Sexy Mother Faker

by Remy Rose

  Maddie brought me the deed. I don’t know what to say, except I told you I didn’t want you to do that.

  I don’t like to be told what to do. You fulfilled your obligation. Although technically, I still had you for three more days, so I’m thinking some sexual favors are in order.

  Stop. This isn’t funny.

  You’re right. It’s crazy. I’m resigning from the company and cutting ties with my mother. She’s been out of the country but will be back Thursday. Stay tuned.

  Damon, please, PLEASE don’t do that. Think of your future.

  That is exactly what I’m doing.

  Delaney attempts to change my mind with a few more texts, but it’s not happening. As hard as it is, I stop responding so she’ll know there’s no negotiating with this. She doesn’t understand the history, the years of bullshit I’ve put up with from my mother. There’s a bigger picture here, one that I’m ready to paint over and start fresh.

  I’ve taken it one day at a time over the past week and a half, focusing on things within my control, like updating my resumé, starting a job search and working out. The Beach to Beacon race is Saturday, so I’ve been gearing up for that with a couple of eight mile runs recently. I also thought it might alleviate my sexual frustration.

  Nope.

  The waiting has fucking sucked, but that ends tonight. I texted my mother to see what time she was arriving home. She played the jet lag card, but I told her that I needed to see her, I’d be brief, and that this couldn’t wait. So I’m driving over now to Southwest Harbor in the midst of a thunderstorm. Hail, even. It seems fitting, given what’s about to go down.

  I’ve rehearsed what I’m going to say. And surprisingly, I’m not a bit nervous. I’m no longer going to allow myself to be intimidated by my mother. All my life, I’ve been surrounded by material things, and I’ve never been really happy. I’m ready and willing to give up my lifestyle—sell some of those material things and even my house if I have to, because what matters to me is a spunky little blonde girl who signed on the dotted line and wrote her name on my heart. She is what I can’t give up.

  My windshield wipers are slapping hard as I pull in to my childhood home. I avoid this place; it’s not exactly conducive to warm fuzzy memories. Haven’t been here since the dinner party with Delaney in mid-April.

  One of the three garage doors is open with my mother’s Mercedes inside. She’ll be tired and bitchy after just getting back, but this talk I’m going to have with her is long overdue. Adrenaline rushes through my blood as I climb out of my vehicle and dash inside the garage, rain pelting my head.

  Gloria’s waiting for me in the kitchen, standing near the table with a glass of wine, her maroon-tipped fingers curved around the glass. Only Gloria Cavanaugh could return from a nine-hour flight with clothing, makeup and hair looking flawless. The only indication she might possibly be keyed up is the wine glass trembling ever so slightly in her hand.

  “Mother.” The appropriate thing to say here would be welcome home, but when you’ve got our kind of relationship and other words that are burning on my tongue, the welcome home thing just isn’t going to happen.

  “Damon. I hope this won’t take too long. I’m exhausted from the trip and plan on going right to bed.”

  “Oh yes, the trip. How convenient that you’d make your threat to my girlfriend and then leave the country for ten days.”

  She blinks, looks at me blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d made it clear I wanted to visit all of the sites exhibiting our boats, and it just happened to be the right time.”

  “And you just happened to go see Delaney the night before you left.”

  “It was purely coincidental.”

  “Bullshit. But anyway, I’m not here to talk about what you want. I’m here to talk about what I want. I’m done being pushed around by you.” I reach into my coat and take out the envelope containing my freedom—my letter of resignation—and toss it on the granite top of the island. “I’m leaving the company. I can’t tolerate your refusal to accept my relationship with Delaney. I can’t tolerate your trying to run my life.”

  She is staring at me incredulously, her lips pinched together in anger. There is a heavy, cold silence as hail spatters loudly against the windows. When she speaks, her voice is low—almost hushed. “You would risk everything for that girl?

  “Absolutely, I would. Delaney told me she couldn’t see me any more because she wouldn’t come between you and me—which is further proof of her character—so I’m cutting ties with you.”

  Her hand shaking, Gloria Cavanaugh sets down her wine glass. I half-expect to see sparks emanating from her.

  “I’ve made my decision, Mother. All you need to do is accept my resignation.”

  Another Antarctica-like silence, and just when she starts to speak, her phone’s ring tone goes off, sounding absurdly cheerful. She reaches for the white leather bag on the table, glancing down at the screen.

  And she answers the fucking phone, because that’s what my mother does. Whatever she fucking wants.

  “Portia? Is everything all right?” I watch as my mother’s stiff features slacken into concern, then fear, as she listens.

  What’s this about?

  “He’s been admitted? Did your brother tell you what the doctors are saying? Make sure he gets some answers...I’m glad you let me know. I’ll call you in back in just a few minutes.”

  She ends the call. Her hands are shaking as she puts the phone on the table.

  “Mother? What’s going on?”

  Gloria’s skin has gone pale. “It’s Portia’s father. He’s had a major heart attack.”

  “Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that. How did Portia seem?”

  “Terrified. She’s looking at flights now.” My mother blinks rapidly. “I’m going to go with her.”

  “What? Go with her, to England? You just got back from Moscow. Christ, Mother, if this is your way of taking off again to end this conversation—”

  “That has absolutely nothing to do with it, Damon!” My mother is hissing, sputtering. “He—she—should not be alone. I’m going with her. You have to leave...I can’t talk anymore. Not right now.”

  Without another word, she brushes by me in a blur. I hear her running upstairs on the carpeted steps, and I’m alone with my two friends, Bewilderment and Frustration.

  The white envelope containing my life-changing decision is still on the island, unopened. I’ll move forward, whether or not my mother chooses to acknowledge I’m done with Cavanaugh Yacht—and with its CEO. Now, hopefully, my future with Delaney begins.

  chapter 36 / Delaney

  The day is just beginning, and already I’ve knocked over the container of half-n-half, caught my toe in the swinging kitchen door, and burned my hand taking out a pan of muffins. Usually, pre-opening is my favorite time of day with the sun coming in and the smells of things like Irish Cream brewing and cinnamon rolls baking. But there’s an ache inside me that sunlight and cinnamon can’t fill. I don’t expect to hear from Damon again, and it’s totally my fault.

  He last called a couple of days ago, and I tentatively answered. He told me he’d gone over to have a talk with his mother and give her his resignation. Hearing that he actually did this stunned me.

  My God, Damon, I said weakly. I told you not to do that.

  And as you should know by now, he replied, with a smile in his voice, I don’t like people telling me what to do.

  I can’t be the reason you lose everything, Damon. I just can’t.

  I haven’t lost anything, Sprite. And I have everything to gain.

  My hope soars, a white bird winging its way toward Hollywood-style happy endings. Does that mean you won’t actually be resigning? That your mother changed her mind?

  He pauses. I gave her my resignation, and before she could say anything, we were interrupted by a phone call from Portia. But my mother’s acknowledgment only matters in terms of my professional life, not my personal. I�
�m done with her.

  The bird plummets back toward Earth, folding her wings. Damon isn’t thinking rationally, so I need to. The effect of him leaving his company and family wealth would be staggering for him. If she hasn’t accepted his resignation, there’s still a chance he could take it back.

  I know what I have to do.

  Damon, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but this isn’t about your mother. I’m not interested in a relationship with you anymore. I’ve had time to think while we’ve been apart, and I don’t want to hurt you, but looking back on it, I really think it was just about the sex for me.

  Silence. Then, a chuckle. Nice try, Sprite.

  I’m being serious.

  Sure you are. I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work. You’re forgetting that I’ve been witness plenty of times to how you respond to me—your face, your body. What I’ve seen in your eyes.

  You need to listen to me. I’ve had time to really reflect on what this was, and what I want for my future. My feelings for you have cooled in just a couple of weeks, which is a major red flag. We wouldn’t make it, Damon. Please accept that.

  More silence, while my heart flops helplessly. I want him to believe me, but I so don’t want him to believe me.

  All right, Delaney. Damon’s voice is expressionless. If this is what you want, I won’t plan on contacting you again.

  Then he’s not there anymore, and the realization that he really won’t be there, ever again, creeps into me like cold, black sludge until I’m choking on it and bursting into great, racking sobs.

  Congratulations, Lane. You’ve just pulled off another acting role. Standing O material for sure, only when the curtain closes and the audience leaves, you’ll be all alone.

  My God, what am I doing?

  You’re trying to save Damon from making a huge mistake. You’re protecting him.

  These are the things I’m telling myself while I’m putting bagels in the display case and trying to keep from crying on the merchandise. Probably wouldn’t be good for business.

  The phone rings, and God damn me for thinking—hoping—it’s the person I broke up with. It’s not—it’s my mother.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. I know you’re almost ready to open, but I just wanted to catch you for a second.”

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “A wedding.”

  “You mean Maddie’s? I know—four days away.”

  “No.” She gives a gentle laugh. “Mine. I mean, your father’s and mine.”

  OMG. I was thinking they’d just get married at City Hall or something. “Oh, wow! I didn’t know you’d actually have a wedding. But I think that’s awesome,” I add hastily.

  And I do. The little girl inside me that wants her parents together is thrilled.

  “Thanks, Laney. We picked a date, and I wanted to tell you right away because it’s next month.”

  “Wow! So soon. Fall weddings are so beautiful.”

  “September 24th. It will be fairly small—family and good friends. We’d like you and Wilder to stand up with us.”

  “Of course. Mom—” I feel my throat tighten up. “I’m so happy for you. You two belong together.”

  “We do. It took me being away from him to realize it, but once I weeded out the distractions, there it was. Like I said before—my simple truth.” There’s a little pause, and I know what’s coming. “How’s Damon?”

  “He’s...we’re not seeing each other anymore, Mom.”

  “What? Oh, Laney—I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “I don’t really want to go into it now, but we just decided the relationship wasn’t going to work out.”

  “Well, I’m very sad to hear that. And very surprised. I had a good feeling about him—thought he might even be the one. I hope you don’t completely close the door, sweetie.”

  She doesn’t understand, and I can’t expect her to. “Okay, Mom. Speaking of doors, it’s almost time for me to open mine, so I’ve got to let you go.”

  “Of course. Dad and I will see you at Maddie’s wedding in just a few days. It should be lovely.”

  “Yes, it will be.”

  I end the call and set my phone on the shelf under the counter. Everything is so quiet in here. I ask my Google Home to play big band music, and I feel a little less alone.

  All is right with the world, I tell myself, using the most cheery inner voice I can muster. Maddie and Jack are getting married and having a baby. My parents are going to remarry. I have this absolutely lovely café, and I was able to overcome a pretty significant trust issue and be intimate with a man again.

  A wonderful man.

  Stoppp, I scold myself, as my eyes begin to burn. I may not feel happy, but I can feel grateful, and for now, that will have to be enough.

  chapter 37 / Damon

  I’m driving on Route 1 in Bucksport, getting close to home after my Beach to Beacon 10K. I finished 298th out of about 6500 runners—hadn’t anticipated doing that well, but when you’re fueled by frustration and pent-up sexual energy, you get results. It was a beautiful, dry day and cooler than normal in the upper-70’s. The course was kickass—live bands playing, multiple ocean views and a rather dramatic finish at Fort Williams which overlooks Portland Head Light and Casco Bay.

  The race was a good distraction for me, except when I took a right onto Shore Road where they had a water station. The person I took a cup from was a young blonde girl with a similar build to Sprite’s, and my throat closed up, which doesn’t make it easy to take deep breaths.

  I had some orange wedges and a granola bar, felt the runner’s high for about ten more minutes, and then after my cool down it was back to thinking about my situation with Delaney on the drive home.

  I don’t believe her, of course...that story she gave me about not having feelings for me anymore. Uh, no. Not buying it, sweetheart, although I’ll let you have your way for now. I’m running the company until my mother returns—then I’ll make my resignation official, pack up my office and leave. It will prove to my very unselfish girlfriend that there’s no going back for me, and that we can be together. But unfortunately, I’m still tied to Cavanaugh since Mommie Dearest has been once again out of the country.

  Which begs the question: why the actual fuck is she over there?

  She sent the Cavanaugh Yacht principals an email outlining our duties for the next week, stating she wasn’t sure of an exact return date but would let us know once this was set. Nothing else—no explanation, no reference to my resigning, and this is the only correspondence I’ve received from her.

  So I wait, while resentment and confusion over my mother take turns with a mother of an ache, missing Delaney.

  I pull in my driveway and can see T-Man in the living room window, his ears dropped like they usually are when he’s happy to see you. I had Tommy come over and let him out—couldn’t ask Delaney, which I ordinarily would have done. I’ll take him for a good walk, have a beer or four, maybe play a little piano to break up the heavy silence in this house, and then it’s decision time—do I go to Madeline and Jack’s wedding tonight?

  I’ve grown really fond of the two of them and would like to be there when they tie the knot. Selfishly, I also want to see Delaney, but I want to be able to tell her I’m officially done at the company, and I can’t yet. So I’ll probably skip the wedding, make a toast to them from Singing Woods Lane and curse Gloria Cavanaugh for putting my life on hold.

  I’m opening the pantry door to get Tucker a post-walk dog biscuit when the phone rings. Speak of the devil, literally—it’s my mother.

  “It’s about time...what the hell is going on, Mother? I expected to at least hear an update about Portia’s father.”

  “The danger appears to have passed. He had bypass surgery and will need to make some lifestyle changes, but he’s going to be all right.” There’s a distinct level of relief in her tone.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Look, I wanted to make it clear to
you that as soon as you return, I’m done at the company. I’ve already been looking into a few positions. When are you coming back?”

  “Probably within the next couple of days. Damon, I need to explain why I’ve been over here.”

  “I’m not interested in any explanation. I assumed you were there for Portia, or more likely, you wanted to make a business move if her father passed away, since you’ve had your sights set on Bellamy Marine.”

  Her voice turns brittle. “That is an ugly thing to say.”

  “I’m saying it based on your track record. Am I wrong?”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. I flew over with Portia and wanted to support her, yes, but it’s more than that.” A pause. “It has to do with Roger Bellamy, not Bellamy Marine.”

  So now my mother has me intrigued enough to temporarily table my demand for her answer.

  “What about him?”

  “We have a...history. I told you we went to Yale together, but what I didn’t tell you was that we were in love.”

  I don’t know if I’m more surprised to hear that she was in love with Roger Bellamy, or that she was in love at all.

  “The story in a nutshell is that we fell for each other, despite being from competing businesses. The yacht market was smaller thirty years ago, and at the time, Roger’s parents lived in America. Their business was in direct competition with Cavanaugh Yacht, and our parents were rivals. Bitter rivals. None of that mattered to us, even though we knew we’d each inherit the family company someday. We were young and in love, and we’d sneak around, which made our relationship even more intense.”

  What the fuck. This is so not the Gloria I know—putting a relationship above business? I’m blown away enough that I can’t even formulate a response to what I’m hearing.

  She continues. “Roger’s father found out we were seeing each other, and he was furious. He was a very powerful man—very intimidating, and refused to pay any more of Roger’s tuition if he didn’t end our relationship. His father also called my parents to tell them we’d been secretly dating, and my father had a similar reaction.”