by Ivy Wild
“Mi dispiace,” I replied with the few words of Italian I knew. I took a bite of my dinner and offered her another chip, but she just shook her head. “Still don’t understand why you agreed to marry Percy.”
“Percy is your father, Si. It’s weird that you call him by his first name.”
I shrugged. “He’s not much of a father. And I’m not much of a liar.”
My mother snorted with a bit of laughter. “We both know that’s not true, amore mio.”
“It’s not too late to file for divorce,” I said, half joking, half serious, before taking another bite.
She sighed and fixed me with that intense stare of hers. “I know you two don’t get along well. But maybe try for me?”
“It’s hard to try when he’s never around. I mean honestly, mom, how much business in Brazil does one man have to do? And it can’t wait until you’re out of the hospital?”
She sighed again and looked back up at the fluorescent interrogation lights above us. “Your father is very busy with his businesses, which provide for us. We should be thankful.”
“I’m thankful that printed leggings aren’t a fashion trend anymore. I’m not thankful that I have an absentee father,” I said, shoving another bite of my burrito into my mouth. “Can’t we move back to your home?”
“He wasn’t always like this.” My mother smiled softly. “When I met him, he was such a charmer. And he was crazy about me. We were crazy about each other.” She shrugged and turned to look at me. “Il buon giorno si vede dal mattino.”
I shook my head.
“A good beginning makes a good ending.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe the wise old women of your village meant that sarcastically, mom.”
She laughed, the sound somehow dimming the harshness of the room. “If we became deserters, I wouldn’t get the help I needed and you’d be disinherited for coming with me.” Her tone was bright and I knew she was trying to lighten the mood.
I, on the other hand, was not past ruling this scenario out.
“I’m all the help you need and I don’t need his money,” I almost spat.
“Mio bello ragazzo, you and I need a lot of help.”
Her comment broke my defenses and we both laughed together.
“Besides, you should be good to your father. One day you’ll inherit all those businesses. You need to know how to run them.”
I popped the last bite of my burrito in my mouth. “If he can do it, so can I,” I said with my mouth full. “I’m smarter than he is, after all.”
My mother smiled and closed her eyes. “You just might be, amore mio.”
I could tell by my mother’s increasingly winded speech that she was getting too tired to carry on much longer. But I never wanted to put my mother in the position of asking me to leave. So, I always came up with a bullshit excuse.
“I gotta get back, mom. Homework,” I said, standing and kissing the top of her head. I left the bag of chips next to her bed, in case she got hungry for something other than Jell-O and dumped everything else in the trash.
“I’m glad you take your studies seriously, Si.”
I smiled and brought her bony hand up to my lips for a kiss. “Rest, mother.”
“Ti amo,” she whispered.
“Il mio cuore é solo tuo,” I replied, telling her my heart belonged to only her. It was something I’d said to her as a child and it’d become our tradition whenever we parted.
Closing her door, I made my way down the lonely hallway, back to the garage. As I walked, I looked down at my wristwatch and realized that the nurses had let me stay an extra fifteen minutes past visiting hours.
The world kept trying to convince me it was good. But it was wasting its time.
I knew he was home the moment I’d opened the door. When my mother was home, the desolate mansion always felt brighter and more comforting, somehow. When my father was home, the place felt like it was being visited by a 1980s poltergeist. Angry, and to some, present company included, comically ridiculous.
I tried to make my way up to my room as quietly as possible, but the bastard had clearly been waiting to ambush me.
“Where the hell have you been?” he called out from the kitchen.
“Auditioning for the Bachelor: High School Edition,” I replied irreverently. I knew my mother asked me to try, but those were things people say on their deathbeds. She hated him as much as I did and if she were in her right mind, she wouldn’t have given me that cross to bear. “What’s your excuse for being absent while your wife is in the hospital?” I made my way into the kitchen so I could square off with him face to face.
It was a good thing I took after my mother, because in my opinion, Percy Jenkins was an ugly son of a bitch. No offense Grandma. Short, heavy-set, balding. Basically a Dr. Phil doppelgänger with about the same amount of judgment towards angsty teenagers.
“Grow up, Silas. Not everything can be a joke,” my father spat back, taking a sip of the whiskey he was nursing.
Pretty much every time I looked at my father, I secretly wished my mother was a moonlighting whore. I’d rather be some rando’s failed pullout than share blood with the man standing in front of me.
“Depends on your point of view. But, I wasn’t joking. Mom is in the hospital. In case you, you know, cared about shit like that.”
Percy looked at me with dead brown eyes. Why couldn’t he be the one in the hospital dying? The fact that he was standing here talking to me while mom’s mind and body wasted away on a hospital gurney was proof enough for me about the whole God-almighty nonsense.
“I’m aware,” he finally replied through gritted teeth. “Why can’t you take the world more seriously?” he said, totally ignoring the fact that mom was dying and he was the douche that refused to visit her. “Look at Albert’s grandson, Carter. Now that boy’s got a good head on his shoulders. Unlike you,” he said with narrowed eyes.
I seethed at his words, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
“Feel free to adopt him if you’d prefer him as your son. I’d happily give up the title,” I yawned and Percy’s face reddened. “If we’re done with whatever lame attempt at a conversation this is,” I said, gesturing wildly. “I’ll be going.”
“I saw the vase,” my father said, taking another drink from his tumbler.
I shrugged at him. “Oops.”
“Oops? That’s all you have to say to smashing a priceless vase?”
I gave him an exasperated stare. “Was there something else you’d like me to say? Is there a magic word that puts it back together?”
“You’re an ungrateful little piece of—”
I cut him off before he could embarrass himself any further. “Careful, or you’ll be the one saying oops.”
Percy shook his stupid bald head. “Figure out a way to replace it.” I could tell my father was getting angry, but he knew better than to try anything with me. At this point, I was easily twice his height and well—it’d be hard to be twice his size considering his—size. But I worked out religiously and he knew it. I couldn’t punch for shit, but it looked like I could and that’s all I cared about.
“That sounds like a dumb idea,” I said. “Considering that mom didn’t care about that fucking vase in the first place. And she’s not really around to enjoy it, even if she did.”
“Then it’s coming out of your inheritance,” he threatened. Well, at least he tried to threaten. Percy tried to motivate me with that shit the same way they did with cheat meals on the Biggest Loser.
Difference was, that I knew Percy was too selfish of a bastard to let money he felt was rightfully his go to anyone except someone that shared his name. And unless the fucker tried to bury himself with bags of gold, which wasn’t unlikely, the millions earmarked for my life was safe.
“I guess I’ll be making a check out in your name to a charity of my choosing then.”
I smirked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to pay for sex. But, man
to man, I just wanted to tell you that her real name’s probably not Charity.”
His temper broke. He started screaming. I started walking.
I was so past caring, I didn’t even bother slamming the door to my room.
In a few months, the only person I loved would die and I’d be left permanently alone in this house with Percy.
I laid down on my bed and finally let the smile slip off my face.
* * *
Present
I turned the business card over and over again in my hand, hoping that an answer of whether I should accept Silas’ offer would somehow materialize on the little piece of cardstock. I wasn’t a fool. I’d accepted an offer from Silas in the past and it had not worked out well for me.
That was an understatement.
It had been a disaster.
One of those long term types.
I should have just told him to sue me over the vase and let it be that. But instead, I’d gotten caught up in one of the many tangled webs he weaved through life.
I let my head fall off the edge of my vintage leather couch, my silver hair falling around me. I put the card down to pull a few strands closer to my eyes and grimaced. I was always a box hair dye sort of girl. When I was a kid, we didn’t have money to pay for things like hair dye or makeup.
It wasn’t my mom’s fault that her salary was mostly in the form of rent plus food money. And for most high schoolers, that would have been fine. Unfortunately, I required a bit more upkeep to not draw stares.
I still remembered the first time I’d collected enough spare change to buy all the crap that’s required to dye your hair yourself. No one tells you that you need more than just the five dollar box. You need gloves, Tupperware, plastic brushes, developer, and a bathroom you don’t care about.
My first attempt I’d tried to go dark. Like, full brunette dark and what a mistake that had been. I looked like a worse version of Christina Aguilara during her “Dirrty” phase. And the original was pretty bad so . . . yeah.
I eventually learned to keep it on the lighter side and when the silver hair trend caught on, I jumped onto that train faster than a hooker in sketchers. But the silver was starting to fade and my true non-color was showing through.
I picked Silas’ card back up. Depending on what he paid me, I might be able to justify going to a salon for the first time in my life. I didn’t know if I’d enjoy spending $120 and two hours to do something that should cost ten and thirty minutes, but I at least wanted the option.
I turned over onto my back, holding the card above my head. I looked at my watch. T minus fifty until my forty-eight hours to decide ran out. Which was a bullshit move of him to give me a time limit. What was it to him if I decided now or on Monday?
I hated going back on my rules. It was something I prided myself in. And after everything that had happened, I’d promised myself I would practice safe distance and safe speed from a man named Silas at all times. And his proposal would have me barreling into him at Mach 6.
My phone vibrated on the other side of the couch and I crawled over to it. Deep down I knew it wasn’t Silas, but a small part of me I thought I’d murdered ten years ago was silently hoping it was him.
“Hey mom,” I said, answering the phone, thankful for the distraction from the traitorous part of my heart.
“Just checking in on my favorite chica.”
I grimaced. My mother never just “checked in” with good news. “Everything okay, mom?”
“Mr. Tompkins passed,” she said slowly, sadness coating her voice. My mother had been helping care for an elderly man for the past seven years. She’d found the job after Mr. Touper, Sr. had passed away. Mr. Tompkins had been one of her first clients in a long time that hadn’t been in danger of imminently passing away. But he’d lost his wife the year before and daily chores had proven too difficult for him. Like a lot of folks in the suburbs of D.C., he had a spare apartment he rented out above his garage and my mother had been living there all this time.
It broke my heart to hear he passed away. I’d met him on a few occasions. He was a sweet man and I think he was as good for my mom as she was for him.
“I’m so sorry, mom,” I replied. The silence stretched between us, both of us knowing the uncomfortable truth. “Do you have anything else lined up?”
I could hear her sigh on the other end of the line. “Not yet. His passing was rather sudden. I guess I just hadn’t . . . ” Her words trailed off and my heart broke for her.
“I understand, mom.”
She was trying to be strong and not let me hear her cry. Us Jackson women were proud to a fault.
“His family said I’m welcome to stay in the apartment until I find new work. But, I’ll need to pay them rent.”
I grimaced. Market rent for an apartment like hers in Rockville, Maryland was easily going to run her $1500 a month, if not more. I wasn’t sure my mother had anything close to that. I closed my hand around Silas’ business card. The thick parchment was unyielding and the corners all but cut into my palms.
“I can help, mom,” I finally said.
“Oh, honey, no. I couldn’t ask that of you. I know you have enough to worry about. I’ll figure something out.” This was the game her and I played. She called, I offered, she refused and I insisted.
“It’s alright. I’m starting a new job soon. It pays a lot better.” The words felt thick in my throat.
“Oh, mi cielo, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It just happened.” At least I wasn’t lying to her.
“Well, if you’re sure,” she said with hesitation in her voice.
“I am, mom. Can you hold on until Monday?”
“Sí. Gracias vida mía,” she said, slipping back into her Spanish because I knew she was excited.
“De nada, mama. I have to let you go, though. I need to make a call.”
We both said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone and let myself fall down on the couch. I gave myself precisely ten minutes to have a personal pity party before getting up, cracking open a beer from the fridge and placing my phone and the black business card on my counter.
I’d asked for a sign from God. Unfortunately, all he’d done was send me the devil.
Taking a long swig, I dialed the number and waited for my own personal hell to begin. As the rings stretched on, I sent up another silent prayer that maybe it would just go to voicemail. But, it seemed like someone upstairs was laughing at me.
“Silas Jenkins.” He answered the phone just like a businessman. Starting off the conversation with his name, just so everyone was clear what the topic was.
“Silas? It’s Sky,” I said, shrinking in on myself. I suddenly felt like I was back to high school me.
Timid.
Afraid.
Uncertain.
I hated it and I didn’t know why I was acting this way. Of all the people I should feel most comfortable around, it was oddly Silas. But sometimes when you open yourself up to someone in a way you never have before and things fall apart, you end up closing yourself up even more, just to compensate.
“Sky . . . Sky . . . Skyler, ah yes.”
I rolled my eyes at his attempt to pretend like he didn’t recognize me.
“How can I help you?”
“I’ll take the job,” I said, my words clipped.
“And what job is that?”
His tone was goading and I idly wondered what horrible dictator I’d been in a past life to deserve this sort of punishment.
“The Executive Assistant job, Silas. Can we dispense with the nonsense, please?”
He chuckled. “Right. Thanks for jogging my memory.”
“We need to talk details,” I said, recognizing we hadn’t agreed on a salary or job description.
“Good thing I’m in the neighborhood. I assume you’re not doing anything, because it’s a Friday night.”
It was an order as much as it was a statement. And it definitely was not a question. Oh yes, working for Silas
was certainly going to be a special sort of hell.
“Silas, now really isn’t . . .” I started to say but he stepped on my words.
“Now is what works for me. So, it works for you. That’s how this works, Skyler. You assist me, not the other way around.”
I pursed my lips at the derision in his voice. “I have to head to a shift at the Pancake,” I lied through grit teeth.
“Call them and cancel. You’ll be quitting that job, anyways.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. “I can’t just do that!”
“I guess you don’t want the job then, is that it? You’d rather be a waitress the rest of your life?”
I was biting down so hard I was surprised I hadn’t cracked a tooth. “No. It’s fine.”
“Good.”
The call ended abruptly and before I even had a chance to comprehend what had just happened, my doorbell rang. “What the—” I muttered, making my way to the door, fearing the worst.
I looked through the peephole and my nightmare was confirmed. Silas was standing on the other side, looking stunning in a crisp black shirt with gray trousers, contrasting his wavy blond locks perfectly.
I groaned, realizing that my outfit consisted of patterned leggings with a rip on the inner thigh (because thigh gaps past the age of twenty are fake news), a black ribbed cropped tank that showed a bit too much skin and faded silver hair piled high on the top of my head. All in all, I looked about as good as a Lindsay Lohan mug shot.
“Open the door, Skyler.” His smooth voice seeped between the cracks in the wooden casing and I sincerely hoped I had my defenses up high enough so it wouldn’t seep into me.
I stood there, with my hand on the lever, pretending like I had some choice in this situation. But I clearly didn’t. And he knew it. For the second time in my life, I opened the door to Silas Jenkins. I only hoped this time I was better prepared.
He didn’t stride into the space like he owned it. He didn’t do any of the cliché things I thought he would. He was simply standing in the hallway, a light smile on his features like always, swiping this way and that on his phone.
