by J. L. Mac
I barely knew this woman, so there was no telling how she would receive the information that I was a recovering alcoholic who hung out in the shrine that was my dead brother’s apartment because I couldn’t bring myself to let it go, and that my ice-queen sister was a bitch for behaving the way she did at Four-19 the last time she’d been there with me.
I had a lot to explain.
I pulled out my new cell phone and silently thanked Conrad for replacing it quickly and digging through my phone records for the number that had to be hers. I’d given him the general time that I’d last sent her a text and he plucked the digits from the sea of phone numbers like some fairy god mother with a goatee. I scrolled to her name in my contacts.
What to say, what to say?
I stared at my phone for a long moment, unsure of what my next move would be or how I’d explain things to Flor. I found myself dialing Martin instead. He was great at giving advice, and though he didn’t condone how I coped with Tommy’s death, he understood and did his best to make sure that I didn’t feel as though he judged me for it. He knew I kept Tommy’s place. He didn’t know that I frequently spent time there. I’d tell him one day. I didn’t like keeping it from him.
The phone rang and eventually went to voicemail. I left a quick message telling him everything was fine, but that I needed some advice and asked that he return my call when he had a minute to spare. Until then, I would sit tight, bide my time until I figured out exactly how best to proceed. I didn’t want to give Flor any reason to dislike me any more than she likely already did.
I’d sort it out, though. I had to because my desire for her hadn’t gone anywhere and it hadn’t grown weaker. If anything, I craved her like never before. Her close proximity was likely to blame for that. I also felt something warm and tingly deep in my gut as I thought back to how timid and sweet she had sounded at my door, offering cookies and her acquaintance. I was a world-class asshole.
Maybe it was to right a wrong, but my physical attraction to her was only part of my motivation to see her again. The look in her eyes just before she bolted into the elevator at Four-19 had speared me.
I didn’t like the idea of her being disappointed in me, let down or hurt because of me and it wasn’t only because I had a strong desire to take her to my bed. There was something…more, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but knowing that she was hurt bothered me. It bothered me enough to risk baring my demons to her knowing that there was a great chance that she’d tell me to get lost. I’d have to do it anyway, no matter her response.
Flor
A Fresh Broken Heart
As I walked into the lobby of the new restaurant, a hoity-toity French cuisine establishment called Chez Thibodeaux, I could feel tension growing, tightening the muscles in my neck and shoulders. I told him that I’d meet him there, and true to my word, there I stood. I noted that it was right up his alley. White linen, candlelit tables, servers in black ties. It was plainly expensive, hard to get reservations, and full of his type.
I’ll give him credit; he worked hard for the fortune he’d amassed, at least, that’s what I’d been told. I wasn’t around him much during those years. He’d said that he needed to work on himself, that he needed to get his life together following the tragedy and ensuing divorce that had rocked our home.
How were any of us to know it would take the majority of my childhood and into my teenage years before he “got his life together?” I tried living with him and Liza the summer of my junior year in high school. It had ended badly, Matt being the only positive thing I had to show for that very turbulent time in my life. I’d returned to Hershey to finish high school and didn’t see my father again until I graduated from NYU. By that time, I’d already ditched his last name and legally took my mother’s maiden name as my own. Sometimes I think my rebellion against him is what spurred him to pop back into my life. I didn’t think he took too kindly to my insult of dropping his last name, but it had been cathartic to do it. I still didn’t regret doing it, years later and marginally wiser.
All I knew was I craved my father’s presence in my life. Even after everything, I needed him around, but he hadn’t shown up.
Memories of ugly comments from high school broke free from the murky bottom of my heart. The heavy silt that had settled there over the years held those memories in place but they escaped their bonds and floated to the top, making me feel dirty and in need of a shower—and a magic pill that would erase all bad memories.
“Hey, Florence! Don’t let those daddy issues keep you from being the little slut we know you are! Isn’t that what daddy issues are good for—being a slut? I’ll be your daddy baby. Come sit on my lap.”
I swallowed memories of mean kids down and scanned the crowd for my father’s shiny head. Not seeing him anywhere, I approached the hostess and asked for him by name.
“Oh, yes, he was saying hello to a friend of his, but his table is right this way.”
I nodded, knowing that my father likely had at least half a dozen friends and acquaintances in this restaurant tonight. The hostess led me to a table and motioned for me to sit.
“I’ll find him and let him know you’ve arrived. Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” I muttered and sat quietly amongst Manhattan elite, feeling very out of place.
“Flor, darling,” Liza, my stepmother, cooed in that way that made my skin crawl. I knew she meant no harm, and that it was just how she was, but it still made my skin prick. I turned in my chair to see her and my father approaching hand in hand.
“Hey, Liza,” I smiled politely and leaned in for the hug and air-kiss I knew was coming.
“It’s so good to see you, love. It’s been months!”
“A while, yes.” I tried to sound disparaged about it, but try as I might…
“I wish you would join me for lunch some time or manicures,” she pouted, and again, my skin crawled. I nodded noncommittally and turned my attention to my father.
“Flor, sweetheart.” My father smiled and hugged me. His cologne, the same one he had worn forever, wrapped me in a mix of bad memories and love, simultaneously. I hated to love him and loved to hate him. It had been my constant struggle for as long as I could remember.
My daddy issues ran deep.
“Hi, dad,” I said, giving him the same polite smile I’d doled out to Liza. For the last couple of years, I’d resigned myself to pleasantries and peaceful coexistence for the sake of peaceful coexistence. Anthony, my brother, didn’t feel half the hatred I did. He didn’t harbor half the guilt and shame that I did. But then again, why would he?
“So, what’s the occasion? You didn’t give me much notice tonight. What’s going on?”
“I didn’t think it had to be a special occasion for me to enjoy my daughter’s company.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I settled into my chair. Scooting his chair up to the table after seating Liza, he glanced at her then back to me. Great. This had sneak attack written all over it.
“I talked to your mom a couple of days ago. She said the magazine was going under.”
“First of all, Social She is hardly going under! We are merely restructuring to compete with the times. Technology hasn’t been kind to the publishing world. That’s all. And for that matter, you know how mom is.” For all her well-meaning intentions, my mother had a knack for blowing things out of proportion. She didn’t intend to and she meant no harm by it, but her account of any story was always a little more sensational than it actually was.
“Okay, and what do they mean by this restructuring?”
“It’s hard to say,” I confessed quietly. “I’m still waiting to see if they will offer me a position after the dust settles.”
“Well, I’m here to offer you a position right now.”
I slipped my cell phone from my purse and shot Matt a quick text, suddenly regretting that I didn’t take him up on his offer to accompany me, because right then, I felt like I needed someone in my corner.
&n
bsp; Me: Red alert! Call me and cry wolf so I can get out of here ASAP.
“A position doing what? I’ve never worked in advertising,” I gawked with wide eyes. In Liza’s defense, she looked just as uncomfortable as I was. She wasn’t all that bad. I was just too caught up in my own bullshit with my dad that she was easy to dislike, and for that, I felt bad, regularly.
“I know this, but you are my only daughter—” he began confidently, but his eyes exposed what I knew he was thinking, the anxiety that only unhealed wounds created.
My jaw tightened, painfully, and it was all I could do not to scream at him. Mention of daughters was a serious sore spot for me and he had always been careful to avoid talk of Elle. We didn’t bring her up. None of us. Not my mom, not Anthony, not my dad and not me. We didn’t think about it openly. We didn’t remind each other of the pain and grief surrounding her little life and abrupt death. We tiptoed around the agonizing, uncomfortable topic, all having too much cowardice to face it head on.
Quite frankly, I didn’t feel as though he had the right to even mention her name. He was just as much to blame as I was, and if I couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive myself, I damn sure wasn’t going to forgive him.
“You’re my daughter,” he started over, “…and I want to help you the best way I know how. I know you want to write and there are many platforms for you to do just that. With the firm, we write a script for every pitch. You would be a key teammate and I know you would excel. You give me the word and the job is yours.” A glimmer of pride flickered in his gray eyes, my gray eyes, and it made me want to curl my lip.
“Dad, I appreciate that, but do you honestly think that any of your employees would be compelled to be genuine with me, their boss’s daughter?” Incredulity dripped from every syllable, and though job security would have been a welcome change, it also felt like a freebie, a shoe-in, and maybe I was being proud, but I couldn’t take his charity. Even if I did, I knew I would feel as though he were buying my affection and forgiveness, two commodities that were not for sale.
“You would have to earn the respect of your colleagues. You can do that, can’t you?” The condescension in his voice rang out clear and bounced around in my head like a lost marble down a dark hallway.
“What’s that suppose to mean?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“All I’m saying, Florence, is this would be a great opportunity for you to earn more money than you ever have, doing a job that you could really enjoy. You’re being prideful if you walk away from the position I’m offering.” He leaned back in his seat as though the proverbial volley had just been tossed to my side of the court, but I had no interest in playing.
“I am not being prideful,” I lied, because I knew well that I was, if only a little. “What you’re doing feels like you buying forgiveness from me. You think you help me move up in the world and suddenly everything will be forgotten. I don’t think so.” I spoke quietly but with no less venom.
“You know, I’m so sick of this same old conversation with you. I’m your father, and as difficult as it may be for you to believe, I’d like to help you. I asked you here tonight to offer you a job you could earn and excel at on your own merits. If you think this is me bribing you, then you’re sorely mistaken. I want your forgiveness, not for myself but for you.”
“Oh. Yes. Absolutely. I’m sure that’s it, dad. So very magnanimous of you,” I scoffed. How noble of him. A long moment of silence passed between us. Liza cleared her throat, clearly grappling for a way to mediate the two sides.
“It is. Believe me or not. That’s your choice. It’s also your choice to forgive the past and to forgive yourself. You do that on your terms and in your own time, but it all comes back to you. You forgive me when you get around to it, Florence, but just realize that you will be doing yourself a big favor by letting the past go.” I did my best to ignore the tears springing up in my eyes, but it was no use. This was our norm. We tried to play nice but this is how it always ended. Sneering words, gritted teeth, pointed fingers, guilt…
I found it impossible to forgive him. Not just for what had happened to Elle but what had happened to me. My childhood vanished, and the fallout from that day sent ripples throughout my life that met no resistance. They rolled on, never meeting new shores.
“Forgiveness! Easy for you to say, dad.” A black-tie waiter approached our table with a bottle of wine in one hand and strategically draped wine linen over his other arm. “Would you care for a complimentary glass of our house white?”
“He’d love one,” I snapped. The poor waiter’s eyes widened for a moment as he looked between my father and I, obviously sensing the tension between us.
“No thank you.” My father smiled tightly and nodded, dismissing the waiter.
“I’ve had enough,” I mumbled as I tossed my dinner napkin aside and got to my feet.
“Flor,” Liza called after me, but I was far too angry and emotionally frayed to stay put for a moment longer. I needed the sanctuary of my apartment and my best friend’s shoulder to cry on.
I made my way to the exit just in time to see Matt breezing in, wearing jeans and a Kiss tee shirt. I had to laugh or I’d cry. “You rang, mademoiselle?” He bent at the waist in a formal, low bow. His smile gleamed in the low light, and I was instantly reminded of all the reasons Matt and I had been glued to each other from the day we met.
“I don’t think they will seat you, looking like you just came from a rock concert. What, with the hair and all.” I motioned toward his rumpled hair and Matt laced his fingers in it and rumpled it further.
“There. It’s deliberate now,” he winked.
“Where’s Cal?”
“He’s waiting for me back at our place. I, uh, left in a hurry.”
“Dammit. I’m so sorry—”
“You know! If I were a betting woman, I wouldn’t have put my money on seeing you here,” a snotty voice chimed in like a warped bell. Though I knew exactly who it was, I whirled in shock to face Ms. Brunette…Goliath’s wife.
“You must lose a lot,” Matt zinged back without missing a beat.
“I’m afraid not.” She beamed at us. Her brown eyes evaluating us, scrutinizing us.
Heat rose to my cheeks and I felt frozen in place. Later on, I knew I’d think of about a thousand ugly things to say back to her. Things that might wound her, but for the life of me I had nothing at the ready.
Dammit!
“Ah! Sweetheart, looks like you’re wearing a bit too much blush,” she sneered cattily as she extended her manicured hand to my face and brushed the back of her index finger across my cheek.
“And you’re wearing a bit too much bitch, bitch!” Matt snapped as he batted her hand away from me making a sharp pop!
“Watch your step,” she warned, but Matt only laughed in her face.
“Or what? You’ll throw a fit? Break a nail? Hold your breath until you get your way? Fuck off, lady!”
“You don’t like me. I don’t like you. That’s fine. I won’t lose sleep over it, but there is no need to make a scene,” I offered firmly.
“Stay away from him,” she warned quietly, leaning forward into my personal space. “You’re nothing but trouble. The last thing I want to see him doing is screwing around with some little bar skank. Stay out of our clubs, too. Don’t think for one second that you’ll hop on the gravy train of bottomless drinks at my expense.”
“No need to warn me off. I have no plans of ever seeing Graham again. So go ahead and pull that giant stick from up your ass,” I whispered, leaning forward to meet her face to face.
“Have a nice night,” she ground out through gritted teeth.
“Fuck you very much!” Matt hollered loudly with an exaggerated wave as she made for the door.
“Ahem, Sir, Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the maître d’ said in a hushed voice as he sidled up to us. I looked to Matt and stifled a laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. We’re leaving. Going to grab some burgers. McDonald’s
sound good, babe?” Matt asked, hooking his arm in mine, extracting me from my very bad evening out in true knightly fashion.
“Sounds good.” And it did. Cheap fast food and good company sounded so much better than fine dining with my father when it meant that my full stomach also came with a fresh broken heart and a wounded ego.
Graham
My Super Nova
My stomach growled noisily and I considered ordering out, but the chance that Flor might catch sight of me while I sat in my wheelchair at the door signing a receipt was enough to keep sitting right where I was in front of the television, watching some show about a guy out in the wilderness with no shoes. Fascinating stuff but hardly an adequate distraction from my empty stomach.
It was still only my first full day being out of the hospital and I was regretting the lack of resources available at Tommy’s apartment. I had assumed that getting into the kitchen would be no issue. Turned out, it was a big fucking issue. I wasn’t cleared for using a walker, a cane or crutches yet, so it was wheelchair only and the damned thing wouldn’t make the sharp ninety degree turn into Tommy’s small kitchen.
I tried putting a little muscle behind it, hoping that the small front wheels would make it past the bottom cabinets but no dice. I tried backing into the kitchen and again, no dice. I gave it my best multiple times, only resigning myself to starvation after I had bloody knuckles on both hands from grazing the backs of my hands against the walls. I also considered ripping out the fucking cabinets limiting my access but that was my empty stomach talking.
I knew I could ask Martin to bring me something if he was free. I could have asked my pain in the ass sister, whom I was still livid with, but I would have much preferred starvation over asking Halley to do a damn thing for me. It would only have given her a very valid point, one I hated admitting to, about the nurse she had hired to help me out. I could call Conrad and have him come back over, but I knew he was likely decompressing for the night. I couldn’t blame him.
