“Hello, Marshall.” She appeared in the doorway, her typical tanned yet buttoned-up self. She gave me a quick scan, but her civil smile never dropped.
“Hi.” I stood but didn’t kiss or hug her. Instead I slid my hands in my short’s pockets and stared back.
“You have some color on your face and arms.” She nodded in approval and closed her office door. “Your father said you finally used the pool. Did you do some laps?”
“No laps. Just chilled. I needed to ready myself mentally for our lunch.”
She puckered her lips, but she didn’t appear upset. She turned to her secretary, who blatantly watched us. “I’ll be downstairs in the courtyard with my son. Go ahead and take your lunch. I’ll be back in time for my three o’clock.”
Mom walked to the door and opened it. “We’ll eat downstairs. I ordered from Brisk Eatery.”
Brisk was my go-to for a good sandwich or wrap. My stomach even grumbled in response. “You like Brisk?” Unless Dad told her, how would she know I liked their food?
“It’s one of my favorite sandwich places. Their chicken salad is amazing.” She waved me ahead. “Let’s go eat.”
I exited ahead of her and headed to the elevator. We stood side by side in silence during the ride to the lobby. Then we went toward the back of the building and outside to a courtyard surrounded by shrubs and flowers. She pointed to a table near a tiered stone garden fountain. A server presented our food and then left.
“Why delivery? We could have eaten there.” I sat with my back to the fountain, facing the front.
Mom sat across from me. “I thought it best we eat someplace open so you don’t feel claustrophobic.”
“I can handle closed-in spaces like restaurants.” I let her take out the food and drinks. “You would have seen how well I handled public places if you had come to my birthday dinner on Monday.”
She placed different cans of soda and water on the table, not even pausing at my statement. “I was away for the holiday and didn’t get home until Tuesday. Also, it would have been awkward with your father’s new girlfriend there.”
“You’ve known Ms. Barnet for years and were once friends. It’s not like you’re gunning to get Dad back, unless you’re finally dropping your boy toy.” I opened a soda and took a deep sip.
She set out her salad and a turkey cranberry spinach wrap for me, which was my favorite Brisk wrap. She then folded her hands on the table. “I’m happy your father is with Liana. You might not believe it, but it’s true. We all have moved on, so why can’t you?”
“Move on?” I laughed loud on purpose, making her frown.
“I don’t want to fight with you.” She opened her salad and poked a piece of lettuce. “Can’t we have lunch and enjoy each other’s company?”
I started to clench my can but stopped before going too far. I didn’t want to make a mess with soda everywhere. So I drank my soda while she ate her salad.
“The reason I’m here is because Dad asked me to come. You want to talk about the Times article from yesterday,” I said.
She nodded and finished chewing. “I’ve been getting calls all morning about it.”
“Why would you get calls? You weren’t mentioned in it.” I finished my soda and crumpled the can.
“I’m your mother, so it would—”
“Not by choice.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.
She pushed aside her meal to fold her hands on the table. She cleared her throat a few times and glanced at the water fountain. “Your opinion doesn’t change the fact I’m your mother.”
“You never let me forget it.”
She turned back to me, the hurt evidenced by her red cheeks and glassy eyes. It had been a long time since I hit a nerve. The last time I witnessed such a reaction was when she found out I was going on a first date with one of the members of my swim team my freshman year of high school. She had warned me to be careful and not do anything embarrassing in public, like kiss or hold hands with my date because it might look bad for me, which meant her. That had been one hell of a fight. I hadn’t talked to her for months after that.
Now the conversation was going in that direction. I was too angry, and she was too self-righteous, never admitting she was wrong.
“Marshall, I don’t want to fight. Why can’t we talk like reasonable adults? You’re nineteen now, and—”
“A man?” I crossed my leg over the other and cupped my knee. I also tilted my chin up slightly and pulled back my shoulders. I added some attitude to my posture, giving off a more flamboyant vibe that would provoke her. “The man I am today is because of my father, not you. I’m also a reasonable adult who acts well under pressure. Case in point—stopping John from killing more people, himself included.”
Now she looked visibly shaken. It was more on the subtle side, but I recognized the thinning of her lips and the way she dug her thumbnail into the side of her hand. “In the interview, the shooter—I refuse to say his name, although you can—alludes to your relationship.” Her fingers tightened around her knuckles. “You were more than friends.”
“Out of everything mentioned in the article, the one thing you’re consumed with is my relationship with—”
“Were you lovers?”
I jabbed my fingers in the side of my kneecap, causing a piercing pain around the sensitive area where muscle and bone met. The few seconds of discomfort stopped me from yelling at her.
“I know where you’re going with this. You didn’t want to see me to make sure I was okay but to find out information to cover your ass.” The accusation fell from my lips with ease, which surprised me because a haze filled my eyes and a pounding lodged inside my head.
She lurched back, causing her chair to creak. “Don’t use that language—”
“You’re upset I used ass? What if I said fuck?” The corner of my mouth twitched, a first for me, but I always ended up with some strange tic or body response when around her for too long. “As in, I fucked John Cannon—”
She smacked the table hard. “Stop!”
I curled my hands around the arms of the chair, trying to not vault up and leave. For once I would stay and let her leave.
She waved her hand, wincing. “Why can’t we talk like reasonable people for once?”
I had an answer to her question, which was more rhetorical. But what was the point? There was too much anger and hurt between us to act like “reasonable people.”
“We did before.”
“Before what?”
I sighed, frustrated. “Before I came out, and before you telling Dad you cheated on him.”
She smiled, but it wasn’t authentic, and more of a subconscious reaction. “You were a child and easier to connect with.”
“Don’t you mean to control?” The twitch in my cheek returned.
She played with her fork, as if she was going to pick it up and eat her salad. “It’s better if I don’t respond to that because we’ll be back to square one.”
“Square one, as in screaming at each other and me using curse words that make you uncomfortable?” I flexed my fingers, finally unlocking them from their grip on the chair.
“Whatever discussion we have, it always ends up uncomfortable.” She sat up straighter in her chair and folded her hands on the table, acting like the professional the public believed her to be. I slouched farther down in my chair and tapped the table leg with my foot.
“Maybe it means we shouldn’t have one-on-one discussions.” My foot tapping made the table vibrate.
Those lines in her forehead, the ones she tried so hard to erase by not showing too much emotion or through artificial means, appeared. “Speaking of being a child, stop acting like one. Cease with the tapping and sit up.”
I stopped my foot. “At least you’re not criticizing what I’m wearing.”
“I would have preferred you wore something less sloppy, but you wore it to antagonize me.” She fingered the lapel of her yellow blouse.
“Unlike
you who always dresses to impress in your power suits? Maybe instead of donating to some antigay foundation for my birthday, this year you could donate to the Marshall Caryll clothing fund instead.”
“My donation to the—”
I lurched up, squeezing the chair arms again. “Oh please, you know it’s a hate organization. That horrible news channel you go on talks about it all the time, and even had the founders on, who if they met me would tell me I should burn in hell because I’m gay. So unless you want me to start cursing, don’t defend that fake charity.”
She lowered her gaze to the table. Her face grew blank and erased some of those lines showing her age. I expected her to put up more of a fight, but then again we were in public and surrounded by people eating their lunch. She had to keep in mind her reputation, and wouldn’t want any bad gossip about her to ruin her chances for a full-time gig at the hateful cable news channel that had basically made her a permanent guest.
“You’re right there to criticize me about how much money I spend on my clothes, but you were fine letting me pay for your college education, and giving you spending money.” She looked up again but stared past my shoulder.
“Paying for college is something you had to do based on the terms of the divorce settlement you have with Dad. And it’s not much since I got a half scholarship to—”
She lifted a finger. “So how did five thousand dollars just magically appear in your checking account a week before you went to school? You assumed your father deposited it in there?” She shook her head. “It was me. You never thanked me.”
“I never touched your money. I didn’t need it.” Just like I didn’t need her. Dad had told me the money came from her, but I ignored it. It might have been petty of me, but I didn’t want anything from her back then.
She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard enough that her throat bobbed. She was going to say something to piss me off. I’d acted out this scenario with her one too many times.
“Really? You never touched the money I gave you? Maybe your memory is faulty because of the shooting but the murderer mentioned in the interview how you loaned him the two hundred dollars to buy the bullets for the AR-15 he used to shoot up the school.”
She wanted me to react. She probably expected me to freak out in some way by cursing or turning over the table, or something like it. Maybe she just wanted me to deny it. I could have because it wasn’t true—the one time I gave John money was when we went out for dinner one night with the swim team. If she thought I lent him money, which he used to buy the bullets that ended up killing twelve people, she really never knew me, her only son, at all.
I rose from my chair while she just stared at me. Her face was blank. Empty. Or maybe she didn’t have an expression to reveal because she was empty both inside and out.
“I’ve wasted enough of my time, Faith.” I purposely used her first name, something I did when I was furious with her.
She inhaled so hard through her nose that her nostril pinched. “Sit down.”
“No.” I ignored the temptation to point my finger in her face. But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I also didn’t want Dad to be on the receiving end of her anger. “I can’t be around you right now. Don’t call me, don’t bother me.” I slapped my palms on the table and bent toward her. “Better yet, pretend I died in the shooting. It’s probably best for both of us if you act like I’m dead.”
“Marshall.” She rose from her chair and reached for my hand.
I backed away and shook my head. “Goodbye, Faith.” She no longer deserved to be called Mom.
I rushed out of the courtyard to her calling my name. I ignored her as I inhaled some deep breaths to stop the dark blobby circles in front of my eyes from taking over and making the pounding in my head explode.
She didn’t follow me, not that I expected or wanted her to. I jetted down the street, running to nowhere until I collapsed on my knees, ready to pass out from the overpowering anguish that would never release me from its punishing grip.
Chapter Eleven
I CUT my arms through the water as I finished another lap. I swam for almost an hour. It helped me forget the woman who gave birth to me, if only for a short time. But the burning in my throat and body remained, not because of my anger but because of my intense workout in the pool.
I tapped the wall and rested my face against my folded arms on the edge of the pool as I tried to catch my breath. Something bopped the top of my swim cap, making me glance up at Benny, who crouched down to my level.
“Have you burned off whatever was eating away at you?” He clasped the ends of a towel around his neck.
“I’m good now. Thanks for letting me use the pool.” Since my arms were like rubber, I swam to the stairs to exit instead of showing off and vaulting out of the pool with upper body strength alone.
He tossed me the towel, and I dried off my face and arms. “I’m the first one to use the pool?”
He set his hands on his waist, his white tank top showing off his buff, tattooed arms. For once he wore running shorts, which also gave me a great view of his tight calves.
“You’re the first member to swim in it.” He glanced at the pool and nodded.
“I never said I would join the gym.” I took off the swim cap and dried my hair.
“Did you forget the one-month free membership I offered you? Looks like you need it.” He bent down and wet his hand. “If I liked to swim, I would have done a few laps with you.” He stood and wiped his palms together. “I’m more a fan of boxing. Did you check out the boxing room during the party?”
“Didn’t have the chance.” I drew the towel around my shoulders, feeling somewhat self-conscious. He wasn’t checking me out, even though there wasn’t as much to me now as there was when I heavily trained back at NCU.
“Why don’t you dry off and get dressed? You can be my sparring partner and release more of your anger.” He clapped me on my arm and walked toward the exit.
“How do you know I’m still angry?” I ran my fingers through my damp hair.
“You’re still too tense. Come beat the crap out of a punching bag for a while. It helps me when I’m in a shitty mood.” He lifted his bicep and made a fist. “You’ll get back in shape.”
“I am in shape.” I spoke more to myself than to Benny, who left the room. I used to swim laps for an hour before school and was never this winded. At least I wasn’t wheezing, which happened more while I swam because I was out of shape. But I soldiered through. I’d probably be hurting tomorrow, especially if I worked on a punching bag with Benny, but I owed it to him since he let me use the facilities here, no questions asked.
Not wanting to keep him waiting, I went to the locker room, took a piss, and got changed into what I’d worn to the disastrous lunch. At least Dad hadn’t been home when I packed my swimming gear after I called Benny to ask if I could use the pool.
It was somewhat eerie here with just Benny and me. The fitness center wouldn’t have its official opening until tomorrow morning. I expected some staff or at least Zyrell, but it was just Benny. Since I wasn’t in the mood for company, maybe this was the best thing for me. It would also give me the push I needed to talk to him about the shooting, and maybe even ask him for some advice on my family problems.
I made my way to the boxing room by following a sign that pointed me in the right direction. As I got closer, booming music—some rock anthem—blasted from behind a door with a boxing glove in the middle of it. I entered the room, only to stop in my tracks at the sight of Benny, in boxing gloves, shorts, and nothing else, dancing around a punching bag.
Sweat already covered his upper body as he jabbed the bag. He shuffled back and forth, hitting it in time with the music segueing into a screeching guitar riff.
I curled my fingers in my palms to stop from rushing Benny, slamming him into the bag, and kissing him. I wanted to drag my hands down his sweaty chest and pull on his shorts and—
“Took you long enough.” He too
k off a glove and turned down the stereo with a remote. He wiped his face with his arm, not that it did much.
“Ah, I had to piss first.” I rolled my eyes up at the ceiling. Why did I end up saying the most asinine of things when it came to this man?
He took off his other glove and wiped his arms and chest with a towel. “I’m teasing you. Sometimes a piss is the most important thing you’ll do in a day.”
“First time I heard something like that. You make it up?” I spotted a shelf with the same type of gloves he wore and checked them out. Better for me to concentrate on something other than Benny because there was no way I could hide my boner, especially in my shorts.
“Of course.” He shrugged and moved back to the bag. “Pick your poison, meaning a pair of gloves, and I’ll hold the bag for you. We can start there and then move on.”
I chose my gloves but didn’t put them on. “I don’t know if I’m up for it. My arms are useless right now after swimming fifty laps.”
His eyes widened. “Hell, that’s impressive. I won’t push you, but why not try to hit the bag for a few minutes? Take it slow.”
I slipped on the gloves and moved toward the bag. “Punching a bag isn’t going to help me.”
“Maybe it won’t, but it really is great with dealing with stress and any other frustration you may have.” He gripped the bag and held it against his right shoulder. “Go ahead and impress me like you did with your swimming.”
I started hitting the bag. “You watched me swim?”
“For the last ten minutes. You cut through the water like glass. No wonder you were in the top three in the state and got a swimming scholarship to National Capital University.”
Let Me Live Page 11
