“What’s wrong with her?” I ask. “She’s perfect.”
I say it. I mean it. I glance over at Brielle. She smiles.
“She’s white trash!” O screams. “Trash! Trash!”
“Fuck you, Ophelia!” Brielle pipes in. I don’t want her part of this, but she already is.
“Who the hell do you think you’re calling trash?”
“You, you bitch!”
O puts her hands on her hips. She thinks she’s gaining ground. Her attention is diverted to someone weaker. Someone without a strong position. Or so she thinks. I look over at Brielle. Her face is expressionless. Her eyes are unflinching. It’s like she has something on O. She knows something she shouldn’t.
“At least, I’m not the one who’s pregnant. And unmarried. Single. Am I right, Ophelia?”
Pregnant! What the hell is she talking about? O’s not pregnant.
“What’s she talking about, O?”
I wait for O to fight back. Tell Brielle to shut up, send her to hell. But she doesn’t. Instead, she breaks down. Her legs buckle under her and she drops to the floor.
“O!” I go to her and wrap my arms around her. I’ve never seen O this fragile. At least, not since her boyfriend killed himself the day before their prom.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Brielle?”
“It’s true,” she shrugs. I hate how cold she is. A few moments, I felt nothing but love and warmth for her. But now, all that’s gone.
“It’s true,” Brielle insists. “Isn’t it, O?”
I’ve never heard her call O that, and I hate the way she says it.
“O?” I ask. Her face is buried in my shoulders. She’s sobbing.
“Yes,” she mumbles. “I think so.”
I continue to hold her. Brielle stares at me. Something in her eyes tells me that she’s sorry. I pull away from O and she stands up on her own two feet.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He left. He left me,” she sobs. “And your girlfriend has no right to go through my bags!”
“Yes, I do! You were the one who told me to put all your shit away because you’re such a princess that you couldn’t do it yourself.”
“Brielle, please,” I say.
“You’re telling me to be quiet?” Brielle gasps.
“Yes, I am. Can’t you see that O’s having a difficult time here?”
“I can’t believe you’re taking her side!”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. There are no sides. There’s just this crazy situation that I just heard about,” I say.
I turn to O. “How did this happen? Why?”
But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she sobs and buries her face in her hands. I fuckin’ knew it. I knew it. O’s ex, if you can call him that, was such an asshole. He never had a job. He was a ruthless playboy that cheated on her incessantly and told her he loved her.
“I just don’t understand what you saw in him, O. He was such a dick.”
She shrugs and continues to cry.
The three of us stand in a semi-circle, unsure as to what to do. Danielle sits motionless at the table.
Finally, I turn to Brielle.
“How long did you know?” I ask.
“Ever since I unpacked her bags the other day. I was going to keep this private, but…”
“You had no right to keep it private,” I say. I don’t know why I said that. When Brielle’s eyes grow big with astonishment and shock, I want to take those words back immediately, but I can’t.
“What are you talking about?” Brielle crosses her arms across her chest.
“Nothing,” I shrug.
“This wasn’t even her news to reveal! You bitch,” O hisses.
“Okay, I’ve had enough of this,” Brielle throws her hands up and turns to leave the room.
“Where are you going, darling?” Danielle walks after.
“I need to get out of here.”
Danielle follows her out leaving O and me alone in the room. I turn to her. I don’t know what to say. I want to yell at her for being so stupid. How could she just get pregnant like this with that moron’s baby? And is she planning on keeping it? What will our parents say?
But she looks at me with her large puppy dog eyes, and I can’t do any of those things. All I see is my sister and that she’s lost. Alone. Scared. Terrified, probably. I would be, and I wouldn’t even be the one who’s pregnant.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly. “Can I get you something?”
She shakes her head, no. She sits back down. I look her over, up and down. I look for signs of pregnancy, but there are none. Except that she didn’t drink this evening. Strange. I didn’t notice that before.
“I hate that girl,” she says. I sigh.
“You two just got off to a bad start. You came in here ordering her around. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I thought she was the fuckin’ help, Wyatt. How was I supposed to know that she’s your girlfriend? You said that she worked here.”
“She does. But that’s not all she is. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
She smiles. I don’t remember the last time I saw that beautiful smile. It puts me at ease.
“Tell me about it,” she says rubbing her non-existent belly.
I ask her about the father. At first, she doesn’t want to talk, but eventually she caves. They have been on and off for two years. This happened during one of the on-times.
“At least, he’s got money,” I say.
She shrugs. “I don’t care about the money.”
I look around the room. Frantically, as if I’m searching for something.
“What wrong?” she asks.
“I’m just looking for my sister. Because this girl in front of me who said that she doesn’t care about money, that can’t possibly be my sister!”
“Oh shut up,” O laughs. I’m glad that I’m still able to make her laugh. “I’ve grown up. I’m going to be a mom.”
“So I heard.”
“She had no right to tell you. That’s why I got so mad at her. That and my hormones are all out of whack now.”
“I know,” I nod. “But she did. So what? Do you want me to keep your secret for you?”
“Yes,” she nods. “I just can’t tell anyone else yet. I can’t have mom and dad finding out. Not before I decided what to do about all this.”
“Oh, so you’re not decided?” I ask.
“Don’t get so excited. I’m pretty sure I’m going to keep it. I just need some time. I’m not sure how to break it to them quite yet. I need time.”
I nod. I understand. Mom and Dad are difficult people to break things to. They have so many standards and rules. Plus, they are way too easily disappointed by their children. Whenever you present them with a new idea, it’s very important to have an answer for everything. And with this whole situation, they will eat her alive.
“Will you help me?” O asks. “Help me come up with a plan?”
I smile, nod. Not sure what kind of plan we can come up with, but some sort of plan would be better than nothing. I knew that for sure.
“You owe me,” she adds.
“Owe you for what?”
“For giving away a quarter of a million dollars to some strangers!” The tone of her voice shows that she’s joking, but not really.
“It was for a good cause.”
“Oh, please,” O rolls her eyes. “Good cause my ass. If that had been some guy with a humpback and his mother was dying, you wouldn’t give two shits about them.”
I roll my eyes. Shrug. Shake my head, no. But we both know that she’s right.
“Just tell me one thing, okay?”
“What?”
“Why her? What’s so special about her?”
I think about it for a moment. I want to say it’s because she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Or the funniest. Or the wittiest. But none of those things are true.
“She was the only one who sa
id no. A couple of times, too. And then, I just had to have her.”
O throws her head back and laughs. “You guys are all the same.”
I nod in agreement. Perhaps, we are.
“Okay, so? Now, that you had her? Was she worth it?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Yes, she was.” I would say that to O anyway, even if Brielle wasn’t worth it, but it’s not a lie. Everything in my body says that I’m right. That what we have has been right and good and perfect.
“So now that you know the truth, that Brielle and I are the real thing, you’re going to have to treat her a little better. A lot better.”
O laughs and rolls her eyes, but agrees.
* * *
Before leaving, Brielle’s mother stops by to bid us good-bye. I’m not sad to have her go, but I’m surprised that she’s leaving so soon. I invite her to stay half-heartedly, but she insists that she must go. Luke is waiting for her. She has a plane to catch out of LAX. Our goodbye is short. She thanks me again for the money and shakes my hand. She congratulates O on her pregnancy, tells her to not worry and call her at any time, if she has any concerns. O agrees and, by the tone of her voice, I know that she actually might. It’s odd how well O and Danielle connected. O isn’t one to make friends easily with other women. The closeness that I see between them reminds me of how far apart O is from our own mother. But then again, relationships between mothers and daughters are often difficult and treacherous. My mother barely spoke two words to my grandmother, and I have hardly anything to say to my father.
“What about Brielle? Should I call her down?” I ask.
“Oh no, there’s no need. We already said our goodbyes. It was a pleasure to meet you both!”
After Danielle leaves, I go upstairs to see Brielle. Something doesn’t feel right. I call her name going up the stairs, but she doesn’t reply. I say it again when I knock on her door. But again I hear back nothing.
“Brielle?” I ask opening the door. “Are you okay? Your mom just left.”
Her bags lay open on her bed. They are half full of clothes and she sits on her bed facing the window. She doesn’t turn around, but as I get closer, I can see that she has been crying. Her eyes are puffy. Her makeup is smeared and her cheeks are red.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She shakes her head, no. She opens her mouth to say something but gets choked up by her tears.
“Why are your bags out? Where are you going?”
She takes a moment to gather herself. She stands up and wipes away her tears. “I’m leaving,” she says.
“What!?” All air gets knocked out of me.
“I’m leaving,” she repeats herself quietly. “I can’t stay here anymore.”
“But why?”
“Ophelia’s pregnant. And now that you know, she needs you. My mom is going to be in
France for awhile, I’m going back home. You don’t need me here.”
I don’t understand anything she’s saying. “What does any of this, of us, have to do with O?”
“What does it have to do with O?” she yells. “Everything! She doesn’t want me here. She hates me. She wants me gone. And now that she’s going to stay here, I’m going to leave.”She breaks down as she yells, but then gathers her thoughts and continues. “Okay, listen. I’m sorry about yelling. But O is pregnant. And she needs you. And she wants me out.”
“I don’t care what O wants,” I shake my head. No, this can’t be happening.
“But I do. She’s going to stay here in her house. And I don’t need to be here.”
I search my mind for things I can say to make her stay.
“What about the debt?” I finally ask. I don’t want to bring it up, but nothing else comes to mind.
“What about it?” Brielle crosses her arms across her chest.
“We have an arrangement here. Don’t we?”
“Oh is that what this is about? You think that whatever job I was doing here is worth a quarter of a million dollars a year?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Well, in that case, I’m just going to get a real job and pay you back every cent from that.”
“That’s the last thing I want. You know that,” I say. “And that’s going to take forever, anyway.”
Brielle walks over to the closet and starts throwing clothes into her suitcase.
“How about this? Why don’t you just hire someone a little more compatible with your sister to be your servant around here. I bet she’ll like that.”
“Of course, she will!” I close the suitcase. I try to stop her from packing like a little child. I’m pathetic and stupid, and it’s all I can be right now. “But this, this thing between us, it has nothing to do with her. I thought that you liked being here. Liked spending time with me. Was I wrong?”
Brielle sighs deeply. “No, you weren’t.”
“So why are you leaving?”
“Because it’s all getting too much. It’s not just us here anymore. And I need some time to think about everything that has happened.”
I know there’s nothing else I can say or do to change her mind. I’m not here to keep her hostage. If she wants to leave, she has every right to. No matter how much it hurts me. In silence, I watch her pack her bag. She’s no longer tossing them into it mindlessly, she’s folding each one. Her mind is made up. All I can do now is let her go and see if she comes back to me.
Chapter 18 - Brielle
Two Weeks Later
* * *
Shorter days of the approaching winter descended upon my mom’s trailer, wrapping it in a dark cloud. In the past, this place was my space to be myself. It infused me with hope and made me feel as if everything was going to be okay. But not anymore.
I came back home to get back something I felt like I lost. My sense of myself. But this place was no longer my space for solace. It wasn’t home.
As I looked around these two rooms, everything was in its place. The pots and pans were in the bottom cupboard next to the stove. The plates were on the lower shelf near the stove. All utensils were in the broken drawer next to the sink. Mom had cleaned this place before she left, and it was the cleanest I’ve ever seen it. But that wasn’t why everything felt different.
Mom’s not here anymore, I remember saying to myself. This place is all mine for a while. It’s okay to make it my own.
But these words rang hollow. The person who came back here was a stranger. Her mother was now marrying some rich Swiss guy who she’s never met. She was falling in love with a spoiled billionaire who was a little too used to buying everything he ever wanted. And beyond all that, she, Brielle Cole, was also a stranger. She didn’t know who she was. She didn’t know what she was meant to do here. She didn’t know why she left or why she came back home.
Leaving that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I have been sitting around my mom’s trailer for days now, doing nothing, and feeling no better about what had happened. Thinking back now, I don’t even know what the hell propelled me to leave. On one hand, it was Ophelia. Her cruelty and attitude and hatred for everything that I was. But, on the other hand, it was more than just Ophelia.
It was my mom’s sudden announcement and her ability to just move on with her life. I’ve never seen my mom act that way. For as long as I’ve ever known her, she has been dwelling and living in the past. It’s as if the present didn’t exist. All that existed was her life back then, even before her cancer diagnosis…when my sister was still alive. I’ve spent years trying to get her to move on with her life. To embrace what life had to offer. And now that she has, finally, Idon’t know what to do with myself. I’m angry at her. I’m pissed off. How dare she move on? How dare she be happy?
Agh, what a petulant and spoiled brat I am! I hate myself for these thoughts, and yet it is beyond me to make them stop. They’re like a streaming video that I can’t turn off. They simply come without an invitation and continue until they are done.
When I finally do ge
t a quiet second, my thoughts turn to other things. Wyatt.
Why did I run out on him like that? Because of Ophelia, but she wasn’t the only reason. She was only a pretense.
I’m also angry. I started to pack my bags for one reason. I was angry with my mom, and I wanted to stop her. I wanted to beg her to stay. But then when I’d realized that that was impossible, I needed to keep going. My anger at her morphed into something else completely. It became anger at Ophelia and, eventually, anger with Wyatt. Why didn’t he defend me more to Ophelia? Why didn’t he take my side? I didn’t care that I was wrong. That I acted like a child, telling everyone the secret that I had no right to tell anyone.
I could’ve used that secret to connect with O. I could’ve told just her and I could’ve opened myself up to be her confidant. I could’ve kept her secret, and she would’ve thanked me for it. But instead, I did something else. I acted like a brat. I thought that he would be mad at her, but why would he be? She’s his sister, and he loves her. He wants her in his life. He’s going to be there for her.
“Fuck you, Wyatt,” I mutter. It has been more than two weeks since I left, but my anger at him and myself has only multiplied. “No, Fuck you, Brielle.”
I’m hungrier than usual. I open the refrigerator and eat a cold slice of last night’s pizza. Nothing too nutritious can satisfy my hunger now.
That fateful night when I decided to leave runs over and over in my head. And then an unexpected thought hits me.
I’m afraid.
There. I finally thought those words out loud. The next step is to say it out loud.
“I’m afraid. I was afraid,” I say. But of what? Of being happy. Of fighting for what I wanted. For staying with Wyatt and seeing where our relationship can go.
“And what relationship is that?” I’m now talking to myself. “You had sex a few times, so what? That hardly constitutes a relationship. Lots of people have sex without much of a relationship. I’m sure that Wyatt has had sex plenty without being in any relationship.”
I say those words out loud, partly because I feel like I have to and partly because I want to make them true. But they aren’t. We didn’t label it or define it, but what Wyatt and I had, had been a relationship. At least the beginning of one. And that was worth a lot. To both him and I.
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