by Hannah Ford
“That is a matter of legality, Charlotte,” he said. “The two are not even comparable. Lawyer/client confidentiality vs. you going off and getting involved in a situation that puts you in extreme danger are two completely different things.”
We were at our building now, and he pulled the car into the garage, taking the turn around the corner way too fast before skidding into an empty space and slamming on the brakes. I wanted to yell at him again for driving like a crazy person, but I knew it would be a waste of time.
Instead I grabbed my bag and got out of the car before he could come around and open the door for me, a fact I knew would infuriate him. But I was past the point of my logical mind working, was at the point where all I wanted to do was hurt him, to prove to him that I didn’t need him watching out for me or telling me what to do. I knew it was stupid, knew it was a losing proposition, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I didn’t have a key to the door that led from the garage into the building, just another example of how Noah had power over everything in my life. Not that he’d done it intentionally – if I’d asked him for a key, he certainly would have given it to me – but for now it was just another reminder of how everything belonged to him, even the things that were supposed to now belong to us both.
It was his apartment we were living in, his case we were working on, his car we’d driven here in, his rules I was expected to live by.
Even the things that were mine – my family, school– were now starting to be affected by him.
Maybe that’s why you’re so determined to find this Mikayla girl, a voice in my head whispered. Maybe it’s a way for you to get back at Noah, to fight against his control.
The thought was disturbing on a few different levels. I didn’t want to be the type of person who was being self-destructive just so she could prove a point to the man she was supposed to be in love with.
Not to mention the fact that I’d done a pretty good job of convincing myself that my reasons for trying to find Mikayla and the other girls who’d been at Force were completely altruistic -- I didn’t like the idea of having to examine my motives more closely to see if perhaps there was something selfish about them after all.
I walked up the ramp toward the street angrily, my shoes clomping against the concrete floor of the garage.
I wouldn’t follow Noah, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of waiting for him to open another door for me, to lead me upstairs and into the apartment. I’d walk around to the street level and go through the lobby, take the elevator and let myself in, thank you very much. At least I had a key to the front door.
“Charlotte!” Noah called after me. “Where the hell are you going?”
“I’m going through the lobby,” I said, lengthening my stride and upping my pace. But of course it was no use – his legs were much longer than mine, and even though I was over 5’9”, he was able to catch up to me instantly.
“Why are you doing this?” he said. “Why are you insisting on defying me in this way? We had an agreement, Charlotte. You knew what you were getting into when you started this relationship. I was very up front with you about everything, about my expectations, my wants. You agreed to let me be in control.”
“Yeah, and I was very up front with you about who I was,” I said. “You knew I was going to push back, Noah.” We were on the street now, and the wind kicked up for a minute, blowing my hair back from my face, so cold and harsh it made my eyes water. I took in a deep breath through and waited for the gust to die down before I spoke again. “I’m not going to stop doing something that I think is important, that is important to who I am as a person just because it makes you uncomfortable.”
We were at the lobby now, and I stepped inside, the warm air enveloping me like a blanket. Soft classical music floated out of the speakers that were built into the ceiling, the gentle, melodic notes instantly calming me.
Whatever energy or burst of adrenaline it had been that had caused me to get into a fight with Noah, and to walk out of the garage the way I had, instantly left of my body, like a dam that had been unplugged, flowing out in one swift, smooth stream.
Suddenly, I was exhausted, and for a moment, all I wanted was for him to be right. I wanted him to take over, to bring me upstairs, to fix me something to eat and draw me a bath, to rub my shoulders like he’d done last night. To tuck me into bed and hold me until I fell asleep, while he stroked my hair and told me how much he loved me.
I wanted to give up everything about this girl, Mikayla. Was she really worth risking my relationship for? I didn’t even know her.
I turned to look at Noah, ready to give in a little, to tell him maybe he was right.
And that’s when I caught sight of her.
Well, of her reflection at least, in the glossy mirrors that lined the top half of the walls.
My mother.
She was sitting in one of the elegant wingback chairs in front of the elevator, wearing an outfit I was sure she was probably so proud of. An oversized black cowl neck caftan over a pair of tight caramel skinny jeans, the material of the pants slightly shiny, the bottoms tucked into black leather boots.
There were black leather gloves on her hands and a deep red scarf thrown over her shoulders. The gloves were completely ridiculous. It wasn’t cold enough out to even be wearing gloves yet, and even if it were, for her to wear them indoors was another level of unnecessary.
But the outfit had obviously been meticulously planned, right down to the way her scarf was thrown around her shoulders. It was the kind of scarf that was supposed to look as if you’d draped it over yourself effortlessly, almost as if it were an afterthought. My mother was pulling it off, but I knew that in actuality, she must have spent a considerable amount of time in front of the mirror, arranging it and rearranging it until she’d gotten it just so.
Everything was all about appearances with my mother, and her scarf would be no exception.
“Charlotte!” she said when she saw me. She came rushing over, pulled me close to her and kissed me on both cheeks. Which was odd. My mother never kissed on both cheeks. Her lips were surprisingly warm.
“Why are you kissing me on both cheeks?” I asked, confused for a moment until I realized she’d probably seen it in a movie or read it in some magazine somewhere. She must have thought it was a very New York thing to do.
“Charlotte,” she admonished. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your mother as soon as you see her!”
“Sorry,” I said automatically, before I realized it wasn’t very nice of her to show up here, in Noah’s building – my building --without even calling first. But she’d already moved on from me.
“This must be Noah!” she said, flashing him a huge smile.
“Yes,” I said. “This is Noah. Noah, this is my mom, Pamela.” My body was wired tight with tension. Talk about the absolute worse time for my mom to meet Noah. He and I were in the middle of the worst fight we’d ever had, we’d come from finding a dead body, we were exhausted and Noah had that moody, broody thing going on that he did so well.
But to my surprise, Noah wrapped my mother’s gloved hand in his own, pulled her toward him, and then kissed her on both cheeks, reinforcing her idea that it was somehow chic or appropriate. I’d never seen Noah kiss someone on both cheeks before. I knew he was only doing it to make my mom feel comfortable, and it annoyed me for some reason.
Mine, I thought irritably.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Pamela.” He gave her a warm smile. “Is it okay to call you Pamela?”
“Of course!” She giggled and pulled her gloves off.
Noah’s eyes fell onto the bags that were sitting on the marble floor in front of her, a couple of gold suitcases, also from Michael Kors. They looked brand new. She must have stopped at the outlets on the way to the airport, thinking that she needed new luggage to bring to the city.
She didn’t understand that the uber-wealthy here weren’t dragging around last year’s Michael Kors. MK was f
ine if was your first big purchase out of college, but the really rich people in New York – especially the ones my mother’s age -- had beautiful leather cases by Ferragamo, Gucci, Roberto Cavalli. Michael Kors and Louis Vuitton were for the nouveau riche or young people who were trying too hard. As usual, my mother had gotten it all wrong. I wasn’t sure if that was worthy of my disgust or my pity.
“Will you be staying with us?” Noah asked smoothly.
“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “I’m sure she’s made other plans.”
“Well, I was going to stay in a hotel,” my mother said, giving me the side eye. “But I didn’t book anything, and thank goodness for that, Charlotte. If I had, I would have been staying all the way over on the other side of the city by your old apartment!” She took her leather gloves in her hand and slapped them against my chest playfully. “I can’t believe I had to find out about your new apartment and your new beau from Julia! Engaged, Charlotte!” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “And you never even thought to mention it!”
“I wanted to tell you in person,” I mumbled.
“In any case,” Noah said, his voice cutting through the obvious awkwardness with practiced ease. He smiled, genuinely, and it reached his eyes. “You’re here now, Pamela. And my future mother-in-law will not be staying in a hotel.”
He reached down to pick up her bags.
“The doorman can do that,” I said.
“Nonsense,” Noah said. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a few bags, Charlotte.”
He began walking toward the elevator, and my mom followed. She raised her eyes at me in approval, giving me a little nod. The only thing better than being pampered by a doorman was being pampered by a hot, rich lawyer.
I wanted her to like Noah, of course I did, but part of me hated that she was so easily impressed, that a fancy apartment and an offer to carry her bags were enough for her to give Noah her stamp of approval.
I wondered what she would think if she knew he was whipping me with a belt just a few hours ago in a tiny basement room that I hadn’t even known existed, where he had locked filing cabinets filled with dark secrets.
I almost wanted to blurt it out as we stepped into the elevator, imagined what her face would look like, her mouth dropping open, her hand going to her ash blond hair as she smoothed it back from her forehead, flustered.
I opened my mouth, thinking maybe I would really do it, but at that moment my mom’s eyes fell on my ring, the diamonds sparkling bright under the overhead lights.
“Holy shit,” she mouthed at me, taking my hand in hers for a better look. I pulled my hand back immediately, but not before Noah turned around in the elevator and caught my mom fawning over my ring.
I saw the look of amusement that played over his full lips.
He loved this. He loved that my mom was here, that she was so impressed by the ring that he’d chosen. Was he enjoying the fact that I was annoyed, too?
We stepped onto the 39th floor, into Noah’s – our -- apartment, and Docket came bounding over, the tags on his red collar jingling merrily. Jared had taken him to doggie playgroup earlier, but apparently socializing with his peers had done nothing to curb Docket’s energy.
He jumped onto my mom, placing his front paws against her thighs, and immediately began licking her hand.
“Oh, you didn’t tell me you had a dog, Charlotte,” she said, delighted. She dropped to her knees and began petting him, her hands running through his shaggy fur as he licked her face and she threw her head back and laughed.
This part of her, at least, wasn’t fake. My mother had always had a soft spot for animals, particularly dogs, probably because dogs didn’t care what you were wearing or how much money you made.
“Oh, Noah, this is gorgeous,” my mom said, straightening up and looking around the apartment. “How long have you been here?” I saw her taking in the chic expressionist abstract art on the walls, the buttery leather couches, the Ultra HD TV, everything being mentally added up not only in cost, but in status.
“A few years,” Noah said. “It’s a pre-war building, so it needed some renovations.”
He was in the kitchen now, and he’d pulled his suit coat off and tossed it over one of the stools in front of the breakfast bar. My mom’s eyes traveled up his body, taking in his broad shoulders, his chiseled jaw, his tapered waist, the way his clothes fit him perfectly, how he looked put together and stylish and yet still managed to ooze masculinity and power. “Would you like something to drink, Pamela?” he asked.
“I’d love something to drink,” she said.
“I have a new bottle of white I just received as a gift from a client,” Noah said. “Would you like to try it?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Charlotte?” Noah asked, as he pulled the bottle out of the wine cooler and reached into the drawer for the bottle opener.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m just… I’m tired.”
It was a lie. I was tired, but I also wanted wine. I wanted glass after glass of it, the smooth rich flavor filling my mouth and settling in my belly, the warmth and drowsiness taking over and softening the ragged edges of the stress and anxiety this day had brought, which were digging into me like the sharp blade of a saw.
Noah poured my mom a glass of wine and then pulled out a block of Brie, set it on a wooden cutting board along with a fresh bunch of organic red grapes and a tiny pot of cranberry pepper jelly. He added stone ground crackers to the board, along with an elegant cheese knife, the handle hand-carved into an ornate beaded pattern.
“I’ll probably just go to bed,” I said. “I’m tired.”
“Are you okay?” Noah asked, looking up at me with concern.
No, I’m not okay. I’m tired and scared and we had a horrible fight and now my mom is here. “I’m fine,” I said, giving them a tight smile. “Mom, can I show you the guest room?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Noah said. “You get some rest, Charlotte. I’ll take care of Pamela.”
I nodded, twisting my hands together in front of me nervously. “Is that okay, Mom? We’ll talk tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said, waving me away. “Noah and I have a lot to talk about, seeing as how I didn’t even know he existed until this evening.”
She was leaning forward on the marble breakfast bar, her wine glass in one hand, swirling it around like she’d learned to do at a winery my stepfather had taken her to last year. She’d already forgotten me, as was typical of her, turning her attention to the shiniest thing or object in the room, which in this case was Noah.
I took Docket out and then retired to the bedroom, where I stripped off my clothes and debated between a shower and a bath. I didn’t know that I had the energy to stand in the shower, and yet the thought of sitting in the bath for a while also seemed exhausting.
I opted for the shower, figuring that the shortest path to getting me into bed was the best.
By the time I was done brushing my teeth and pulling on one of Noah’s t-shirts, the party in the other room was still going strong. I could hear Noah holding court, entertaining my mom with stories about New York and his practice, the sound of her laughter tinkling down the hall.
I turned over in bed and pulled the covers tight around me, trying to fight the annoyance that was rising in my chest.
Noah knew how I felt about my mother. He knew what she’d said to the papers about me dating Professor Worthington. I’d told him that she’d only wanted to come here so she could make everything about her.
I hadn’t even had a chance to confront her about what she’d done, because Noah had immediately taken over, treating her like some kind of princess, inviting her to stay in his house and serving her cheese and grapes and wine.
Even Docket liked her.
He was out in the kitchen with them, and I could just imagine him sitting there, his furry butt planted on the floor, offering his paw up while my mom fed him expensive cheese that would probably upset his stomac
h.
I sighed and turned the light on my nightstand back on, then grabbed my phone and began scrolling through my facebook page. My facebook page was a mix of people from undergrad who I was never even really that close with, and some people from law school.
My eyes wandered down the page over the statuses – “If eating a candy bar for dinner is wrong, I don’t want to be right!” “Does anyone have the study sheets for Dr. Covington’s lecture series?”— wondering what people would think if I put up a status: “Found a dead body today and got whipped by my fiancé. Guess I’ll sleep well tonight!”
The only person on my facebook page with a status halfway decent was Cora, the girl whose bachelorette party I’d been at the night I met Noah. In her latest post there was a picture of her holding her hand up and puffing her lip out toward the camera in a sad face.
Her finger was bare – no ring. She’d hashtagged the post #wedding #cancelled #maybenexttimehe’llthinkbeforehecheats #ohwell and #ontothenext.
I smiled in spite of myself. Leave it to Cora to turn a cancelled wedding into something to joke about.
“Something funny?”
Noah was standing in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He crossed the room and set it down on the nightstand next to me.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just my friend called off her wedding.”
His eyes darkened. “Do you find cancelled weddings amusing, Charlotte?”
“No.” I sat up in bed and readjusted the pillows behind me. The pillowcases were creased perfectly and smelled faintly of lilacs and linen. The housekeeper must have come that day. “It’s just that my friend Cora can be kind of amusing, the way she puts all her shit out there. She was the one I was out with the night I met you.”
I’d been hoping to lighten the mood, but Noah didn’t seem light. Instead, his eyes stormed darker and he walked back to the bedroom door and closed it with a soft click.
“You shouldn’t get engaged if you don’t intend to go through with the wedding.” He sounded so assertive, so sure of himself, the way he was with everything, completely willing to just see everything in black and white.
