Convince Me

by Nina Sadowsky

  “Oh my god, J, I love it! It was just so unexpected. And you sprung it on me so casually…” I stopped talking and opened his crossed arms. Snuggled in against his broad chest. Kissed him full on the mouth. “You. Are. Amazing. How did you manage it?”

  “I’m not giving away all my secrets yet. Wait until we’re married.”

  “Seriously, J. Thank you so much. This means so much to me. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it, okay? I don’t need a parade.” He slid his hand up the back of my thigh. “But as I recall, you already had a promise to make good on.”

  His hand went higher and soon we were tangled in each other, heated and urgent.

  Later, I considered texting my shelter volunteer group the amazing news of Justin’s generosity, but hesitated and eventually decided against it. Justin was funny about things sometimes; I recognized this. He kept certain parts of his life compartmentalized. Saving Birdie’s cats was an act of love that he had performed for me, and a component of the gift was that he didn’t need anyone’s recognition of his act but mine. I filed the gesture away, one more piece of solid proof of Justin’s love.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WILL

  Arriving at the office for one of our usual Saturday afternoon catch-ups, I was shocked to find Justin in tears. He quickly wiped his eyes and sauntered over to the coffee maker so his back was to me. Wanting to respect his desire to conceal his distress, I set down the greasy bag containing the two burritos I’d nabbed on the way in and offered a casual “good afternoon,” as if I hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Justin hadn’t indicated anything was wrong. Not last night when we partied (another Friday night of free-flowing drinks and fast new friends at a local bar), or earlier today when I’d texted to confirm his burrito order. I couldn’t remember seeing him this upset since his brother had died.

  When he turned back from the counter with cups of coffee for both of us, all traces of his tears were erased. We chowed down, drank coffee, discussed the week’s progress, the challenges that lay ahead. We cracked jokes about the perils of double-dating a pair of identical twins we’d met the night before.

  There was something somber operating beneath the surface, though, as hard as Justin tried to mask it. His ebullient spirit was so much the lifeblood of the company, I was worried, not just for my friend, but for all of us.

  It was only when we were walking out into the pink-streaked dusk that I broached it. “You all right, man?” I inquired casually. “You need anything?”

  To my surprise, Justin laughed, a full-throated bellow that shook his entire body. “You know me too well,” he affirmed. “I think I could get away with hiding it from most people, but not you. This is why you’re my main man.”

  Glad as I was to see his good humor return, I had to press deeper. “What’s up?” I asked softly. “Is it something to do with the business?”

  “Sort of.”

  My stomach knotted with apprehension. “Come on, J, what the hell does ‘sort of’ mean? I’m a minority owner, but I’m an owner too. And I’m the one here every damn day with you. If something’s going on, I need to know.”

  The low glare of the western leaning sun blocked me from seeing his eyes. I couldn’t mistake his sigh, though, heavy and full of sadness.

  “I thought I could sort it out myself. And I think I have, but not how I’d like.”

  The knots in my belly twisted tighter. “Sort what out?”

  Justin sighed again. “You know we launched with Sax as our majority investor and another minority investor. An 80/20 split.”

  “Of course. Get to the point.”

  “Our minority investor never actually came through. I tried to keep the negotiations going for months, while frantically looking for a replacement. Sax was getting impatient with the delay in the balance of the funding…”

  I had to interrupt. “How could you keep this from me?”

  Justin looked at me with astonishment. “It’s my end of the deal. I bring in the money and oversee tech development. You run day-to-day ops and marketing. Did I make you report to me about every snag you hit?”

  “No, of course not. But what does this mean for us exactly? Where are we at now? J, you were crying. What the fuck is going on?”

  “All right. I found a minority investor. It’s Carol.”

  “Your mother?” That was the last thing I expected him to say.

  “She called this morning to tell me she’s putting her townhouse on the market to give me the money as gap financing. I didn’t want to take it at first; all she’s got is that place, but she insisted. I believe we’ll make her money down the line, but it’ll take every penny she’ll make on the sale to make Sax happy, and even then we might come up a little short…”

  My brain spun with relief. A loss of one minority investor, but so what? We’d make Carol money instead! I’d met Justin’s mother a few times when she’d come out to visit. A small woman with a large personality, clearly devoted to Justin: I’d liked her.

  “Why don’t I invest the balance?” The offer sprang out spontaneously but was genuinely meant. I’d offered when we launched, but Justin had refused. He’d insisted that my small equity position was part of my compensation package. And since I was pulling in less than I had been at my old job I was happy to keep my savings intact and take the sweat-equity position on offer.

  But now my heart was in this company; my money might as well be too. And if we could keep some of Carol’s nest egg safe in the bargain? So much the better. Justin had been so generous with me; I wanted to return the favor.

  Justin was reluctant, but I finally prevailed. I put together a consortium of investors that included me, my mother, and my two uncles. Together we took a small piece of the company, allowing Carol the ability to squirrel away a decent rainy day sum while still investing as well. Win-win-win, right?

  Or so I thought at the time.

  People are drifting out of the bar; some stop to bid Annie or Carol farewell, many just meander out into the sunshine, relieved to be done with their obligation, eager to escape to happier activities. Stories were told and laughed at, food and drink consumed, Justin honored, remembered, mourned. Now we move on. It’s the way of things, right?

  Molly hands me another glass of amber liquid. “In honor of your commitment to getting stinking drunk,” she announces cheerfully.

  I accept the glass with a frown. I don’t remember voicing that intent out loud, although it’s conceivable that I did.

  Taking a sip, I miss, the glass chiming into a tooth, scotch spilling down my chin.

  I see a knot of our closest friends gather around the memory book laid out on the bar. It feels strange that Warren Sax isn’t here.

  Another flicker of unease crosses my gut. I gulp more scotch.

  I notice Annie’s cousin Lizzie edging toward her exit. She’s always bragging about how she knows everyone, and I need to get ahold of Sax. I set out after her and recognize that I’m drunker than I realized.

  After the dim interior of the bar, the bright sun stuns my eyes. I grab at Lizzie’s elbow so sharply she yelps.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, sliding on my sunglasses. “Just, can you help me get ahold of someone?”

  Lizzie’s eyes sparkle. This is the kind of moment she lives for. “Who is it?”

  “Warren Sax.”

  “Oooh, tricky. But reclusive tech billionaires are my specialty.”

  She whips out her phone. Turns away from me as she makes a call. She greets someone effusively. Then makes the request for a number for Sax. She chortles at the response. Offers thanks before ending the call with, “Yes, now we’re even.”

  She swivels back toward me. “We have to wait a couple of minutes. Want to tell me why?”

  “Not particularly.�
�

  She snorts a laugh in reply. “Have it your way. You know you’ll owe me, though, right?”

  Before I can reply, her phone rings. “Here he is. Didn’t even take me three,” she announces with smug satisfaction.

  I stare at the proffered phone. I desperately need to speak to Warren Sax. I know that. But my hair prickles at the back of my neck; my hands ball into fists. I’m consumed with an urgent need to get out of here. Out of my own skin.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CAROL

  I don’t really like to drink, but today I clutch the glass of white wine in my hand like a lifeline. The fuzzy edges alcohol provides are something I haven’t been able to afford in my life; I’ve had to adhere to clarity, rigidity, and sacrifice.

  I’m unmoored now. The thought makes me want to giggle as I imagine myself lofted upward into the sky attached to a bouquet of helium balloons like some cartoon character. I realize I’m a little tipsy.

  The photograph of Justin that Will chose is a good one. He looks handsome, my son, filled with energy and joy. How we will all want to remember him.

  He can’t be frozen in one image for me, of course. There were so many moments, both beautiful and ugly, if I’m honest. Raising a child is an astonishing journey. Begun in love, but with a phenomenal lack of understanding of what parenting truly means, and riddled with challenges that one never sees coming.

  The dichotomy between the pleasure and pain of being a mother was never more evident than on the day of Justin’s high school graduation. This is a milestone for every family; for me it was bittersweet. I was wildly proud of him. He was graduating near the top of his class. But this also meant Justin was going off to college in the fall when it had been the two of us against the world for so long. I was excited for what this new phase might bring us both, but also deeply sad and somewhat apprehensive.

  The graduation ceremony in the school auditorium was charming; students played their instruments and the valedictorian’s speech was genuinely funny. Justin beamed from the stage when he walked across it to receive his diploma, fist pumping when he caught my eye.

  We had an early dinner afterward, just the two of us, at Justin’s favorite local Italian restaurant. I ordered a glass of wine and slid it over to his side of the table. He was eager to go off and meet his friends, so I paid the bill and dropped him at the house where the grads were gathering.

  The hosting parents had sent out an email. They were going to be home, but had promised to stay upstairs. The kids would be having a coed sleepover in the rec room in the basement. Snacks, water, and soda would be provided. NO BOOZE ALLOWED.

  I was a realist. Good luck with that. But at least the kids were all staying over and not driving. I went home, took a bath, and went to bed, content that my son was safe.

  A shrill ring sucked me from a deep sleep and back into the night shadows of my bedroom. It took me a few moments to recognize the sound before I fumbled to answer the phone. It was the mother of the family hosting the graduation party. There had been an accident.

  My heart plummeted. “Not involving Justin,” she added hurriedly. I switched on the bedside lamp. The clock on the nightstand blinked back at me: 4:12 A.M.

  I gulped air. She continued. She suggested I come get Justin. He was fine, she emphasized, but everyone was very shook up. Eventually I got it out of her. One of the boys at the party, a junior named Nick Ambler, had climbed up to the roof of the house. And had fallen off. Or jumped. They didn’t know. But Nick was dead.

  I bloomed with empathy for Nick’s parents even as an overwhelming sense of relief engulfed me. It wasn’t my boy. My boy was okay.

  I threw on a robe and rushed over to pick up Justin. He was white-faced and stricken. He hurtled himself into my arms without regard for who might be looking. I stroked his hair and let him cling tight. He still needed his mama and I was deeply grateful to be there for him.

  We went home and I gave him a cup of hot chocolate and some buttered toast before tucking him into bed. He didn’t say much and I didn’t press. I assumed that in addition to the trauma of Nick’s death, Justin was also probably drunk or hungover or both at this point. I figured I’d let him sleep it off and talk it through later. I took myself back to bed but found slumber elusive.

  My mind kept turning to poor Nick Ambler’s parents. I didn’t know them well; Nick had been a year below Justin, and their younger son was still in grade school so our families’ paths hadn’t crossed all that much.

  But I knew loss. I understood what it was like to have your life upended with one phone call. The sun rose. I showered and dressed. Peeked in on Justin and found him wide awake.

  “Do you want to come with me to the Amblers’?” I asked. “I thought we might bring some food. Offer our condolences.”

  Justin agreed we should go. He still seemed very shaken and I thought it was brave and compassionate of him to come with me. I hoped the visit might provide some comfort to him along with the bereaved family.

  We set out for the Amblers’ house with a cake and a bottle of wine. Insufficient for the loss of a child to be sure, but an offering nonetheless.

  Jack Ambler opened the door in response to my knock. Bags pouched underneath his eyes; he looked like he’d aged ten years since I had seen him at the high school’s holiday party.

  “Hi,” I stammered, suddenly less sure of our welcome than I was when we set out. “I’m Carol Childs?” It came out like a question, a squeak. “This is my son, Justin.”

  “I know who you are,” Jack said coldly. He stared at Justin with ice-blue eyes.

  Clearly coming over unannounced had been a bad idea, but it was too late to retreat. “I’m so sorry,” I rushed on. “About Nick. We brought some cake and a hearty red.” I flourished the gifts, feeling more awkward than ever.

  Desperate to recover ground, I continued on, while Jack shifted his gaze away from Justin and stared at me stonily. “I can see we came at a bad time. And I should have called first. I’m really sorry. I didn’t think…”

  Trailing off, I placed the cake box and the bottle of wine down on the welcome mat. “I’ll just leave these here. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Jack didn’t say a word. I shrugged and turned to leave, my heart pounding. That had not gone the way I had envisioned at all. I remembered Robyn yelling at me, “Everyone deals with grief differently.” Too damn true.

  We were halfway down the path when Jack’s voice boomed out after us. “Some nerve you have!” I froze. Twisted my head back around to stare at him.

  “Why don’t you ask your son what Nick was doing on that fucking roof?” His voice shook with rage.

  “What are you talking about?” I felt rooted to the spot.

  “You heard me.”

  I looked at Justin, who shook his head and shrugged helplessly, his eyes welling with tears.

  Jack picked up the bottle of wine I had left on his doorstep and hurled it toward us. An explosion of glass and deep red liquid erupted mere inches from our feet.

  “Are you crazy?” I shouted. I ran for our car, pulling Justin along with me, my heart pounding, my breath ragged.

  What the hell was Jack Ambler talking about? Why was he so angry?

  I started the car, my hands shaking. Made sure Justin had his seatbelt on and pulled away as quickly as I could.

  Jack Ambler was in shock, I concluded. And angry. Needing someone to blame. I understood all of those emotions. His rage wasn’t directed at Justin in particular, just toward all of the kids that had been at a party that had resulted in his son’s death.

  I glanced over at Justin. He looked pale and sad. I hated seeing my lively boy so diminished. “I swear, Mom…” he began, eyes downcast.

  “You don’t have to say a thing,” I interrupted. “Don’t you pay any mind to Jack Ambler, honey. He’s crazed with grief and
doesn’t know what he’s saying. I know you didn’t have anything to do with Nick being on that roof.”

  Justin’s eyes flicked to mine, suddenly hopeful. “I didn’t,” he affirmed, nodding fervently.

  “I know.”

  I took one hand off the wheel and laid it on the seat. Justin’s hand crept into mine. We drove like that the rest of the way home. He was a high school graduate, and soon to set off into great unknowns, but in this moment, he was my little boy. It was the two of us against the world. Just like always.

  I raise my glass to my lips and drain my wine. Clarity is not my friend. Rigidity has proved a useless defense against life’s assaults. I’ve made the ultimate sacrifice. What else is there left for me to lose?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ANNIE

  I’m back at our house in Mar Vista, spectacularly, thrillingly, alone. I slam the front door behind me and twist the dead bolt closed. The cloying scent of fresh paint assaults my nostrils, so I gulp air in through my mouth.

  I ran out of there, truth be told. It all became too much. I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to Carol, which I feel shitty about now. I left her a message, telling her I got overwhelmed (true) and had to leave (also true). I promised I’d call her later.

  I meant it at the time, but now I’m not so sure.

  I kick off my shoes. Strip off the fucking Spanx. Leave my black dress in a puddle on the floor. Collapse in my underwear on the California king–size bed Justin insisted on purchasing for this, our tiny first home, and close my eyes. The bed is really too big for the room, but Justin insisted it was aspirational for our next, bigger, grander home, which was sure to include a large master suite.

  That was Justin. Always dreaming and scheming. Mostly making it happen too. Mostly. Until his mangled body was pulled from a car that had skidded into an expanse of nothingness off Mulholland Drive and bounced its way down the mountainside.

  I’d love to scream, but it seems like too much effort.