The Billionaire Bull

by Romi Hart

  Joseph shrugged his shoulders. It surprised and hurt me that Jasmine hadn’t mentioned me at all to her brother. I was a deep dark secret to everyone in her life.

  Jasmine stood next to me, her eyes averted and quiet tears rolling down her face. Joseph leaned against the door jam, silently witnessing the scene. As defiantly as I could muster, I said, “My name is Alex Cantrell. I am Jasmine’s boyfriend.”

  Jose searched our faces angrily before settling his eyes on a whimpering Jasmine. “Is this true, Jasmine?”

  Jasmine wouldn’t look her father directly in the face, only nodding and crying.

  Jose menacingly stabbed his finger at me. “Get out of my house!” He pointed at Jasmine. His eyes were sharp knives slashing through her. “Go up to your room. Since you’re not really sick, you can go to work and help out.”

  Jasmine’s voice was brittle and frail. “Dad, I can explain.”

  “I’ve heard enough from you. While you were out having fun, your brother picked up your slack. Look at him!” Jose pointed at Joseph, who looked down at his feet. Jasmine’s little brother looked drained, a zombie barely alive on his feet.

  Jasmine burst into a high-pitched wail. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry, Joseph.”

  I grabbed Jasmine’s hand. “You’re coming with me.” Her hand felt limp and wilted in mine. Not the same energetic willful hand I was used to holding.

  Jose stomped around his desk. That finger of his was out again cocked like a pistol aimed right at me. “Get out my house! I am calling the police!”

  Jasmine wrung her hand from mine. “Alex, you should leave.” She covered her face with her hands, heaving deep sobs into them.

  I took her hand away from her face. “No, go get your things. You’re coming home with me.” Looking right at Jose, in the coldest tone I could make, I continued, “You’re quitting the restaurant.”

  Jose’s eyes lit up in rage and he stepped toward me, his hands curled into stalwart fists. “How dare you come into my house? How dare you tell my daughter what to do? This is our family.”

  Jasmine flung my hand away. “I can’t come with you. I can’t just quit the restaurant.” Tears fell from her face in droves. Turning her head away from me, she sobbed even harder. I could barely understand her. “Alex, you need to leave.”

  My heart splintered in my chest. “I’m not leaving without you.” Jasmine shook her head in frustration.

  “Get out! My daughter just told you to get out!” Jose roared, barreling toward me.

  Joseph swiftly stepped in between us. Jose’s teeth were bared in a frenzied rage. Turning to me, Joseph calmly held up an open palm to me, a sign of peace. “Please leave.”

  My head swiveled to Jasmine, who looked right into my eyes this time. Her voice was above a whisper. “I’m sorry, Alex. Please go.”

  Her words hewed me in two. In a daze, I stumbled out of the Fontaine house, feeling injured and defeated. I made my way through the den, into the hallway, and past their front room, where a large family portrait hung proudly.

  Jasmine, probably six years old at the time, looked adorable in a pink frilly dress and a giant bow in her hair. Joseph had on a bow tie and a little suit. Their parents, Jose and his wife, stood behind them smiling. Jasmine's mother looked so much like her: the emerald eyes, the petite nose, the lovely cheekbones.

  What struck me the most about the family portrait was Jose. He was younger and had more hair, but that wasn’t it. He looked happy. His mouth was spread out into a beaming smile. The entire family’s smiles were bright and cheery.

  On my way to my Rover, I wondered what it was like for each Fontaine member to wake up every morning to a picture of a reality that no longer existed. To see a mother and a wife who had vanished.

  What could that do to someone? Why hadn’t they taken it down? When were the Fontaines going to let go and move on?

  I hesitated before backing out of the driveway, hoping Jasmine would burst out of the door and jump in my car. After a few minutes, I gave up, worrying that Jose would see me out there still in the driveway and call the police. With a dull ache in my chest, I drove away, already missing the woman I loved and trying to push away doubt that she really loved me back.

  Jasmine

  When Alex left, my father was too disgusted to talk to me. He directed everything he wanted to say to my brother. “Joseph, tell your sister, I forbid her to see that boy again.”

  Joseph looked at me apologetically, shrugging his shoulders. My father’s eyes burned past me. “Joseph, I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  “Dad, I can work today too,” I pleaded, hoping he would talk to me.

  My father turned away from me. He looked out of the giant windows behind his desk with his hands squarely on his hips. Talking over his shoulder to Joseph, he said icily “Son, tell your sister, she won’t be needed today.” He paused, watching his oxen grazing in the paddock. “We’ll be fine without her.”

  My father’s words stung me, piercing into my heart. I ran up to my room and sobbed into my pillow, muffling my cries.

  What did Alex think he would accomplish by charging up to my father? He was as bullheaded as my dad.

  I screamed one last painful cry into my pillow before forcing myself to stop. Crying all day would not resolve any of my problems. Crying would not fix my broken relationships with my dad, my brother, and Alex.

  Refusing to listen to my father, I was determined to go to work that day.

  I dressed for work, pushing back tears. In the mirror, my face was swollen and puffy from sobbing so much. Everyone at work would know I had been crying, but I didn’t care. My desire to prove to my dad and brother that they could count on me meant more to me than the restaurant gossip that would ensue.

  When I was dressed, I knocked on Joseph’s door. “I’m riding in to work with you,” I said softly through the door.

  Joseph opened his bedroom door. He was dressed with his keys in hand. Looking unsure, he mumbled, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea you come in today.”

  “Maybe not, but I can’t stay home and not help out at the restaurant.” Looking past my brother into his room, I noticed clothes piled in a corner and an assortment of energy drinks, Red Bulls and Monsters, scattered on the floor. My brother was normally a neat and tidy person. The unkempt appearance of his room surprised me.

  Joseph pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about that guy?” He looked betrayed.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to tell you.”

  “I get it.” He shrugged my hand away. “You’ve never had a boyfriend. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks.” Joseph was being sincere, making me feel terrible. “I’ve made a mess of everything with Dad.”

  Joseph looked grim, avoiding the subject of my father. He sighed. “You ready? I’m leaving here in about five.”

  We heard my father’s car door slam and his Escalade roar down the driveway. His car even sounded pissed.

  We listened to the growling hum of the engine until it was gone. I looked at my brother with an earnest look. "I'm ready."

  At the restaurant, my dad avoided me the entire day. I couldn’t face him anyway. If he would have said anything to me, even if it was just to chop onions, I would have erupted into an avalanche of tears.

  His look of disappointment in his den shook me down into my bones. My father rarely said it, but I knew he was always proud of me for my work ethic and devotion to the family. When I graduated valedictorian from Ocala High, it was one of the few times he said outright how proud he was of me.

  “You are smart, Jasmine, just like your mother,” he said with pride and a tinge of sadness.

  Even though Joseph said he forgave me for lying to him, underneath our interactions, something was off. My brother had sacrificed to allow me the time away from the restaurant to go to school. If it wasn’t for his encouragement, I wouldn’t have gone to UF at all. I owed him so much.

  And what about h
is dreams? His life? Joseph deserved the freedom to make his own life choices just as much as I did.

  Throughout the day and into the night, I’d steal glances at my dad and brother, who were hard at work in the kitchen. We were a team, a strong unit. All we had was each other, but I had deceived them both.

  Joseph and I got home from work at four in the morning. Closing work took longer than usual that night because I needed to catch up on the managerial tasks Joseph couldn’t get to the night before when I’d been at Alex’s place.

  When I showered and was in bed, I called Alex. It was late, but I had to talk to him. He picked up after a few rings with a groggy voice. “Hello?”

  “Alex, I’m so sorry.” I kept my voice low, gripping my iPhone tightly to my ear.

  “Why are you speaking so softly? So your father won’t hear?” Alex asked irritated.

  I sighed in frustration. “Yes.” There was no use in dancing around the truth. “He doesn’t want me to see you again.”

  Alex was cold and distant. “Obviously.”

  I could feel Alex slipping away from me. “Alex, it doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other. We can go back to the way things were. Seeing each other together every day. Our lunch dates?”

  “I see you for only an hour a day, Jasmine. An hour. And the weekends? Forget about it. I might not even see you at all, depending on your work schedule.”

  I pleaded with urgency. “I’ll try to fit you in more on the weekends when I can. I promise.”

  "Fit me in? Do you hear yourself? I need more. I love you. I want to see you more. I want you to be more, a part of my life. I want you to meet my family, but what should I do? Have my parents and my sisters come down to the campus at lunchtime?" He inhaled deeply and exhaled raggedly in defeat. "It kills me to miss you this much all the time."

  My heart dropped into my stomach. I was touched and pained at the same time. “I miss you too.”

  “Then give me more. Be my real girlfriend. Love me,” he pleaded.

  I protested, “I do love you.”

  “How do I know you really love me if you won’t tell anyone about me. It hurts to be your dirty secret.”

  “It’s not like that, Alex.”

  “How can I be sure?” I didn’t know what I could say to convince him. Silence filled the line.

  Alex sighed. “I have a game tomorrow at one. I hope you will come. After the game, I want to spend the night together.”

  “I’m not sure I can pull that off, Alex.”

  “I’m not sure we can be together then.” We were silent for a few moments before Alex yawned. “I’ve got to get to sleep. Good night, Jasmine.”

  I didn’t want to let him go, but I whispered, “Good night, Alex.”

  After Alex and I hung up, I couldn’t sleep. Restless, I pulled my laptop onto my bed. I first googled my mother on my 17th birthday. Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me, a simple Google search could reveal her whereabouts.

  My search was unsuccessful at first. I scoured through the search results looking for my mother. Clicking on links about a Natalie Fontaine who was a professional tennis player. A Natalie Fontaine that worked for the mayor's office in Portland, Maine. So many other Natalie Fontaine's, but not my mother.

  A week later, I googled my mother's maiden name, Natalie Gardner. She was the first link I clicked on. The link brought me to the current list of Ph.D. students at Columbia University. The paragraph bio of my mother informed me that she was an art history doctoral student.

  Her research focused on food, drink, and Xenia, the ancient Greek concept of hospitality, as depicted in Homeric art. I stared at the small thumbnail photograph of her. She looked to be walking on a busy street somewhere, smiling and looking over her shoulder mid-stride, as if someone special in her life had caught her on a leisurely stroll. I wondered who that special someone was.

  It had been a few years since I’d searched for my mother again. I typed my mother’s name into the Google search bar: Natalie Gardner. It was odd to me that my mother had re-assumed her maiden name, even though my parents were not officially divorced.

  When were my parents ever going to officially divorce each other? How could my dad every really move on without severing their marriage for good?

  The search results revealed my mother was a faculty member in the art history department at Northwestern. I followed a link to her biography page that detailed her past work and a long list of publications. Reading the bio, I learned my mother had participated in excavations in Turkey, Greece, and Germany. She was a member of The Archaeological Society at Athens and The American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

  I tried to imagine my mother in Athens, Greece, but I couldn’t. I had never been to Athens and I no longer knew my mother. Her photograph, a little bigger than her doctoral student one, showed her smiling against a backdrop of jagged rocks. I could only guess this was taken somewhere in Greece.

  Her bio page included contact information: a telephone number, email, and even her office’s address. Through the years, there were many times where I wondered what a mother’s advice would be, not particularly my mother, just any mother in general.

  I loved Alex, but I also loved my family, my dad and my brother. There was no need to wonder what advice my mother would have given me if she was here. I was certain she would tell me to leave, quit the family and the restaurant as she had done, and never look back.

  My mind wandered to Rebecca and Laney and their mother and daughter relationship. Rebecca and my mother met at UF when they were undergrads. Despite studying different majors, they’d naturally been drawn to each other since they were both mothers going back to school for their degrees.

  When my mother left, Rebecca attempted to reach out to me and offer a motherly shoulder, but I was precocious enough to politely rebuff her kindness, preferring to embrace motherlessness as soon as possible.

  Rebecca was surely crushed when Laney transferred to Cal, but she wanted her daughter to be happy. She supported Laney’s decision and even threw a huge going away party for her. Eating cake on their patio, I remembered the look on Rebecca’s face: happiness, pride, and sadness mixed into one. She hugged her daughter fiercely with tears in her eyes. Admittedly, I was jealous. I ate three pieces of cake that night.

  When I woke the next morning, I made a quick call before hopping in the shower. The phone rang for five rings before she answered.

  “Rebecca. Hi. This is Jasmine. Can you meet me for coffee today?”

  Alex

  My mind drifted during the game against Wake Forest. I couldn’t stop myself from searching the stands for Jasmine’s face.

  Where was she? What if she didn’t show? What if I never saw her again?

  Luckily, Wake Forest wasn’t a very strong team. We were leading 3-0 with little to no help from me. I had a wide open shot with no one on me, but I foolishly went for the goal with too much power. To my horror, the ball went completely over the goal. Wake Forest’s goalkeeper shrugged but fist pumped in happiness all at the same.

  Ronnie jogged over to me afterward. He wiped sweat from his face with his wrist. “Alex, you okay?”

  I shook my head from missing such a ridiculously easy shot. “I’m okay. I just can’t focus.” My soccer tots could have made that shot blindfolded without shoes and a nap. A shot like that would most likely end up on a humiliating reel on YouTube titled ‘Top Open Goals Missed in History.’

  Ronnie looked over to the stands. “She’s not here?”

  After another quick scan of the crowd, I sighed. “Nah. She’s not here.”

  My friend quickly patted me on the back. “I’m sorry, man.”

  Regret sweltered inside me. I’d given Jasmine an ultimatum. I was being as pushy and stubborn as Jose. She wasn’t going to show, and it was my fault.

  All I wanted to do was think about something else. When Ronnie sent me the ball, I guarded it with care, relieved to have the chance to vindicate my absurd missed shot min
utes before. I broke free from Wake Forest player, Roger Franks, and skirted around their goalkeeper before shooting the ball at a sharp angle into the right side of the net.

  I leapt into the air with my arms raised defiantly, once again searching the stands for Jasmine’s pretty face. Distracted by my disappointment she wasn’t there, I landed stupidly at a bad angle on my ankle. Next thing I knew, my chin landed in the grass. The crowd’s cheers hushed into murmuring concern.

  Clutching my ankle, I cringed, thinking about how this shot would be in another YouTube video. This one titled, ‘Soccer Player Injures Self in Victory Leap.’ The soccer medics ran onto the field and hoisted me up on the stretcher. I covered my face with my arm, not out of pain, but sheer embarrassment.

  For a moment, I was actually glad Jasmine wasn’t there to see my bungled footwork. The medics carried me into the locker room where our team doctor, Dr. Patel, stood by ready to treat me. I hobbled onto the exam table.

  Dr. Patel rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He was always dressed impeccably and never had a hair out of place. Leaning down, he examined my painful ankle.