by Portia Moore
“I’m glad,” I tell her, and I really do mean it. Out of all of this, the person that I worried the most about was Tiffany. She and Philip are perfect together—and I cringe thinking how a once-in-a-lifetime day for her was completely ruined. Running away from it all for a couple of weeks was exactly what they needed.
Tiffany sees the expression on my face and frowns. “Oh Alex, I’m being selfish. Here I’m talking about how wonderful my last couple of weeks were, and I can’t imagine how they’ve been for you. How are you doing?”
I give her a small, wry half-smile. “I really should be asking you that. How things are now that you’re back home, anyway.”
And with that, I see the glow falter a little, and tears start to fill her eyes. “Hell of a wedding, right?” she says, shaking her head and managing to laugh through the tears. The sound of Tiffany’s laugh has always been infectious, and I can’t help but join in as she wipes the tears away from her eyes.
“Holly and I are done,” she says firmly, looking at me. “Officially, forever done. I’ll never speak to her again. And honestly—it should have been that way a long time ago, after what happened with you. I’m sorry, Alex. I shouldn’t have let it go on as long as it did—if she’d hurt you like that, I don’t know why I thought I would be an exception.”
“No, it’s okay,” I tell her quickly. “Maybe I didn’t feel like it was back then, but I know it’s hard to let go of someone you care about even when they’ve done something terrible, and Holly was your friend your whole life. I get it. But I’m glad she’s gone now.”
Tiffany looks down at her hands. “Instead of me sending out thank you cards after the wedding, I’ve been getting ‘sorry for what happened at your reception’ texts and cards. It’s all so backward,” she says jokingly, but as I watch her, she twists her hands in her lap, her face flushing as she remembers. I can tell it’s hard for her, that she’s embarrassed and hurt by all of it even though she’s putting on a brave face.
“Have you talked to our father?” she asks finally, looking up at me. “Since then?”
“It was more like yelling at him,” I say grimly, leaning back against the couch. “Not so much a conversation.”
Tiffany nods sadly. “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
“I’m meeting with his assistant for dinner tomorrow, but only because I need help finding an apartment.” My disgust over the situation is evident on my face. “My landlord sold the building and wants me out in a month. Right in the middle of all of this, and when I have a huge event coming up, and on top of that, there’s not a reasonably-priced apartment to be found in the city.”
“You can come stay with us if you need to,” Tiffany offers immediately. “I know Philip wouldn’t mind. And you’re my brother, of course you have a place if you need it.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell her sincerely. “But the last thing I want to do is freeload off of newlyweds.” I laugh. “The two of you need your privacy.”
Tiffany grins shyly. “That is a perk of having a house of our own,” she admits, giggling a little.
“How is Cassandra doing?” I haven’t got the nerve to reach out to her myself. I’m having a hard enough time managing my own emotions—and I don’t know if talking to her will make things better or worse.
“She’s heartbroken,” Tiffany admits. “She hasn’t spoken to Dad since then—all the talking they’ve done has been through lawyers.” She sighs. “Their marriage hasn’t been what it used to be in years—but I really thought that they were making some progress. That’s all gone now.” She looks slightly defeated as she speaks, shaking her head. “I’m going over there after I leave here. I haven’t seen her since the wedding either, only talked to her.” She pauses then and looks at me more carefully. “How are you really doing, Alex? I saw how you were with Madison when you were together—how you looked at her. The two of you were so in love before all of this happened. I can’t imagine this has been easy.”
I feel myself flush a little, slightly embarrassed to admit that I haven’t completely cut her out of my life. “I saw her last night,” I tell Tiffany hesitantly. “First time since the night of the reception. And well…some things happened that probably shouldn’t have.”
“Are you going to get back together with her?” There’s no judgment in Tiffany’s voice, just gentle curiosity.
I laugh shortly, feeling cold as I think of the reception and that goddamned video. “How can I?” I ask, looking over at her. “After that? After seeing that? How can I forget it and move on?”
“Maybe you can’t,” Tiffany admits. “It would be hard for anyone.” She pauses, looking at me sadly. “But can you stop loving her?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? “Well,” I tell her flatly, all the humor gone from my voice, “I haven’t had any luck yet.”
16
Alex
Two nights later, I’m standing outside of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan, grimacing as I hand my keys over to the valet. He looks at them and then back at me, clearly surprised to see the keys to a several-year-old Jeep instead of something more like the foreign cars that I can see lined up waiting to be parked. I give him a tight smile and adjust my tie, feeling slightly as if I’m choking. I haven’t been this dressed up since the wedding, but leave it to Jackson to pick a restaurant that has a dress code almost as formal.
After all the trouble I went to in order to avoid it, I’m still having dinner with Jackson, not Rose. She called me earlier in the day and informed me that it would be better if I just met with him since anything she could do would have to be approved by him anyway—which I know is bullshit. Rose is Jackson’s right hand and has been for as long as I’ve been alive practically, she’s just an extension of him at this point. But there wasn’t any arguing with her, and besides, I know that I’m going to have to talk to him at some point. I don’t think I can avoid him for the rest of my life, and it’s time to suck it up and take that step, I think, as I pull myself together and walk into the gleaming, luxurious restaurant.
I know why Jackson picked this place—it’s not the sort of establishment where shouting and arguing are going to be tolerated. Not that I planned on doing that anyway, but I can’t deny that every time I even think of him, my blood pressure starts to go up. I don’t know how I’m going to get through an entire meal without losing my calm.
The host leads me to the table where Jackson is sitting, and my first thought is that he looks a hell of a lot better than he did the last time I saw him, the night that we fought. He looks the way I’m used to—polished and confident, but as he stands and stares at me, I can immediately tell that the awkwardness between us hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s gotten worse. He steps forward as if to hug me, but I know my expression is cold and bitter, and he pulls back immediately, giving the host a small curt smile and then looking back at me. “Thanks for coming, Son,” is all he says before sitting down, and a waiter is almost immediately there, asking us what we want to drink.
Alcohol might not be the best idea, but I know there’s no way in hell I’m getting through this evening without the aid of some kind of social lubrication, so I order a cognac—sufficiently classy enough for this establishment, I guess. Jackson orders a scotch, his usual Macallan, and doesn’t say a word until the drinks are delivered and he takes a sip.
He’s the first one of the two of us to speak. “I was surprised you called me, Alex,” he admits. “But I’m so grateful that you did, and that you’re here.”
I see him looking at me, almost scrutinizing my face as if to try to decipher my mood and my emotions, and I can’t help but think how much we look alike. We have the same eyes, the same nose, I have his strong and angular jaw, and I can’t help but wonder again how Madison didn’t see it, how she didn’t suspect that we might be related. I have so much of Jackson in my features. It’s a sharp reminder of how things were in high school—how Jackson, when he showed up to school events, was the
“hot dad.” The moms loved when he came to school events or volunteered for field trips, and so many of my female friends had crushes on him. Even my girlfriends thought he was hot, and I caught them looking at him more than once when they’d come to hang out.
Back then, it was funny. I even took pride in it, that girls wanted him, that they’d want me too even when I wasn’t young anymore because I looked like him. There was a strange sort of masculine pride about it, that my father was enough of a catch to get any girl he wanted, no matter the age gap—that I’d be the same if I wanted to.
Now it just makes me sick to my stomach.
The silence stretches out between us, and Jackson laughs uncomfortably, taking a deep drink of his scotch. “Well, Son, I don’t know if we should shoot the elephant in the room or just sit here and make small talk,” he says dryly, clearly hoping that I’ll laugh at the careful joke. But I don’t. I’m in no mood to make light of the situation.
“I didn’t want to meet with you,” I say flatly. “I wanted to meet with Rose tonight.”
Jackson nods solemnly, but his expression remains calm, poised even. “I know,” he says. “But I’m still glad that you came, regardless.” He pauses. “Rose did tell me that you wanted to meet with her about something having to do with your apartment. So tell me, what happened?”
I explain it as succinctly as possible—the sale of the building, the time frame to move out, the lack of available apartments in the area. I see the business side of Jackson take over as I speak, his expression concerned as he drums his fingers lightly on the table.
“What does your lease agreement say about something like this?” Jackson asks when I’m finished, and I wince.
“I don’t have one,” I admit, trying not to sound embarrassed. “The guy that owns the building was doing me a favor. I needed a place to stay and he let me pay a couple months on a unit he had empty—and well, I kept paying, and he never asked me to move out. I guess we just never got around to making it official.”
I can see the displeasure in Jackson’s face at that, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, and then thinks better of it. I can only imagine what it was going to be, both the businessman and the father in him probably ready to scold me over my carelessness—but of course, he doesn’t have any room to scold me for anything.
“I’m assuming you need something in New York—here in the city,” is all Jackson says, leaving any thoughts he has about my lack of contracts aside.
“Yeah,” I say shortly. “Things are busier than ever at work. I can’t manage a long commute on top of that.”
Jackson rubs a hand over his face, thoughtfully. “It’s a short amount of time for me to come up with something,” he says, and I’ve had enough. I should have known better, I think. After all, even he isn’t a miracle worker. This was why I wanted to just talk to Rose—she could have told me in much less time whether or not there was anything available, and I wouldn’t have had to put myself through this wringer of emotions.
I pull a twenty out of my pocket and toss it down onto the table, pushing my chair back. “For my drink,” I say. “Thanks anyway.” I’m about to leave when Jackson’s voice cuts through the air behind me, not yelling, but sharp and no-nonsense.
“Son, sit down.”
For a brief moment I consider ignoring him. But I’m not about to make a scene here, in this absurdly fancy restaurant, and I know, deep down, that this is coming sooner or later. Might as well do it here, now.
So I sit down begrudgingly, letting him see in my face exactly how much I don’t want to have this conversation. How much I don’t want to be here.
“I need you to listen to me,” Jackson says quietly, but firmly. “If you want to leave here after this and never speak to me again, that’s your prerogative, but you need to hear me out, once and for all.” He takes a deep breath. “I know how badly I hurt you, Son. I know that you hate me right now, and you have every right to feel that way, considering. But you need to understand that I never meant to hurt you. Nothing ever happened between Madison and me after the two of you were together. When Madison came to New York and the two of you met again, she and I were already done. I know we made a stupid mistake by not telling you, by not coming clean the second we realized—but we were both afraid that you wouldn’t believe us, that you wouldn’t understand that it really was over.” He shakes his head sadly. “You and I were just getting back to a good place, and Madison was madly in love with you…and only you. We were wrong. I need you to understand that we know how wrong we were, but it wasn’t purposeful, and she never cheated on you. If you blame anyone, blame me. I fucked up, Son. But parents fuck up sometimes—”
“You didn’t ‘fuck up,’” I interrupt him angrily. “You fucked my fiancé!” I keep my tone low, but my voice is harsh. I don’t want to hear any more of these excuses.
“She wasn’t your fiancé when we were together!” Jackson says back, his voice equally tight, and my stomach turns over at hearing him refer to them as being together. “We were before the two of you were together A good while, in fact.”
I look at him coldly. “There should never have been a ‘we’ because you were married!”
Jackson’s confident expression falters for a moment, his face growing somber as he finished his scotch. “I know that,” he says finally. “And that’s why I’m taking my punishment on the chin—the loss of my marriage, the damage to my family. It was wrong of me to get involved with anyone while I was married, and this is my punishment for it.” He looks at me steadily. “But Alex, it doesn’t have to be yours. I know how much you love Madison; it was plain enough for anyone to see. And she loves you equally as much, Son.” He pauses. “I tried to get her back. This was several months ago—I didn’t know she was seeing anyone, least of all that it was you. I told her I was filing for divorce, showed her the papers. But she practically laughed in my face. She told me she wouldn’t have any part in breaking up a marriage, and that she was in love with someone else, not me.” He looks at me steadily, and I can feel my blood run cold as I realize what he’s going to say. “That person was you. And it was obvious to see that there was no one else for her.”
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. I feel sick, the blood pounding in my ears as I try to make sense of it, to pull out the threads of what Jackson is trying to tell me and see how I feel about it. “Were you in love with her?” I manage to ask finally, my throat closing over just saying the words.
There’s a long pause, and I can see Jackson trying to decide what to say. But from the expression on his face, I know that the answer is yes.
“Are you still in love with her?” I ask quietly.
Jackson takes a sip of the glass of scotch that materialized in front of him shortly after his first was done and then looks at me with an expression that is, I think, maybe the most sincere one I’ve ever seen.
“As much as I loved Madison, Son, I love you more. And I always will.”
I don’t know how to describe the feeling that goes through me when he says that. It’s not everything, all is not forgotten, but it touches me enough that I want to try. I want to make an effort to see if, once again, our relationship can be repaired. Because I love my dad, however much I might hate what he did.
The waiter comes up to the table then, smiling pleasantly. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?”
“We won’t be eating tonight,” Jackson says quickly, his expression resigned, but I interrupt him before he can ask for the check.
“Actually, I’d like to have dinner,” I say, looking at him. “If you have time, that is.”
Jackson looks floored, for a moment too shocked to speak, but I can see relief on his face. When he manages to speak again, he’s smiling at me. “Son, I have all the time in the world.”
17
Madison
It doesn’t take more than a day for me to be practically moved into the new apartment—I don’t have many things with me, and the apartment is almost en
tirely furnished already. My first night there, I hardly sleep, still unused to being in a space all alone—especially something as large as this. It’s homey compared to the other apartments Jackson offered, but still bigger than anything I ever pictured living by myself in.
Parker tells me that she’ll come over the next day, and she turns up promptly at noon with takeout brunch from one of our favorite places—ricotta pancakes for me and scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, lemon and dill for her. I can tell from her expression that she’s completely baffled by the apartment from the minute she walks in the door, her eyes wide as she sets the food down on the coffee table and takes it all in.
“My god,” she says finally, “This place is even bigger than mine. And it’s freaking gorgeous! Madison, you hit the genetic New York elite jackpot with this baby.”
I smile wryly. “You should have seen the other places Jackson offered for me to move into.”
“Do you have any idea how much a place like this costs per month?” Parker’s eyes are still round as saucers. “Seriously?”
“I can imagine,” I tell her, pouring us both glasses of orange juice and carrying them and plates to the table.
“This is the perfect place in Manhattan to raise kids,” Parker says, sitting on the couch. “Brad and I have looked at places here, for the future. The school districts are amazing—Jackson really came through for you.” She pauses, frowning. “Have you talked to him since you moved in?”
I shake my head as I put some food onto my plate, hoping that it’ll stay down this morning. The pancakes look delicious, and I’m sick of dry toast. “Other than a text asking how things were going, I haven’t talked to him at all.”
Parker’s quiet for a moment, taking several bites of her food as she looks out at the balcony and around the living room. “So,” she says finally. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened that night with Alex?”
