosophy of family. Plus, we don’t talk much, so she doesn’t get into a lot of details about my life or lifestyle.”
I watch him over the hood of my truck, opening the door as it groans from the hinges.
“That sucks, man. Sorry to hear that. Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that for either of us. I’ll see you later. Drive safe.”
I give him a wave goodbye and get behind the wheel, resting my head against the worn leather covering of the steering wheel, uncertainty plaguing me about the future. I know at my age I’m not supposed to have everything figured out. But damn, adulting is so hard sometimes. At the very least Dax has somewhere to go back to, even if temporarily. I have no one to turn to that could give me a place to live if I needed it.
Peyton is in pretty much the same shape I am, except she gets a little something from her mother. Not me. Once I left Max, and before that, my family, I had no one but myself to rely on.
The future is daunting and scary at the moment. I don’t want to give up school this close to the end of my degree. I’ll just have to hope for some miracle.
Slipping the key in the ignition, I turn it on, and the old truck rumbles and sputters to life when a knock on my window nearly has me jumping out of my seat with fright. My head snaps to the window where I see a figure of a man I haven’t seen in a long time.
Max.
Uncertainty plagues me, hostility coursing through my veins with the bite of hot venom.
Depressing the window button, I roll down my window a few inches, noticing Max take a step back and slide his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouched in what appears to be a contrite posture.
Yeah, right. He’s never been apologetic or remorseful a day in his life.
“Hey, honey,” he murmurs softly, using a term of endearment that I used to like. But now it only makes me want to rev the engine and get the hell away.
“What do you want, Max?” My tone issues a warning that I’m not about to
fall to his feet in supplication and welcome.
Max removes his hands from the pockets and takes a step forward, leaning in closer, placing his palms over the car roof.
I get a whiff of his expensive cologne, the one he never let me borrow because it was “from Paris and cost more than I’d ever make.” Now it makes me want to gag.
“I’ve missed you, honey.” His voice is saccharine sweet and also makes me want to choke on the vomit slipping up my esophagus.
I scoff loudly. “Right…you’ve missed me. I’m sure.”
It’s pretty miraculous how much a person can change in the span of six months. I’m not the same person I was back then, so his lame-ass words don’t have the effect they did on me in the past.
Back then, when we would fight or argue, I’d always be the one to bend to his will. I thought it was because I loved him. But now I know that it wasn’t love. It was survival.
And while I might be in desperate need of money, I’m no longer at the same place I was when I was eighteen, frightened and alone, where I had to be beholden to Maxwell Bentitou.
I place my hand on the gear shift, foot on the pedal, ready to put it in gear when Max reaches into the window and places his hand over my knuckles on the steering wheel.
“Wait, please. Just…can we go somewhere to talk? Have some coffee?”
“It’s fucking after two a.m., Max. I have class in the morning. So no, now is not a good time.”
He agrees quickly with a nod of his head. “Oh, yeah, sure, of course. How are classes going? You must be almost done with the semester. I’m so proud of you.”
His eyes look sad and forlorn, which I know is just an act, but I’ve never really seen him like this. So vulnerable and needy. And back when I was with him, I would have given anything to hear him say that he was proud of me. It’s all I ever wanted from him was his love and pride.
I turn back to stare out the front window, the condensation from the heat and cool converging creating a haze over my windshield. It feels so apropos to my life right now. I know there’s something out there for me, but I can’t quite grasp it through all the fog.
I capitulate with a sigh. “Yeah, thanks. Just tell me what you want, Max. It’s late and I want to go home.”
He stammers a bit, probably surprised I’m being this pointed and dismissive. But I’m full of reminders of how he used to be, and he deserves the tone he’s getting from me.
My mind spins obsessively over what he could possibly want. Why now? Why is he reaching out now when it’s been such a long break and one he initiated?
I watch as he squirms, shifting from one foot to the other, hanging his head before his eyes lift and stare at me imploringly.
“I miss you, honey. I want to try again. I want you to come home.”
His words are so ridiculously humorous that I begin to laugh out loud, hitting the steering wheel with my palms as it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
A wave of disbelief washes over his face and his expression turns tight. Max hates being laughed at.
I shake my head and rub my hand down my face.
“That’s not going to happen, Max. Not now. Not ever.” I give him a pointed stare, tilting my head to really see him for what he is. A selfish man who never gave one shit about me or wanted to work it out before. “I never realized how unhappy I was when I was with you until I found someone else who makes me happy.”
The words could’ve been a punch to his gut because he stumbles back and gasps.
“Are you with someone new?” he asks like it’s something he never once contemplated.
I smile brightly, batting my eyelashes and letting out a laugh. “Yes. I am. And it’s a man who is not only intelligent and kind but someone who treats me as his equal. Not his possession or something he owns. Something you’ll never understand. Goodbye, Max.”
With that said, my true feelings made known, I shift the truck in Drive and leave Max in my rearview mirror.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned through that breakup – my first true heartbreak – it’s that no matter how shattered and hurt you are, it is possible to glue the pieces of your heart and soul back together.
It takes time, but those pieces no longer have the same shape or consistency they once did.
Because now, with that adhesive, they’re stronger and so am I.
32
Lucas
“Welcome back, Professor Mathiasson.”
I turn to look behind me at the soft female voice coming from the doorway of my office. I’m collecting my lesson plan and lectures notes for the next class, feeling unusually unorganized today on my first day back in two weeks.
Slowly standing upright, I pivot around to face my student, Jess.
“Good morning, Miss Polesky. And thank you.” I affix a warm smile on my face, hoping it doesn’t come off overly interested.
Her red curls bounce with each step closer until she’s only a foot away, her cinnamon breath sweet and fragrant, but also an indication she’s far too close in proximity for my comfort. I move around to the back of my desk under the guise of collecting my books.
She tilts her head, averting her eyes furtively. “You were missed around here and we’re all glad you’re back. I hope everything is okay.”
The last word in her statement ends with a lilt of her voice – hopeful delusion that I’ll share the intimate details of my absence.
“Thank you. It’s good to be back to work. And speaking of which, I do have a class in fifteen minutes. I assume my TA has been helpful to you in my absence?”
Jess looks a bit confused but then nods. “Oh, yes, of course. But I’m here because I have questions only you can answer. About the art contest.”
She hesitates, apparently waiting for me to say something, but I don’t. This conversation is all on her shoulders to direct.
“What about it? I think I included my email as a way to address questions.”
She giggles cleverly. “Well, yes, but I wanted to ask this very delicate question in person. I was just wondering if the contest entries had to be rated PG?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Well, Miss Polesky, if you’ve taken anything away from my lectures, you know that there are truly no rules or labels in art. Our audience is not geared toward children, as you know.”
“So nudity is okay?”
Ah, now I see where this is going.
My gaze falls to my laptop, my attention slightly distracted by an email in my inbox from Kyler. I continue speaking to Jess while simultaneously reading through his email.
“As you know, the human body is quite often the core and cornerstone of many famous masterpieces. And if that’s what you’re being called to enter, then by all means…”
When Jess doesn’t respond, I glance back up to find that she’s staring at me coyly.
“I’ve been told I have great breasts so I thought I should capture the youthful suppleness in a painting. Perhaps you could instruct me on which colors to use to contrast my coloring?” She looks down between her cleavage and runs a finger over the curves. “What do you think, professor?”
“Enough, Jess,” I say firmly. “This is not appropriate. I see what you’re doing and I’m not at all interested. In fact, I find your behavior borders on harassment. I have a class to get to right now, but later I will decide whether to report this to the Dean for misconduct. Until then, you need to leave. If you have legitimate questions about the contest, I’m happy to respond via email.”
I grab my laptop, shoving it into my messenger bag along with a stack of papers, and walk out the door, brushing past a red-faced and clearly irritated woman.
When I get far enough down the hallway, I turn the corner, breathing heavily as I take long pulls of air to calm myself down. This is not the way I’d planned on starting off my first day back to school after my leave of absence.
I yank out my phone from my pocket and begin typing out a message to the Dean regarding Jess’s behavior but am int
errupted by Garrett who is striding down the hall toward me.
“Hey, Luc. Glad I caught you. I wanted to see how your trip was and how Jocelyn is doing?”
He gives me a warm friendly smile. And where I once would have felt the tingles associated with attraction, I realize now that the attraction is gone and has taken a different tone. It’s simply nice and doesn’t leave me with that heady noise in my head and physical pull I’ve had for Garrett for so long.
“It was exhausting, honestly. You know how Jocelyn can be and it’s only grown worse now that she has reason to believe she’ll succumb to death at any moment.”
I let go of an exaggerated sigh as we walk toward the lecture hall.
Garrett grins widely. “Ah, good old Jocelyn. Always the most dramatic Queen in the castle.” I laugh at his reply because he knows her all too well.
“How’s everything been with you? Your team ready for the pre-season?”
He grins proudly. “Yeah, they are. And that’s why I’m here. Next Saturday we have the first home game and I know Brooklyn and Caleb would love it if you could come with them.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, bro.” I slap him on the shoulder and turn down the corridor. A few passers-by say hello to Coach Parker with enthusiastic war cries of “Go Sun Devils!” as they head into the room.
“Awesome. I’ll make sure to have a ticket ready for you next week. I’ll let you get at it, just wanted to stop by and check in on you. And keep me posted on your grandmother.”
“Will do, G. Thanks, man.”
Our interaction has me feeling a hell of a lot calmer as I walk into the auditorium and head down to the podium. The thought occurs to me that something has shifted in my feelings toward Garrett and it makes me wonder if it has anything to do with Kyler?
As if I’ve conjured him with my thoughts, his voice from behind me has my body jerking to life.
“Hey, Prof. Good to see you’re back. We missed you.”
Swiveling around, I find Kyler standing in front of me, his worried look etched in his forehead and jaw clenched tight. I expressly avoid looking anywhere else but feel the familiar pull of attraction that seems to be uncontrollable when he’s near.