by K. L. Brady
Cody nodded in agreement but realized he was right about Kyle all along—he didn't know Tessa as well as he thought, not at all.
On the heel of his revelation, Cody's cellphone buzzed with a text notification. He glanced at the screen and clenched his eyes shut in disbelief.
What am I going to do now?
His next move—to respond or ignore—would constitute a declaration to himself and his heart.
He studied Kyle, waiting for him to text Tessa, for him to do something, anything. When he did nothing, Cody's next move was clear.
"Uh, I've got some business to take care of. A problem...with a supplier," he lied. "I've, uh, I've also got dinner plans tonight, so I probably won't return to the office until morning."
Kyle's head jerked back. "You sure everything's all right?"
"If you could just keep an eye on things here. Text me if you need anything." He flittered around, grabbing his belongings. "I'll check in with you later. Keep me updated on Joya."
He added the last part to throw Kyle off the scent.
Yes, Kyle was Cody's friend and one of his most important allies, but neither he nor anyone could compete with the desires of his heart.
Only one person, one woman, laid full claim to those.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tessa
* * *
When Joya's mother, Rose, handed Tessa the source of Joya's despair, all sound dissipated except the opening flap on the envelope.
Her soul filled with dread as she read the card and its contents. The backside, the first in her view, contained a familiar marking. Immediately, she recognized Todd's offering as a product in her Real Talk line.
In fact, it was the only one Tessa had designed with her own hands.
Inspired by Cody and conceived the night after the acquisition, she made the card in a place of anger and hate. It wasn't covered with a square peg and a round hole. No, a hand was half-squeezed into an undersized black leather glove. "Since we don't fit, it's time to quit. Let’s Keep It Real—We're over."
The card alone was awful, but Todd didn't stop there.
No, on the blank side, the jerk wrote a note with words as hard and cold as his dead heart. He left no doubt that he'd written each syllable to inflict crippling blows to her hope, self-esteem, and her spirit.
And Tessa, of all people, had unwittingly played the accomplice in his crime. She created the vessel he used to deliver his degrading brand of maliciousness.
"Awful, isn't it?" Rose said. "This day and age has evolved into something I don't recognize anymore. Maybe I'm ancient, but we treated people differently when I was growing up."
"No, you're far from ancient. What you're saying...that's the way it should be."
"I mean, don't get me wrong, life wasn't perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination, but people were kinder. If they had nothing nice to say, they kept it to themselves or talked behind people's backs. Jerks were shunned, not victims."
Tessa nodded. "We blame the people who get hurt instead of those who inflict the pain. Some days, it seems things have changed for the better...and, others, the worst."
"I dunno. I'll never adjust to this. Some days I feel like I'm living in upside-down world." Her voice was laden with despair. "And if the world isn't crappy enough, some genius thought it'd be a good idea to add this card to it."
A wave of guilt overcame Tessa. She felt sick. She wished she could heave and rid herself of the awful feeling, but it was in her blood.
"I suppose it'd be fine if you're heartless, but people like Todd will give them to people like Joya. Sweet souls are aching inside, quietly living on the edge, some hanging on a thin thread between life and death. All they need is a hate card to push them over the edge."—she began to crumble—"What if she doesn't pull out of this?"
Tessa took Rose into her arms and offered a guilty shoulder. Then Rose offered the final dagger to Tessa. "Some people will do anything for cold hard cash. It's blood money and nothing less."
Tessa wanted to explain that she'd never intended to hurt anyone, that she hadn't put enough thought into her plan to be malicious. That she'd created the line out of desperation and the card out of hurt; she never dreamed of breaking a fractured soul.
She wanted to explain to Rose her one true mistake: to judge other people's strength by the depth of her own.
That Cody-card, while devastating, drove her to embrace her passion, to invest a storm of negative energy into a positive cause, building a dream to better the world.
She never once considered her reaction to be exceptional, nor did she expect to find that what sparked her life's light might drive another to darkness.
She was guilty of tunnel vision, not spite.
She gave too little thought to her consumers' vulnerability, to those voiceless people teetering between sanity and hopelessness. With barely a blip, the petty, bitter witch had delivered pain between the covers of a Real Talk card.
At once, she felt powerful and powerless.
Tessa released Rose from her embrace after the poor woman's sobs dissipated. Then she read every word once more. They struck like daggers to even her heart. Joya must've been crushed.
"I can't even express how sorry I am, Rose. May I please go inside, just for a moment? I haven't known her for very long, but I'd like to let her know I came, that I'm here."
"That's very sweet of you. I suppose that would be okay. She's creating. That's what she does when she's upset like this," Rose said. "But, please, not too long."
"I promise I'll keep it brief."
Afraid to disturb Joya's work, Tessa turned the doorknob and softly whispered, "Hello," as she slipped into the foyer. Joya, in the dining room, ignored Tessa's call. Tessa tipped toward Joya's side at the mahogany table and took a seat in one of the wing-back chairs. The brushed nickel geometric light fixture made the whole room glow.
Joya looked okay in her yoga gear, except her ponytail seemed to sag. She had spread open her Moleskine notebook, and colored pencils were scattered around the table. Her sketch looked like the beginnings of a flower. When she glanced up, she shot Tessa a glare meant to scar her to the soul.
It'd served its purpose well.
"What are you doing here?" Joya barked, a stark change from the appreciative tenor the day before. Tessa knew why; she only hoped she could make Joya understand the truth and ask for forgiveness.
"I-I didn't mean to bother you." She stammered before replying. "I'm sorry about what happened with Todd."
"Sorry? That's pretty rich coming from you, of all people."
Thrown by Joya's damning tone, a frenzy of emotions, mostly guilt, consumed Tessa. The gutting worsened as hurt rained from Joya's eyes. She didn't know how much Joya had learned about Real Talk. Judging from her demeanor— everything.
"I'm not...what do you mean?" Tessa asked.
"I've got to give it to you," Joya applauded Tessa in slow claps. "Your little performance in your office the other day really had me fooled. I thought you cared about people...about me."
"But I—"
"I thought you were real and sincere. I thought your passion was communicating the truth to make lives better. Little did I know, you're just another mean girl, a wolf in sheep's clothing. I hate myself for trusting you, for not realizing you were nothing but a sad, fake, soulless profiteer."
Tessa gulped hard. Joya's condemnation was tough to swallow but probably deserved in some measure, she reminded herself. But one poor decision, in one span of time, didn't reflect the truth of her life.
That didn't stop the souring in her gut.
"Believe it or not, I can relate, Joya. You're angry about what Todd did to you, and you need someone to blame. But I'm not the villain here."
"You're no better than the gun manufacturer or gun store owner that takes no responsibility for the violence."
Joya's face tensed. She turned away from Tessa and grimaced as if she could no longer stomach the sight of her.
"If
you hadn't sold the Real Talk line, Todd couldn't have sent it to me. He would've had to buck up the courage to break off our relationship in his own ridiculous way."
Defending herself was futile, so Tessa dropped her head in shame. Her heart ached for the pain she'd caused Joya.
"He told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me," she said, pounding her fist on the table.
Tessa thought she'd shifted her ire to the source of her ache. She was wrong.
"Don't you care?" She aimed the question more toward the universe before returning her focus to Tessa. "How can you make a business of words and not understand how powerful they are?"
"Whether you believe me or not, I received a card very similar to yours. The man who sent it, he devastated me at first. But also, without knowing, he saved me. I'd never have tapped into the determination, single-minded focus, or grit it took to start Keep It Real without it."
"Well, for me, it wasn't a Band-Aid. It was a bullet."
Joya spat real talk, truth Tessa couldn't deny.
Tessa had handed Todd the weapon he used to wound Joya. She'd made it possible for Todd to deliver Joya heartbreak, the same way Cody had delivered it to her.
"I'm not as strong as you are," Joya continued. "Maybe if he couldn't select a Real Talk card in the store, things would've been different. After three years of tolerating his secret phone calls, weekend disappearances, late-night texting..."
Tessa sighed. "He's not worthy of you. You're blessed with so many gifts, with so much to offer the right guy. And I think, in your heart, you know your relationship wasn't meant to last, and you knew it long before he sent you that card."
"Well, if you'd designed a card with that message, maybe that's the one he would've given to me."
Tears flash-flooded Joya's cheeks, and she closed her eyes. "Now, get out!"
Tessa froze, paralyzed. She tried to leave but her feet wouldn't move.
"I said—get out!" she barked.
Battered and bruised from the well-deserved tongue lashing, Tessa hung her head and shuffled to the door. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob while Joya lobbed a final shot. "I'm glad I quit. I never want to work with anyone like you."
Without turning, Tessa replied, "I'm so very sorry, Joya."
Two steps out of the door and the tears overwhelmed the fragile dam she'd built to hold them back. She succumbed to grief and dabbed the wetness on her face with the back of her hand.
Rose, distracted by a neighbor, missed Tessa's quick steps past her, down the porch steps, and to her car.
She jumped into the driver seat and drove a few blocks before parking in front of some random house.
Through the blur of her waterworks, she retrieved her cellphone and scanned through unanswered texts and news banners before surrendering to her one heart's desire.
She typed a text, deleted, and retyped it three times before pressing "SEND."
She collected her emotions and returned to Georgetown.
* * *
At home, she pushed her key into the lock, and a torrent of tears once again washed over her cheeks and trailed down to her chin and neck. That's when a familiar voice said, "I got your message."
Relieved, Tessa turned, sunk into his warm embrace, and buried her face into his chest.
With him, she didn't need to say thanks or apologize. With him, she didn't need words.
With him, she was at the one place where she could be Tessa, flawed, and accepted. Home.
"It's okay, Tessa," Cody said. "I'm here, baby. I'm here."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tessa
* * *
Tessa was heartbroken over Joya, over the impact of Real Talk. She thanked the heavens that her dapper knight had come; he arrived straight out of the boardroom and into her home to relieve her misery.
Her fireplace popped with orange, yellow, and blue flames that danced along the red-hot bark. She curled up in her loveseat, awaiting Cody's return. He'd puttered in the kitchen, making her a much-needed cup of Earl Grey. It'd been some time since she'd welcomed the comfort of a man in her sanctuary, but she'd longed for his presence and understanding. He'd gifted her with what she needed. Kyle opened a breach, but Cody burst it wide open. Tonight was different, and maybe, just maybe, Cody was, too.
"Where do you keep the sugar?" he called out above the clink and clank of glasses against the granite countertop. Her teakettle rattled along with the cast-iron stove grates. "Oh, never mind. I found it. You still like a little tea with your sugar, or what?"
"No. My tastes are more refined. Hold the diabetes." She chuckled. "Stevia, please. Two packs are plenty."
"Wow," he said, as the packets ripped and rustled. "Nice coffee bar, by the way. It's comforting to see you're still the same...at least when it comes to your addictions."
"No, my addictions remain unchanged...all of them," she said. "It's my gift to humanity. I still lose all sense of decency if I don't caffeinate first thing in the morning. The coffee bar brings Starbucks a little closer to home."
"The more things change, the more they stay the same." He arrived with her tea seconds later, gently cooling the steam with soft breaths.
Tessa reached up to his towering frame and cupped the mug. She inhaled the aromatic steam and leaned back on her tweed sectional lounge; he pushed aside her mohair throw and filled the empty seat beside her.
One swallow of the warm, soothing fluid released the tension from her shoulders, relaxing her as Cody snuggled in and placed his arm around her. "Feeling any better?"
She nodded. "I'm speaking in coherent sentences. Progress." She shrugged and cast her gaze downward. The more she thought about her confrontation with Joya, the more her shame prevented her from looking Cody in the eye. "It's like I left Joya's house realizing I'm lost. Totally and completely. Somewhere between heartbreak and Keep It Real, part of me disappeared. Now I'm standing in the middle of a mystery of my own making, wondering how I arrived here, at this place, where a plan to motivate people makes them depressed and quit life?"
Between them, suspended in the silence, the question begged an answer Tessa wasn't sure she wanted to hear. Cody thrust his hand up high to offer one.
"I'm not sure I want to call on you," she replied to his gesture.
"Please? I know this one."
She nodded, giving him permission as she set her cup on the coffee table.
"Someone who doesn't know you might say you're stubborn. But I know you're passionate, brilliant, bold, courageous, and hurt."
She rubbed her arms as if she'd caught a chill.
"And your hurt isn't like a surface cut that you can heal with a Band-Aid. When you hurt, you're broken, and the bone's gotta be reset, or it won't heal right...ever. We never broke the bone; I never set things right."
"Wow. Coming from you...of all people." She revealed a sliver of a smile. "Next, you're going to tell me you're eating green vegetables."
"Absolutely," he replied. "Garlic mashed potatoes are the new broccoli."
Somehow in the midst of her sorrow, she'd found a genuine laugh that freed itself from her belly. Cody willed the impossible to be.
She gazed at him and found his light once again, the one that'd been lost for so long she wondered if it still existed. It'd returned at a time and place she'd least expected to find it.
"I hope you never lose that," he said, caressing her with his sweet gaze.
"What?"
"Your ability to laugh through your tears." He reached out with a feather-light touch and traced the line of her lips. Her body felt flush with heat. Her heartbeat quickened. She wanted more than his touch, but she resisted.
"Shh"—she whispered—"You're revealing all of my trade secrets."
He appraised her with a smoldering gaze that made her blush. A palpable heat filled the shrinking space between them. Desire and destiny drew them to each other as much as obligation and history tore them apart.
He leaned in so close she could feel the qu
ickening beats in his chest, smell the spice in his cologne. They sat eye to eye, mouth to mouth, until...he was gone.
Cody bolted out of his seat as if an invisible hand from the heavens snatched him away and broke their trance. His abrupt move reminded her of the last remaining barrier standing between them: Chandra.
Cody lapped the living room to expand the physical distance between them, if not emotional.
"Your place is great...especially compared to the dump we used to live in. You remember?"
"How could I forget? I dunno. There's a thin line between cozy and claustrophobia. I like to think our place was the former. Cozy...lived in."
"You call it lived in. I call it in desperate need of renovation and a little crowded between the mice, crickets, and some mutant insect that flew sideways."
The conversation took a welcome turn toward small talk, her décor, Feng Shei color, and styling—a neutral pallet accentuating earthy tones that falsely promised to bring calm and stability, things that Cody's presence used to bring to her life.
She shuddered and laughed as he turned to the photo display on her side tables. From end to end, he followed her life in stages, beginning after they parted until the present day.
She felt a twinge in her stomach as he did a double-take as if searching for his missing face. She'd abandoned those photos in a pile somewhere in oblivion, and most now contained holes where his face used to be.
He stopped perusing when he reached a single framed item hanging on the wall, replicas of her first Keep It Real card collection.
"Wow, the cards that launched a dream. Do you have any idea how talented you are? How proud I am of you?" His eyes lingered. "If I'm honest, there aren't many moments I wish I could relive. We evolve from our experiences, good and bad. Regrets are a waste of time. But if I had one do-over, I'd never send you that card. I'd pay to get that moment back."
