by J. Saman
Liar. I really want to say that to him, but I don’t think it will get me very far. Besides, last night when I asked Kyle to tell me something, he told me about work. So maybe I’m reading more into this than I should?
Ryan and I talk the entire ride through traffic back uptown. We go over everything that needs to be done, who I need to email and call, the expense report that needs updating, and blah blah blah. I stop caring as we pull up in front of the hotel. He knows I’m on top of all of it.
“I have to go,” I say to Ryan. “I just got back to the hotel. I’ll call you when I land tomorrow, unless you need me before that.”
“Sounds like a plan. Be safe.”
“Always.”
I hop out of the car without waiting on the driver or the valet, because I’m just a bit too impatient. Kyle is leaning with his back against the building, suit-clad arms folded across his broad chest and one foot is propped up behind him, pressed against the stone wall. The sight of him makes my insides squirm and my heart go pitter-patter. He’s giving me a crooked grin, watching me watch him. And eyeing my stupid skirt with amusement as I walk toward him.
“How was your day, cupcake?”
“Not too bad, baby cakes.” I tilt my head, taking him in. “I didn’t think I was going to see you this early, if at all. Didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be available until at least eight?”
“I did,” he confirms. “But I decided you’re worth breaking the rules for.”
Wow. What the hell do I say to that? I know how it makes me feel. Incredible.
“I’m glad you did,” I tell him honestly, because saying anything else would be a lie. “I have a coupon for a free dinner at some swanky place in the village. Wanna join me?”
He pushes off the wall with his foot, standing tall and gorgeous over me. My eyes glide up until they meet his and for the life of me, I can’t stop my smile. Neither can he. So, we stand there, smiling at each other with high school giddiness mixed with very grownup lust swimming between us.
“Lead on, beautiful.”
Chapter 8
Claire
For the past two years, my life has been a sort of suspended reality. I graduated college and then everything—and I do mean everything—changed. I realize that’s not an uncommon phenomenon for people. Graduating college is one of those monumental life-altering events where you go from being an irresponsible child to an adult, expected to not only contribute to society, but make a difference as well.
And yeah, I had that going on too. But it wasn’t the same for me as it was for everyone else. For starters, I already had a job I loved, working for Ryan. By some miracle, he and I just clicked and it worked. He wanted to keep me, pay me well, and make sure I was happy. I love that about him.
I also had a place to live and when Ryan decided to jump ship and move out to Seattle, I was excited by the prospect of starting over. Of running away.
But here’s the thing with running away. It never works.
Sure, you might be able to momentarily escape, but shit always has a way of catching up to you. Of finding you when you finally stop to take a breath. Or when you’re just comfortable enough to let your guard down. It’s there. As crushing and debilitating as it was before you ran.
I don’t regret my decision to leave Philadelphia and come to Seattle.
In fact, I think it was the best thing I’ve ever done for myself other than tear the slip on the handwritten advertisement for a personal assistant that was pinned to the bulletin board in my college library. So low tech for Ryan Grant now that I think on it.
I had no real ties to Philadelphia. My dad lives in D.C. now and I never see him. My mom lives in St. Louis and I don’t see her much either. I have no real family bond, and whether my parents manufactured it to be so or whether I’m just a product of their lack of enthusiasm for me, I don’t know.
Even though I have no real ties to my family, I’m still related to them. I have their genes. Their blood. And despite the fact that I know it’s an irrational thought, I hate them for it. So, when I land at Sea-Tac and switch on my phone, I’m both surprised and apprehensive when I see I have a voicemail from both of my parents. Separately, of course, since they don’t live together or talk all that much.
I check my dad’s first, even though his came in after my mom’s. His voicemail is basic. Harsh. “Call me back,” it says in his clipped authoritative tone.
He can go fuck himself.
My mom’s is a different story, and while the plane comes in to taxi at the gate, my finger lingers over the screen, debating if I want to hear this or not. I realize she left this maybe five minutes after I shut my phone off. About six hours ago. I decide it’s better to do it surrounded by a plane full of people rather on my own. So, I hit that button, but the instant I do, with her voice coming through my speaker, I regret that decision.
“Claire,” she says in that detached depressed cadence of hers. I hear it in the slight hint of a warble at the end of my name. And I know what’s coming before she even continues on. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s too much for me. Everything about this life is too much for me and it’s only going to get worse. It’s time. I wish I had been a better mother to you. I wish I had had the patience and aptitude. Now I can only hope my life will not become yours.”
The message ends just like that, and I can’t even move the phone away from my ear as I shut my eyes and hold my breath. All around me, I hear things. People talking and laughing and the plane making that ping noise that tells you that the seatbelt sign is off and that we’re at the gate.
I can get up and leave, but I absolutely cannot find the strength to do so.
“Excuse me,” a hesitant voice says an untold amount of time later. “Ma’am? We’re at the gate now, you can disembark.”
My eyes open and I realize I’m alone on the plane, staring at the cautious flight attendant. I don’t respond, I just get up, grab my purse and get the hell out of there. I’m in a fog. The world is going on all around me and I’m not a part of it. I’m outside my body staring in, so I go through the motions like the disembodied person I am.
I get to baggage claim, find the carrousel designated for my flight and freeze when I see him. Ryan Grant is standing there, watching the bags parade around on the black conveyer belt, no doubt searching for mine. I didn’t know he was picking me up. I took a cab to the airport. And it’s Tuesday. Him being here doesn’t make sense.
Unless . . .
I’m half tempted to keep going and not bother with my suitcase or Ryan. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see the look I know will be there or feel what I’m going to feel when I see it.
Damn it Ryan, do you always have to be so fucking considerate?
Just as I’m about to spin around and head to the electronic doors, he spots me and his eyes soften as a tentative smile curls up the corner of one side of his mouth. Ryan towers over everyone, but makes no move to come to me. He just stands there, watching me.
I don’t move to him either, because I don’t think I can do this. I can’t accept what I know he’s going to say. I can’t accept what I heard in my mother’s message.
Goodbye.
I knew this would happen. I knew she’d do this eventually. She told me she would when she was originally diagnosed, and I guess I’m not really all that surprised. But I can’t handle it. I can’t handle that sort of fate. And suddenly, I’m angry. Not at her necessarily, but at myself. Because I let my guard down with Kyle in a way I hadn’t allowed myself since she was diagnosed, knowing her circumstance could be my own.
Ryan looks away from me, follows the belt for another moment until he spots my bag and lifts it up effortlessly. I wait as he raises up the handle and walks toward me, rolling my small suitcase that looks almost comical against his large frame, behind him.
“No,” is all I can say when he reaches me, because I see what he’s about to do and I can’t let him. The loving bastard ignores my plea
and grabs me, pulling me hard into his chest, and all I can do is suck in deep breath after deep breath of his familiar scent.
“I’m sorry,” he says and I start to lose it. Fuck him. Fuck him for doing this to me in the middle of the goddamn airport. Fuck my mother for deciding that she was done and telling me over the phone. Fuck my father for being a cold, heartless bastard. Just fuck everyone.
I push him away from me, and he graciously takes a step back. I’m wiping furiously at the insipid tears that felt the need to fall and ruin my day. Ryan doesn’t say anything else, he just puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me out of the airport towards the parking garage. He hits the clicker for the Prius and I cough out a small humorless laugh.
“My car is in the shop,” he says. I can’t believe they still have this stupid car. I get them being all sentimental since he and Kate got together on a road trip driving in this car, but still. Ryan also still drives his ancient 4-Runner, which is older than I am, I think. I have a feeling he’ll be trading that in for a new SUV now that the twins are on their way. Or a minivan. God, I can’t imagine Ryan Grant driving a minivan. He’s far too . . . Ryan for that.
“Did you tell anyone?” I ask once we’re settled in the car, weaving our way through the garage toward the exit.
“No,” he says quietly. “Your dad called the office looking for you and I picked up. He remembered me from that time we met all those years ago, so he told me what happened.”
I nod, turning toward the window because I can’t even look in his general direction.
“How’d she do it?”
“Carbon monoxide. Car on in the garage.”
“Painless,” I say and can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips at that. I always thought she’d do it a bit more dramatically since that’s more my mother’s style.
“Yeah. I’m taking you home, Claire, but really, you should have stayed at the airport. I assume you’re going to want to fly to St. Louis.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t. She doesn’t want a funeral. In fact, if I know her, she took care of all the arrangements.”
“What about her stuff? I’ll go with you if you need to take care of things. Say goodbye.”
Now I smile bigger because my friend here does not fly. But he’s offering to do so. For me. “There is no goodbye with my mother. And I’m sure her house was already cleaned out. She planned this, Ryan.”
“Why?” he asks and I realize I’ve already revealed way too much. “Was she sick?”
I shrug. I don’t want to get into it. Ever.
“But you’re not surprised.”
“No. I’m not,” is all I offer, as we head north on I-5 back into Seattle. He lets it drop, clearly sensing I’m not going to do this with him. When we hit the city limits, I shift in my seat, looking over at his profile. “You cannot tell anyone, Ryan. I mean it. Not Kate. Not Luke. Not Kyle or Ivy. No one. You hear me?”
Ryan glances in my direction, locking eyes with me for a moment before he’s forced to turn back to the road. “Okay, Claire. I won’t say anything, even to Katie, which you know is impossibly difficult for me.”
“I know it is, so thanks.”
“And I won’t pry. I know how you are, but you’re my family and I love you. I fucking do, whether you want to hear that shit or not. So, whatever you need from me, you have it. Someone to listen. Time off. A drinking buddy. Whatever.”
I sniffle, swallowing down the massive lump in my throat and nod my gratitude at him. Words are not possible because I’ll cry, and even though I know Ryan means everything he says, I don’t do that. I don’t talk about my feelings. I don’t share my inner most thoughts. I keep them to myself.
Ryan takes me home, insisting on carrying my not-heavy-at-all bag for me. He’s just making sure I’m okay, I realize. But the truth is, I don’t know if I am. I don’t know if I ever will be. So, the only thing I can do is fake it.
I’m good at that.
I make Ryan leave shortly after and instead of eating or showering, or watching television or calling my father back, or thinking about Kyle, I kick off my shoes and crawl right into bed.
I wake up the next morning with a headache. I slept, but it wasn’t what I’d call restful. My mother’s words have been echoing through my mind, set on repeat. I have to wonder just how bad things were getting for her. She never let me come visit. Never wanted me to see her.
My mother and I weren’t what you’d call close. She just wasn’t that type of mom. Getting pregnant by accident with a man who wants very little to do with you, can do that. She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t have the aptitude to be a mother. In fact, when I was ten she sent me off to travel around with my father. But that wore out quickly and when I was thirteen, my father sent me back. He had no use for me either.
It always made me question why he was so adamant that my mother keep me when she didn’t want to.
It’s not like he wanted me either.
I noticed my mother changing in small ways when she was in her mid-thirties and I was a senior in high school. She became depressed and her memory wasn’t what it had been before. I left for college not too long after, and shortly before I graduated, she was diagnosed. She told me not to come home anymore. She didn’t want to see me. Or anyone else for that matter.
I tried with her. But there really is no helping when someone gets like that. She shut herself off from me, got her affairs in order, and bided her time until she finally had enough of life.
I guess she hit that point.
The irony of all of this is that I don’t even miss her. She was my mother and I suppose I loved her on some elemental level. I mean, even when you hate your parents, you still love them. It’s an unavoidable part of nature. But I don’t miss her the way I feel like I should.
Kyle called at some point last night and even sent a text, wanting to make sure I got home okay. So, I texted him back that I was home safe and left it at that. As I roll over and check my phone, I see that he called again this morning.
And my heart aches.
He and I had a really incredible time together in New York. It was sort of perfect, and for once, I was so very hopeful. Hell-bent on ignoring the shit in my life. If nothing else, my mother’s suicide serves as a reminder that it was laughable for me to even try. Despite how much I really like Kyle—and I do really like him—all I can ever give him is friendship. Because the last thing I can have in this world is a real relationship. I have no shot at commitment or love.
Love, ha. I almost want to laugh at that notion.
Where has love ever gotten me?
Abandoned, cheated, and resentful. Right. That’s where. Swallowing this bitter pill of emotions, I realize I need to pull away from Kyle. He’s perfect. Too perfect. The sort of perfect that you can’t help but fall for. That you can’t help but plan things with.
So, why indulge in the fantasy only to suffer through the disappointment later?
I shoot Kyle another text, this one telling him that I’ll call him later. But even as I type the words, I know they’re not true.
I can’t think about Kyle or even my mom. I can only think about myself, and right now, I need to get up for work. Ryan might chew my ass out for showing up today, but he’ll get over it.
I step out into the welcome sunshine of spring, deciding that I want to walk to work even though it’s well over a mile away. It’s just that sort of day out.
The sun is high up in the sky and the sweet smell of spring is lingering on the ever-present Seattle breeze. All around me, people are going about their day the way they did yesterday and probably the way they will tomorrow. A mom is holding her daughter’s hand as she walks her down the street, more than likely taking her to school.
My eyes are glued to them, transfixed on their every movement and interaction.
The little girl, who isn’t any older than six, is talking a mile a minute about something I cannot hear, but her mother is fully invested in whatever it
is. They’re smiling at each other and the mom is leaning down so she can catch every single word that escapes from her daughter’s mouth.
I wonder if that feels as good as it looks for both of them.
People are walking dogs and drinking coffee, and talking into cell phones.
People are living their lives.
So, I guess that’s my plan too. My mother may have given up on hers, but that doesn’t mean I plan to do the same.
I’m going to go to work for Ryan Grant. I’m going to play music and hang out with friends. Take lovers whenever I want. I’m going to enjoy every single moment I have.
Because there are no guarantees. No promises on time.
There is only this moment.
And this moment now belongs to me.
Chapter 9
Kyle
Two months later
“Kyle, I have a Franco Rovelo on the line for you,” my assistant, Nancy says with a slightly apprehensive tone. In the years that Nancy has been working for this firm, I doubt she has ever disliked interacting with a client as much as she does with Franco Rovelo. Can’t say I blame her.
“Thank you. Patch him through, please.”
This can’t be good.
“Mr. Rovelo,” I say, sitting up straight in my chair and pulling out a pad and pen in case I need to take notes on anything. I haven’t spoken to him since his acquittal over two months ago. “It’s nice to hear from you. I hope you’re well.”
“Mr. Grant,” he says with that thick baritone rolled in an Italian accent. “I am quite well, but alas, my poor brother is not.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What can I do for you?”
“I won’t lie to you, Kyle, as there really is no point. My brother, Alfredo, is not a smart man. He’s a good soldier, but if he wasn’t family, I would have little use for him. Do you understand what I mean when I say that?”
I’m not a fucking idiot. “Yes. I understand,” I say instead.
“Good. Family is important to me. And protecting my family is paramount, even when they do things they shouldn’t have.”
