Later that day, when Mom confronted him, Dad didn’t even put up a fight. He didn’t beg for forgiveness or tell Mom it was all a sordid mistake.
Instead, he turned righteous, with an attitude of relief. “I want a divorce,” he told her.
“Are you in love with her?” Mom’s voice was raw from tears.
“Yes,” he said unapologetically. Then he twisted the knife, skewering Mom with a dull blade. “I don’t love you anymore.”
That night, I found a liquor bottle lying next to Mom’s bed, and when she woke in the morning, I was by her side. She stared at me with bleary eyes, unable to remember what she’d done the night before. And every night after that, it was more of the same.
Mom became lonely, depressed, bitter. The divorce was her private black hole, sucking in every ounce of her energy.
And while Mom’s life was extinguished, Dad’s took off. He thrived. I soon found out that he had a son with this woman and he’d bought her a house three years before.
For three years, he’d been living with us, pretending he was a dedicated father and husband, while all along he had this other family on the side.
At the time I found out, everything just felt sort of strange and warped, like some weird crack in reality had occurred and I’d stepped into an alternate universe where things as I knew them were not what they seemed.
It felt as if the past fourteen years of my life were unraveling like cheap yarn.
Dad had lied to Mom. He had lied to me. I felt like I had to reexamine everything I’d been told. Everything I ever knew about him.
All of a sudden, I had no idea who this man I called Dad really was.
All of a sudden, this kindhearted man who was my champion, who cared so deeply about me, who comforted me when I cried, who coached me all through Little League, and loved me so unconditionally… he became cold, distant, indifferent.
He became a stranger.
Mom called him a masterly puppeteer, but I knew deep down she still loved him. I never stopped loving him either. I waited. I hoped. I prayed.
But Dad never came back.
Months later, I was at the mall with my friends and I saw him walk past with a woman. The other woman. She was young, in her early twenties. Though she had her youth going for her, she couldn’t hold a candle next to my mom.
Mom was strikingly gorgeous, heart-stopping beautiful. She had an enigmatic presence that brought to mind the classic beauties of the Old Hollywood era. Grace Kelly. Audrey Hepburn. Sophia Loren. Lauren Bacall.
Back then, when Mom wasn’t a drunken mess, she was an amalgam of all those iconic women.
This rail-thin woman walking alongside my dad was just plain. Ordinary.
With her stick-insect figure and so much makeup caked on her face, she looked like a praying mantis that flew into a jar of foundation.
My first thought was, Dad left Mom for HER?!?
I know, I know. It was a low blow, and there were no lows to which I didn’t sink to at the time.
I had a lot of anger inside me. Anger at myself. Anger at my dad.
I was angry that I wasn’t enough for him. I was angry that we weren’t enough for him.
But what made me even angrier was seeing how happy Dad looked with his new family.
He was carrying a freckle-faced boy in his arms, beaming like a proud father.
“Dad,” I called to him with a confidence I wasn’t feeling, but he kept on walking, acting as if he hadn’t heard me. It was Black Friday and the mall was packed with holiday shoppers, so maybe he couldn’t hear me.
Even so, my heart broke that day. As I stood watching my dad disappear into the crowd, I knew then I’d lost that special place in his heart.
It had been replaced by his new son and his new mistress.
Suddenly, Mom snorted loudly in her sleep, bringing me back to the present.
Then out of nowhere, she began mumbling a string of curses, as she often did when she was wasted. “Fuck off, insurance company!” came her slurring voice. “You massive, swindling, fuckhead cunts!” Seconds later, she was murmuring gibberish. “My body is a spacesuit. My body is a spacesuit that my brain made. My body is a spacesuit that Buzz Light Beer made. Buzzzzzzz.” Her slurring voice trailed off.
I watched her for a time, wondering if she would wake. There was a long moment of silence. Then her heavy breathing resumed.
I sighed. Mom was never the same after Dad left us.
Even after I became aware of her addiction, I kind of brushed it off.
But gradually, it became too bad to ignore. By then, Mom was no longer a high-functioning alcoholic. She was just an alcoholic who couldn’t hold down a job. She couldn’t take care of anyone, let alone herself.
“Where are you, Mom?” I whispered softly. I knew she was in there somewhere. Beneath the layers of booze, pain, and heartache, she was in there somewhere.
I took a deep breath and exhaled until my lungs were empty. That girl that used to be me was in there somewhere, too, buried deeper than Pompeii.
But I no longer knew how to find her.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but when I looked at the TV, Letterman was wrapping up his monologue. With a weary sigh, I reached for a blanket and tucked it around Mom’s shoulders. Then I turned off the TV and switched off the lights. As I turned to start for the stairs, my phone beeped in my hand.
I glanced at the display. It was another text from Julian.
I felt like listening to some straight hood shit… so Taylor Swift is playing on my iPod.
I tamped down my desire to laugh. Afterward, as I crawled into bed, I scrolled through the playlist on my iPhone and selected Taylor Swift’s latest album. As the hauntingly sweet melodies of Wildest Dreams began wafting through my room, I reclined against the pillows and began thumbing in a text to Julian.
About to fall asleep listening to some Taylor Swift. Welcome to my thug life.
Barely two seconds later, my phone beeped.
Goodnight. I’ll catch you in my dreams ;)
For some inexplicable reason, as I lay in bed drifting off to sleep, I felt a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
Chapter Nine
“So what do you think of the XE campaign I’ve been working on?” I asked. “You can be honest with me.”
Sadie sat forward, leaning her elbows on the table. “You’re serious about using Gigi Malik in both the print and TV ads?”
“I am. I feel the XE brand can’t simply sell clothing to young women anymore. It has to sell a mission, a purpose for why it exists.”
Her eyes narrowed in thought, her soft lips parting in concentration.
I liked that about her, the way she mulled ideas over in her head. “And you feel Gigi Malik should be the face of the brand?”
“I do.” Gigi Malik was a former reality star who, much like Lauren Conrad, had gone on to build a successful enterprise of her own.
Sadie lifted her cup and took a long sip before answering. “I think you’re going in the right direction with Gigi. She’s the CEO of her own company and she understands that a successful enterprise can’t just run on fame. And I like her. I like how she exists as a person outside of her relationships. I like how she empowers young women to step up as leaders.” She tilted her head, and the look she gave me was long and considering. “Empowerment. I think that’s the next big shift in marketing to consumers.”
“Empowerment marketing?”
“Yeah, you know, going deeper than the product and appealing to the higher needs of esteem and self-actualization. Inspiring consumers to be their best selves, and they in turn will support the brands that share their beliefs.”
Her words gave me pause. And it definitely gave me something to think over.
Our waitress appeared at my side and smiled. “More coffee?” she asked.
“Nah.” I smiled my thanks. “I’m good.”
“I’m good, too,” Sadie told her. “Thank you.”
After the
waitress left, I produced a box from under my chair.
As I slid it across the table, Sadie looked at me with wide, inquiring eyes. “What is this?”
“It’s for you.”
She stared at the box. “But what is it?”
“A care package.”
“A care package?” Her surprise showed in her voice. “Why’d you get me a care package? I’m not overseas. I’m not deployed.”
“Well…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I can tell you’re not having a great week, so I figured you could use a care package.”
With her being a single mom, I imagined it couldn’t be easy pulling double duty at home while juggling the demands of her job at the office.
She was the mom, the dad, the breadwinner, and she had no one to help carry the load.
Her pretty blue eyes sparkled as she sifted through the pile of goodies: Reese’s peanut butter cups, packs of Oreo cookies, tubs of gummy bears, and boxes of Fruity Pebbles. Then she lifted her gaze, true delight shining in her eyes. “But how do you know these are my favorite?”
“Your frozen yogurt toppings,” I said. “I paid attention.”
For once, she seemed at a loss for words.
“It’s no big deal, really.” I forced a casual shrug. “I do this for all my friends.”
“Oh really?” She lifted a skeptical brow.
“Uh-huh.” I repaid her cynical gesture with an arched brow of my own. “Why? You don’t believe me?”
She folded her arms across her chest and regarded me evenly. “So you give care packages to Tim Pulaski, too?”
“Nah. Tim’s not my friend.” I raised my cup and drained the rest of my lukewarm coffee. “You are.”
At least that’s what I thought we were. Friends.
We’d definitely come a long way since that first frosty day when she refused to even go out with me. She still refused to do lunch, but we did have coffee and the occasional frozen yogurt. And we texted each other pretty often.
But no dates. She said no every time I asked her.
She amused me and aroused me, yet she wanted nothing from me except my friendship. And I was okay with that for now.
I enjoyed Sadie, her quick wit, her dry sense of humor.
I admired her strong sense of self, how she always demanded high standards both of herself and those with whom she surrounded herself.
She made me think, she made me laugh, she made me wild with desire. And I preferred her company to any other woman I’d spent time with.
We could talk about work with ease, and I liked picking her brains. Her feedback was usually spot on and insightful, as it was today.
And I enjoyed getting to know her as a person. As a friend, though she still had the damnedest effect on me.
The sexual attraction between us was smoking hot, yet it wasn’t only that.
Beneath all that kindling desire, I felt a tender, emotional connection to her.
I cared for her more than I let myself care for any woman in a long while.
Meanwhile, Sadie opened her mouth as if she planned to say something, but paused when her cell phone rang.
She glanced at the incoming number before answering. “Yes, this is.” A short pause while she listened. “Yes, thank you for confirming.”
After she hung up, she seemed to space out. Physically, she was right in front of me, but emotionally, she was miles away.
A tense silence coalesced around us.
My gaze roamed her face, trying to read her thoughts. “You were saying?” I spoke into the silence.
“Oh, yeah,” she murmured, slowly coming back to the present. “I just wanted to thank you for this care package.” A genuine smile curved her lips. “It’s really thoughtful of you.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it.”
“I’ve…” She expelled a tired breath and all her strength seemed to leave her. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”
I searched her eyes. “Care to share?”
She gave me a vague smile and looked at me long and hard. “No,” she said at last, retreating into politeness. “Just some personal issues I’m dealing with.”
I waited.
“Sorry.” The calm in her voice was strained around the edges. “I really wish I was in a better mood.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I caught and held her gaze. “Sometimes you just gotta feel what you feel.”
I’d been there before. And I knew that in this moment, she didn’t need to pour her heart out to me if she didn’t want to. She didn’t need my advice, and she certainly didn’t need to be told how to feel.
She just needed to be witnessed.
Chapter Ten
A chill flitted across my skin, as if someone had just walked over my grave.
Soon the cold began to set in, seeping deep into my marrows.
My body shivered as an icy trickle of dread began to spread across my limbs.
Images flashed through my mind.
A children’s hospital.
A departing stretcher being wheeled to the Emergency Room.
Nurses and doctors lifting an unconscious Evan onto the operating table.
The walls of the room drawing closer and closer.
My heart seized in my chest.
“No!” I screamed, running, tripping, and clawing my way toward my son. “No!”
My own scream woke me. I lay there panting, my heart racing against my chest.
It’s only a nightmare, I told myself. It’s not real. It’s not real.
Still, my mind was spinning blindly in a panic and fear roiled inside me.
Needing to be certain Evan was okay, I snapped the sheets aside, slipped out of bed, and padded to his room.
There I found my son in a deep slumber, sleeping the sleep of a thousand martyrs.
Exhaling hard, I sank into a crouch beside him and rested my head next to his pillow, just happy to hear him breathe.
That night, I did not leave his side and sleep was a long time coming.
The morning brought little relief. In a daze, I went through all the motions of working, but my mind was elsewhere. Evan’s doctor’s appointment was today, his six-month cardiology checkup. And I was feeling exceedingly anxious.
I shouldn’t even have been here in the office, but I had to prepare some last-minute proposals for one of my high-profile clients.
Though I tried to focus, my mind kept straying to other things, bouncing from past to present.
I kept remembering all the open-heart surgeries Evan had to endure when he was just a baby, the glazed look of pain in his eyes.
With all his difficult heart procedures, Evan had been through more in the last six years than most ever did in their lifetime.
There was no cure for his congenital heart defect, and someday he would need a heart transplant.
But not today, I told myself. Not today.
And yet I couldn’t stop thinking of that frightening dream last night.
That image flashed across my mind again: Doctors and nurses lifting an unconscious Evan onto the operating table.
It was making me claustrophobic, as if the walls of my office were drawing closer and closer, pressing down on my chest until it was hard to even breathe.
That dream had felt so real. Too real.
Would the doctor find something wrong at Evan’s checkup today?
The thought was too terrifying to contemplate, so I simply shoved it away.
But it kept coming back to me. Again and again.
After a while, the stress owned virtually all of my thoughts.
Tears pricked my eyes and I struggled to hold them back. I wanted to put my head between my knees, but I was worried that if I moved or closed my eyes or did anything, I’d start to unravel.
“Morning, Sadie.” Julian grabbed one of the swivel chairs and swung a long leg around to straddle it backward. “We still on for coffee today?”
“I’m busy,” I replied, keeping my gaze downcast.
&nbs
p; I wished he’d stop looking at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking, what I was feeling. It unnerved me.
Blinking back the stinging tears, I picked up a folder then set it down, reached for it again, knocked over a bottle of Evian water, then righted it with trembling fingers.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
For one sharp moment, I teetered on the edge of telling him everything, but the words seemed to clot in my mouth.
It was just a dream, a feeling, an intuition. He wouldn’t understand.
So I tried to cover my frazzled state with a quick answer. “I’m fine!” I snapped.
We both knew I was lying.
The tears that had been threatening to overflow finally did, coursing down my cheeks.
“Hey.” He stood and slowly approached my desk. “What’s wrong, Sadie? Can I get you anything?”
I bit back a sigh. I could have done without this. Not today.
Seriously, I had way too much on my mind.
I swiped the tears away and glared at him. “I told you, I’m fine!”
“Are you really?” He touched me gently under the chin, pulling my head up so that I was forced to look at him. Concern was etched on his face and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid me.
“Yes, really,” I shot back. “And I’d be doing a whole lot better if you’d quit asking me if everything is okay. Everything is just fine!”
“Sorry.” His gaze softened. “I’m worried about you, and I just want to make sure you’re all right.” He was silent for a moment. “That’s all.”
“Oh, yeah?” My voice was low and filled with anger that had little to do with him. “Is that all you’ve been doing this past month? In case you haven’t read the employee handbook, sexual harassment in the workplace is a crime.”
He stiffened and backed up a step. For a long moment, he simply stared at me in stony silence, his once expressive eyes now hard, cold, and vacant of any energy that used to define them. Finally, he spoke. “Flirting and sexual harassment are not the same thing.”
I sucked in a shallow breath. “If I don’t welcome it, and say so verbally and through my body language, and yet the flirting continues, then it becomes harassment.” Even as the words left my mouth, they tasted like lies. And my tone carried a trace of accusation, which I regretted but couldn’t control.
Julian's Pursuit Page 7
