by P. Dangelico
Chapter 11
I get back home to Ojai after dark. Even though I know Mona checked on the animals before turning in, I want to see how Billy and Hazel are faring. I’ve been keeping them in a stall at night instead of the paddock with the ponies and other animals, so they could have some time to bond.
I’m happy to see them sleeping peacefully side by side, snuggled together. Fishing my phone out, I snap a picture to post on social media tomorrow.
“Sleep well, my babies. See you in the morning.” Turning off the lights, I step out of the barn.
I can feel him before I see him. Shane is sitting in one of the green Adirondack chairs on the porch of the guesthouse. I can sense him watching me even though I can barely make out his face. It’s a clear night and the stars are out but it’s still inky dark.
“Blue,” he says quietly, voice extra-raspy tonight. It gets into my bones and gently pulls me toward him.
My heart beating fast, each step I take reminds me of the conversation I had with my father only hours ago. Do I want to wind up like him? Alone at fifty-six? Pining away for a person I love who I couldn’t hold onto because he didn’t want to be held back? Shane told me he’s a bad bet. You should believe people when they tell you who they are.
I don’t feel comfortable taking the chair next to him and he doesn’t invite me to sit so I lean against one of the posts holding up the roof overhang.
“What are you doing out here in the dark all by your lonesome, Colonel? Or should I call you Eamon?”
“Not if you want me to answer… it’s my father’s name. As I’m sure Aidan’s told you.” He raises a glass half-filled with what I assume is contraband booze to his lips and takes a sip.
“Did you have fun that night? Letting me make an ass out of myself?”
He exhales and leans back in the chair. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
I replay the scene in my head. Okay, maybe he’s right about that, but still.
The silence continues. In fact, without me to fill the silence, there’s no doubt it would continue indefinitely. It’s then I realize he uses it as a tool to intimidate. Yeah, that’s not gonna work anymore. I am ninety-nine percent sure he’s holding my beloved copy of Simply Sinful as hostage and I’m not freaking out about it anymore. I’m long past being intimidated.
“I thought you said all alcohol had to be removed from the premises?” I say, motioning to the glass he’s holding.
“I thought you said Dexter the Mormon lived on the property?”
Even in the dark, I can see his eyes spark with mischief. With the promise of great sex. The skin on my chest suddenly feels blowtorched, the heat headed south of my waist.
“Oops, busted.” The smile that spreads across my face spans from ear to ear. He returns the favor and smiles back. God help me, it’s so big and bright it blots out the stars. The heat spreads over my skin and licks the back of my neck.
He’s taken. Stop with the self-owns, my conscience reminds me, her delivery annoyingly smug and dry. Why does my conscience sound like Holland Taylor?
“You were gone all day…” he casually throws out. Like he hasn’t just admitted to keeping tabs on me.
Without thought, I cross the distance and sit in the chair next to his, the only thing separating us a tiny side table…and total ruin.
“I went to see my father. He’s a cop. LAPD Captain. My mother’s in town and she wants to see me. I don’t know what to do about her,” I continue, the dark coupled with my silent companion acting like sodium pentothal. “My mother left us when I was six. I don’t have a relationship with her. I mean, I do, just not…” How do I even begin to describe what we are? “I don’t trust her at all…”
I glance over to see if he’s sleeping at this point. He’s so quiet I wouldn’t be surprised if he is. Except he isn’t. He’s very much awake and staring at me.
“Did seeing your father help?” he finally says.
“I dunno… I just found out he’s still stuck on her, so it’s hard getting an objective answer. I don’t know why. She’s so self-absorbed… after all these years, you would think those feelings would fade.”
“I love her, and it is the beginning of everything…” he murmurs.
“Did you write that? Because if you did, then maybe you should be writing romance instead of military thrillers.”
His mouth hitches up on one side and he shakes his head. “Fitzgerald did…to his wife Zelda.”
Nerves get the better of me and my fingers play with the edge of my skirt. I stretch out my legs. “I read somewhere that if you’re stuck in the past you’re likely to be depressed. If you’re constantly anticipating the future, you’re filled with anxiety. But if you live in the present moment, then you’re at peace. Do you believe that?”
After another long painful pause––painful for me, that is. He’s as chill as he could possibly be. He says, “I think we live all three simultaneously and choose where to focus.”
“That’s good. I can see why you’re so successful.”
“Give your old man a break. Love is…complicated.”
An image of the woman he had dinner with all those weeks ago flashes before my eyes. She looked heartbroken over him––that’s certainly true. I wonder if that’s who he’s thinking about right now. A gorgeous woman whose heart he broke. I wonder if it’s regret I see on his face.
“It’s really not, though. Love doesn’t have different rules for different people. Being there for someone you say you love is part of the deal.”
He tips his head back and watches me under hooded eyes. “Some people can’t switch it on and off.”
“You speaking from experience?” I dare ask. I don’t know where I’m finding the nerve to be this forward. Maybe it’s the dark. Maybe I’m finally finding the courage I lost that night four years ago. Either way, there’s no turning back now.
He hooks an arm up, his hand sliding under his head. His bicep bulges, straining against the sleeve of the t-shirt he’s wearing. “I don’t know how to switch it on.”
That’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one. Either he’s lying to me or he’s lying to himself.
“You know what your problem is, Hughes?”
He schools the smile trying to grow on his face while his eyes return to the bottom of the tumbler cradled in his palm. “You’re gonna psychoanalyze me? Let’s hear it,” he says. Slowly, he raises the glass to his lips and wraps them around the edge. “The suspense is killing me.”
No one who memorizes quotes like the one he just recited has a hard time falling in love. Not buying it. “You’re a romantic.”
His eyes flicker up to me. There’s a glimmer of surprise in there that instantly gets stashed away. Even this is too much. He won’t allow anyone to see anything too personal. Everything’s locked up so tight I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
“Sweetheart, I’m Irish. It’s practically a requirement.”
I get up and smooth the wrinkles out of my short skirt. If I stay any longer, my mouth is liable to get me into serious trouble. Shane’s eyes travel slowly and deliberately up my bare legs, all the way to my face.
“Are you?”
“A romantic?”
He nods.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully, a sweet ache resonating in my chest. “Takes one to know one.”
“Cruella loved the pictures you sent of Aidan with the mini ponies running after him,” Jess tells me. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak so nicely about anyone who isn’t a client. I’m still kinda shocked.”
“She did?” I’m genuinely surprised and a little bit proud of myself. “What did she say?”
“She said the pics were ‘usable’ and it was ‘nice to discover you weren’t a total fuck-up.’”
I snort and switch the phone to the other ear as I shake out my hair. For once, it’s styled. With all the styling paste I applied to the ends, the waves are behaving. Parted to the side, they’re falling nicely over my
shoulder.
I can’t believe I’m doing this for a woman who abandoned me, but I’m a glutton for punishment and still have mommy issues at twenty-nine, which is why I agreed to meet her for lunch a few days after I saw my father.
You can’t fault me. Deep down, nobody wants to believe that their parent would rather spend time with strangers than with their own child. Plus I’m still searching for signs that I may have misjudged her for the past twenty-three years. Unfortunately, I have yet to see any evidence.
“Aidan’s been a surprise. I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I’m going to miss the big beautiful dork when he leaves.”
“What about his brother?”
Shane… Somehow along the way, I’ve managed to gain a friend. I think? I’m not saying I’ve stopped having dirty dreams about him; those are still very much happening. But it’s no longer just a lust thing. Which is probably worse. Everyday I don’t see him now feels like an eternity. The problem is that although my heart is a romantic, my head is a pragmatist, and I don’t see how this ends well for me. And yet it definitely will end in four weeks and counting.
“You mean the brother who’s a famous writer? That brother? Way to let me get blindsided.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you live in a place with no electricity and cable. I thought you knew.”
“Some of us don’t eat, sleep, and breathe the entertainment industry.”
“You’re right. We can’t all be that lucky,” my insane best friend says, snickering.
“Wish me luck. I’m meeting Athena for lunch.”
“You don’t need luck. You need to remember that everything you’ve accomplished––which is a lot––you did with no help from her. Don’t give her any power over you. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“I’ll call you later if I need an ass-kicking.”
“Ass-kicking is my specialty.”
We say our goodbyes and end the call. I step out of the house, keys in hand, hobo bag over my shoulder, and head for the baby blue Chevy pickup truck. The mini cotton dress I decided to wear today, white with embroidered flowers along the hem, has a peasant top and a full skirt that goes perfectly with my red cowboy boots. I grabbed my jean jacket in case it gets chilly later. People always underestimate how cold Southern California can get at night when the Santa Anas aren’t blowing.
Aidan promised to finish replacing a few of the rotten boards on the large pasture fence while I’m gone. Seeing me cross the gravel driveway to the truck, he tips back his straw hat, grins, and whistles. In case you’re wondering, no, he still hasn’t put on a shirt. He says he’s working on a Saint Tropez tan in Ojai. As for the theatrics, this is a man constantly surrounded by women who are the standard for beauty, so all I have to say to that is… eye-roll.
I decide to meet Athena someplace neutral. I can’t have her come to the ranch––that is out of the question. There’s a good chance she’d see Aidan and find a way to use him to her advantage.
The Westfall Mall is forty-eight minutes away. I get to the restaurant ten minutes late and overly nervous. A text from Athena comes in, alerting me that she’s already at the restaurant, seated toward the back. I walk into the Cheesecake Factory wiping my hands on the folds of my dress.
The restaurant is busy and loud. Across the dining room, I spot her wavy hair, so much like my own. Dark blonde with bright gold streaks running through it. Athena smiles widely and waves me over. The closer I get, weaving between tables stuffed with people, the closer I am to realizing she’s not alone.
There’s a man seated next to her. He’s tall and thin with a thick head of golden blond hair. His smile is warm and takes up his entire face, splitting his darker blond beard into two halves.
My mother looks essentially the same except five years older. That was the last time I saw her in person, when she was passing through L.A. and wanted to meet Jaime. He liked her; that should’ve raised red flags.
Her shoulder-length blonde hair is the same. Just a little more dull with a little more silver threaded in. A few more laugh lines around her mouth and at the corners of her dark blue eyes. The beauty mark at the edge of her mouth is the same one I see when I look in the mirror. Seeing my mother is like looking into my future. Although without the tchotchkes she’s wearing around her neck and on her ears.
As I take a seat, my gaze keeps cutting to the man sitting next to her. I haven’t seen her in years and she brought her boyfriend? You’ve got to be kidding me. This is strange. Even for her.
“I’m so happy to see you, Blue,” she says and reaches across the table to squeeze my hands. Her long, bony fingers wrapping around mine feel cold and dry. The gesture is unfamiliar. Her smile brittle. I know she’s nervous too, but it’s not my job to make her feel better.
The awkwardness is palpable and she immediately retracts her hands. This whole thing is awkward with a capital A. “Isn’t my daughter beautiful, Matthias?”
Matthias, whoever the fuck he may be, is quite obviously younger than my fifty-two-year-old mother. I’d say closer to forty-two. I don’t know why this bugs me but it does. I sure hope young Matthias knows who he’s gotten himself involved with.
Matthias throws a long, slender arm around her shoulders and smiles. “Beautiful just like you.”
I can taste the bile surging up my throat.
A waiter approaches to take our order and I’m suddenly not hungry. “Just water for me,” I tell him. The two lovers order lunch salads and the table falls silent once again.
“So… You wanted to see me,” I say, kickstarting the conversation. Why drag this discomfort out longer than necessary. “Why am I here?”
The good manners my father taught me would require that I include the boyfriend in our conversation. I just can’t. For now, I’m going to pretend Matthias doesn’t exist and operate that way for the rest of this very short lunch.
My mother takes a sip of water. “Matthias and I––”
“I’m sorry, who is he?” I turn my attention to the man with his arm around my mother and break my own rule less than a second later. “Who are you?”
“My fiancé,”––her smile crumbles–– “soon to be my husband.”
I’m speechless. For the first time ever, I am at a complete loss for words. My brain tries to process what she said, but something in my psyche won’t allow me to accept it.
“Matthias works for the UN,” she continues. “We met in Haiti––”
I wave a hand to stop her because I really don’t want to hear anymore. “I thought you actually wanted to see me, but instead you coerced me here under false pretenses to… introduce me to the man you’ll run out on in a few years?”
Cheap shot, I know. But I’m wavering between being once again devastated by her callousness and spitting mad for letting my issues with her cloud my judgement. They say doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is the very definition of insanity. I’m think I’m there.
“Blue,” my mother’s young lover starts in. “I know I have no right to––”
“Has my mother told you that she left us the day after my sixth birthday and didn’t even bother to tell me she wasn’t coming back?”
He rightfully looks apologetic on her behalf. “She did––”
“Did she tell you how she promised to make it to my elementary school graduation and never showed up?”
Matthias glances at my mother, whose increasing uneasiness is written on her face, with pity.
“Blue,” she says, jumping in, “this is why I wanted to see you. I’m trying to make amends. I want to apologize for all the broken promises––”
“Why?”
It’s pointless to ask how she intends to make amends because I can’t even fathom how one would go about making amends for deserting a child. Did she bring a time machine with her?
“Why do I want to make amends?” she asks in a confused, almost childlike voice. She licks her lips, her gaze darting to Matthias for mo
ral support.
“Why now?”
“Because it’s been weighing on me…” Their eyes lock and he squeezes her shoulder like she’s a damsel in distress instead of a narcissistic escape artist. “Matthias and I feel like we can’t make a clean start until I make amends to you and Alan––and I want to. I’ve wanted it for such a long time, I just didn’t know how to go about it.”
“Dad said you asked him for a divorce. Now I know why.” Here’s looking at you Matthias. “So let’s recap. You came to L.A. not to see me, but to get a quick divorce from Dad and to give me the head’s up that you’re getting married. Did I get it all?”
Her shoulders fall. “You make it sound so terrible––”
“The truth sometimes is terrible.”
Her face then does this weird thing. Her mouth shapes into a forced smile that makes her look insane. “You’re gaining a sister,” she continues. “Don’t you want to know about Callie?”
Lord help me. And I thought this couldn’t get any worse.
“Matthias has a thirteen-year-old daughter that he’s been raising by himself…” Matthias once again gives her a reassuring squeeze “…until we met.”
“Callie’s dying to meet you,” Matthias says, forcing himself into the conversation. “She goes to a boarding school here in L.A. We told her all about you already.”
So much to unpack here. I blink, incapable of having any other reaction. I don’t know what’s worse: that this poor girl has been manipulated by two people who should be protecting her or that they went to see her first. I know it’s petty, but consider that this is the woman who told me to ask my father to explain tampons because she was at a political rally in Bolivia and the phone call would’ve cost too much.
Sliding out of the booth, I stand and slip my handbag over my shoulder. “The saddest part about all this is that it shouldn’t surprise me. And yet I’m…” The words rising from deep within my chest get stuck. “Congratulations on your impending marriage. For future reference, keep me out of your plans.”
