Loving Shade

by Shayne Ford

  The party is in full swing.

  I catch sight of Lola Hemingway at the last moment, and hurriedly, I turn right, steering toward my room.

  Elia’s heels hit the marble floor, their cadence drilling holes in my ears.

  “Shade?”

  She tries to grab my arm as I push through the doors.

  I yank it away from her grip.

  “What is Lola Hemingway doing here?” I throw at her before she has the chance to open her mouth.

  Smoothly, she slides the doors closed behind me.

  I make a beeline for the bar. Her footsteps travel to the middle of the room.

  She stops, and I glance over my shoulder prompted by her silence. She keeps her mug under control and her mouth shut as I fix my drink.

  I take a sip and turn around.

  Silently, she stares at me, my patience running thin.

  “What was so fucking important that it couldn’t wait?” I throw at her.

  No answer comes my way, and my blood begins to boil.

  We’ve been doing this since I don’t know... Since I was five?

  She always gives me the silent treatment, or the condescending look.

  Gritting my teeth, I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Can you make it fast? I have a fucking plane to catch,” I say deadpan, trying something different this time.

  Her face is pale, a stark contrast with her floral dress. She’s channeling a fifties goddess, her dress strapless and her makeup perfect. Her hair coifed in small waves.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she says, a dark smile glinting in her eyes.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I spoke with Roger. I told him about your request, and he agreed to a paternity test,” she says.

  Her choice of words makes my stomach flip.

  My request??

  I examine her face.

  “That was not my fucking request, Elia. I think it’s about time everybody knows the truth. We’ve been dancing around this for so long. You’ve been lying to him all this time.”

  She purses her lips in obvious disagreement.

  “That’s your opinion, of course. We don’t actually know the truth.”

  “Oh, so you finally admit it?”

  “No. That’s not what I said,” she says, irritated.

  “Okay... Okay.”

  I set my drink on the table and shove my hands into my pockets, searching her eyes for a moment.

  “So, what did he say?” I ask.

  Her confidence starts to crack, gradually wearing off.

  A small smile tickles my lips.

  “Oh... I see. You didn’t tell him the whole story. What did you tell him? Anything at all? Or was it one of your made up stories? ”

  She stays silent.

  “Well, then, maybe I should give him the rest of the story,” I say, pushing off the edge of the wall table, and heading for the door.

  Quickly, she erases the space between us, grabs my arm and slams the door shut.

  “You don’t need to do it, Shade,” she says, furious.

  Finally, the pretense is gone.

  “And why’s that, Elia? What makes you think that he doesn’t want to know the truth after all these years?”

  “It’s an old story, Shade. It would make no difference to him. Why can’t you just let it die?”

  “Let it die, you say? Hmm... How can I let it die when this is the very thing that put me away for so many years? Well… I’m afraid I can’t, dear mother,” I say, sauntering away from her. “And you know why?” I ask, turning around, and leaning against the window sill.

  Calmly, I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Because you find a way to remind me every fucking single day. I don’t know how you cope with it or what you have been telling yourself all these years so that you can sleep soundly at night. To be honest, I don’t give a fuck. You can screw with your life any way you want. And as much as you want. My problem is that you’ve been messing with mine. For years, there was nothing I could do about it, and I had to live with it, but now I’m no longer willing to put up with it.”

  She starts to say something when I shoot my hand up.

  “Don’t even fucking try,” I bark. “Stop saying that it’s an old story. It’s fucking not. If it were, I wouldn’t bleed because of it every fucking day. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an ongoing story. You know why? Because it lives inside me and it will be with me for as long as I live. You shouldn’t have fucked that man without a condom if you didn’t want to bear the responsibility of your actions.”

  Her jaw tenses, her eyes streaming anger.

  “That’s what people usually do when they fuck the pool boy,” I continue, unfazed. “And you know what else people do when they fuck the pool boy?” I mutter, ambling to her.

  A muscle twitches on her face, daggers shooting from her eyes as I edge closer.

  “They don’t fall in love with that man,” I say.

  Searching her eyes, I’m hoping to find a shred of remorse.

  I find nothing.

  There’s absolutely nothing.

  Not a trace.

  I stop inches away from her.

  “Does it make sense, darling?”

  I wait for a moment, not expecting her to answer before I go on.

  “And even if they do fall in love, they don’t regret it shortly after and make their child pay for their mistake,” I say softly, tucking a strand of hair away from her face.

  I pause, smiling bitterly.

  “Yes, that’s what they do. They don’t send their kid away so that they don’t have to see his face and live with the consequence of their mistake day in and day out.”

  “That’s not––”

  “That’s what it was, Elia. Please, just spare me. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. I’m done with it. We both know why you threw me in that compound overseas. You wanted me out of sight for as long as possible. This is the truth, Elia. I could’ve gotten my education someplace else, without living in a fucking jail, and without being alone all those years.”

  Taking a step back, I slide my hands into my pockets.

  “Does Roger know?”

  She bites her lip.

  “Hmm… Does he know that it wasn’t an accident? That it wasn’t a mistake. That you loved that man. Months and months of lustful fucking right under your husband’s nose. I bet the pool was squeaky clean that summer, wasn’t it?” I sneer.

  “He was a student who worked as a pool boy for us for a few months,” she says, her voice laced with emotion.

  I look at her attentively. A slow, knowing smile curves my lips.

  “Hmm... After all this time, you still love him, and yet you couldn’t love me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, yes it is. Why else would we be fighting over every single, fucking thing? Why would you hurt me?”

  She doesn’t say a word.

  I’m right. Of course, I am.

  “So... What exactly did you tell Roger?” I ask after a few moments of silence.

  “He knows about him. I told him it was an accident...” she says.

  I look at her incredulously.

  “And?”

  “And nothing,” she says, aggravated. “He had a suspicion at the time. It’s not exactly new information to him. I explained to him that there is nothing that he should be worried about. A test would simply clarify things for everybody,” she says, phony.

  She throws me a venomous glance.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my mistake, sweetie,” I say.

  “It’s an old story, and it’s been buried for a long time. It doesn’t mean anything to him or me. I doubt he’d buy your version of the story anyway.”

  “It’s not my version. It’s what happened. A whole fucking summer. And by the way, it not only my words, Elia. Rest assured, it’s more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I just said,” I say
calmly.

  She studies me intently.

  “You must be bluffing. There’s nothing you can possibly have on me.”

  “Am I?” I ask, slowly rubbing my chin. “Why don’t you try me, then?” I say, smiling.

  Her eyes turn cold.

  “The appointment is tomorrow morning,” she says with a hollow voice. “I suggest you get ready for anything. If by any chance it turns out the way you expect, it will affect you tremendously.”

  I grin.

  “I have no doubt... mom.”

  Eating her retort, she turns around and heads for the door.

  “I hope you're happy now,” she throws at me on her way out.

  “I am. Don’t worry about me,” I say as she cracks the door open.

  Hand curled around the knob, she stops and glances at me one last time.

  “By the way, Lola Hemingway is here for you. Perhaps you want to join us,” she says, giving me a dark smile.

  “Get the hell out, Elia,” I throw at her, unaffected.

  Without another word, she walks out.

  The moment the door closes behind her, I pull my phone out, scroll through the numbers, and make a call.

  The phone starts ringing as I slip out of the room and dash across the house.

  I get an answer just as I climb into the car waiting for me outside.

  14

  TARA

  It’s only Monday, and a strange feeling hovers over me.

  Things appear to be calm at work. Calmer than usual. Which is strange in itself.

  Between nine and ten, I speak with Claire twice. Then I work on a report with Danielle. Later on, I have a business lunch with my sales team, and early afternoon I head out to meet clients.

  Shade left for South America today. Maya’s at work. The weekend has become a thing of the past, the memories still vibrant in my mind.

  I enter my apartment early evening. I toss my purse on a chair, and look around, dazed.

  The colors surrounding me have lost their brightness and faded into a dozen shades of gray these past few weeks. The space feels small and lifeless as if I never called it home.

  My whole life feels like a piece of clothing that no longer fits. Perhaps, it never did. It’s just that now I notice it. It feels tight and bland and itchy in all the wrong places.

  And the sensation is here to stay. I can’t shake it off. I’ve tried. I really have. I did my best to keep myself occupied and my emotions under control, but from time to time, I let myself get carried away. Reliving the time I had with him.

  Running a hand over my brow, I slowly rub my eyes.

  I need to stop thinking about it.

  I slip out of my clothes, take a quick shower, and after a frugal dinner, I sit down at the table, and push my laptop open.

  Munching on an apple, I start working on a business plan.

  The phone hums against the table.

  “Hey,” I say, happy to hear Maya’s voice.

  “He called,” she says, her voice bursting with glee.

  “Who called? What are you talking about?” I ask smiling, knowing exactly whom she’s talking about.

  There’s only one man who can make her lose her breath so quickly.

  “Chad,” she says, panting as if she’s running the marathon.

  Grinning, I lean back in my chair.

  “Good for you,” I say, sliding the laptop to the side.

  “I’m sorry. Have I interrupted you? You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

  “No. no. I was working.”

  “I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He’d like to see me again when he comes back to the States, or I could go visit him in Europe. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. There’s no way I can take days off right now. Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

  Her voice fades in and out.

  “Are you doing a victory dance or something?” I ask, amused.

  “I wish...” she says, laughing. “I’m sorting through some clothing. Damn it. I’m gonna miss that man.”

  A pang of nostalgia lines her voice.

  “He’s not gone, Maya. What are you talking about?”

  “I know. I know... I'm just realistic. I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. I’m happy that he feels the same way I do about this whole thing, but the chances of it happening again are close to zero. There’s so much distance between us. And he’s young,” she says laughing, this quickly becoming her favorite excuse to dismiss the idea of him.

  I chuckle.

  “And then, there’s another thing,” she continues. “He’s gonna be a very rich man as soon as he’s out of school. And I’m what? A struggling office manager who hates her job?” she says, disappointment seeping into her voice.

  She pauses for a moment.

  “So anyway, this has as much chance of happening as me being hit by a train, but I wanted to tell you for the novelty of it if nothing else. It felt really good to talk to him. That’s all. We had a great time last weekend, and who knows? Maybe we can repeat it sometime, but I can’t hold my hopes high.”

  I suddenly feel cold, so cold, I push out of the chair, walk to the AC and check the temperature.

  The doorbell rings.

  “You expecting someone?”

  “No,” I say as intrigued as she is, my pulse racing.

  “Okay, then. I’ll let you go. We’ll talk. Call me if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  I hang up and tiptoe to the door as the doorbell rings again.

  I open the door and freeze.

  “Josh...?”

  My gaze goes down on him. It takes me a moment before I speak again.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, almost swallowing my tongue.

  His face looks thinner as if he lost some weight. His clothes are different than what I’m used to him wearing. He fashions jeans and a T-shirt that fit him right.

  That’s new. His clothes makes him look younger.

  His hair is a bit longer, framing his angular face, now shadowed by a few days’ worth of stubble.

  I stall for a moment trying to make sense of this. An answer pops in my head. Oh, I think I know.

  He looks, um… unemployed?

  “May I come in?” he asks with a quiet voice, something I‘ve never heard from him in the past.

  “Sure.”

  He steps in. I close the door behind him.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Okay,” he says softly, taking a seat on the sofa.

  I spin around and head for the kitchen, still grappling with surprise.

  Minutes later, I enter the living room, set the drinks on the coffee table, and slide into a chair.

  He curls his fingers around the glass, brings it to his lips, and takes a sip. He glances around, and then at me, examining me somewhat circumspectly.

  “You look good,” he says, his compliment unexpected, especially considering that he’s caught me in my sweatpants and with my hair pulled back, tied hastily into a ponytail. “How are things with you?” he asks. “Good?”

  “Yes, they’re good. How about you?”

  He takes another swig, places the glass on the table, and leans back against the couch.

  “Well... not that great, but that’s not why I’m here,” he says, a shred of sadness spilling into his voice.

  I slide my glass onto the table as well, and study him, concerned.

  “What’s wrong, Josh?”

  “No, no. There’s nothing to worry about. I, um... I came here to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “The way things have ended between us... It was really bad. I’m truly sorry.”

  He lowers his eyes briefly, looking genuinely regretful.

  “I wasn’t honest with you, Tara,” he says after a few moments of silence. “I wasn’t truthful with myself either. The reality is, I was looking for a way out. I didn’t want to hurt you, bu
t I did. That’s why I needed to come here and tell you the truth. You weren’t the reason why things didn’t work between us. I’m sure you already know that. You were perfect the way you were. I know, you could’ve had someone so much better than me,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “The truth is, I didn’t know how to love a woman like you. In my defense, I don’t think many men do. I knew you were missing a lot of things, but I couldn’t find enough strength in me to explore myself and to learn how to be the kind of man you needed.”

  He pauses briefly while I stare at him, speechless.

  “I was basically looking for someone whose expectations I could meet easily and without much effort. That’s why I settled for less. That way I could feel better about myself. Does it make sense?” he asks.

  I nod, tears pooling in my eyes.

  “I don’t know how to say this without making you cry. I just wanted you to know the truth and hopefully, be able to forgive me. Okay?”

  I nod again, a few tears falling in my lap.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Without another word, he pushes out of his chair. I rise as well. He heads for the door. I follow him.

  Hand curled around the doorknob, he stops and turns to me.

  “Can we at least stay in touch and talk from time to time?”

  “Sure.”

  He leans in, kisses me on my cheek, and walks out. I lock the door and go back to my laptop, my mind scattered, that strange feeling hovering over me again.

  And it’s only Monday.

  This is going to be a long week.

  I can’t wait to have Shade back.

  TARA

  Something is off.

  Glancing left and right, I walk along the corridor, heading to my cubicle. Danielle took a day off today, which was unexpected. Her request hit me as a last minute thing.

  I can work without her––that’s not my problem, but something doesn’t feel right.

  Most cubicles are empty.

  Am I early?

  I check the time on my phone.

  No. I’m no earlier than usual. I pass by Claire’s office and sneak into my cubicle. The place is swept clean. No files, no paperwork. None of my work is on my desk.