Jared didn’t reply. The air between us had become tense and uneasy, and I swallowed.
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m ... I’m just so damn worked up about all of this,” I said. “Seeing him today was really upsetting, and I just don’t know how to handle myself right now. It’s been so many years that I actually thought I’d never see him again and I’d convinced myself of that and ...” I trailed off, slumping against the back of the couch with defeat in my heart.
“He was the love of my life,” I said softly. “And he hurt me so fucking much that I’m just done. Done with him. Done with love. And nothing can ever change that.”
My heart was thudding dully in my chest as I finished the last of my sangria and set the empty glass down on the coffee table. There was still a lot of food left from the bodega, but for once in my life I wasn’t hungry. The only thing I could concentrate on was the pain, the intense heartbreak that I was feeling. The familiar was hauntingly familiar – it reminded me of how I’d felt when Ben had first left – and I sniffled as Jared reached over and patted me on the shoulder.
“It’ll get easier,” Jared said.
“No, it won’t,” I said softly. “But I’ll get through it. I have to get through it. For Olive. She doesn’t deserve to see her mother moping and crying. She’s so sensitive – it really upsets her when I’m in a bad mood.”
Jared didn’t say anything and I sighed and closed my eyes. Imprinted on my mind was a photorealistic image of Ben, looking exactly how he’d looked the other day. Those intense, sapphire eyes. His dark hair, shorter than I remembered. His strong jaw.
His hands, and how they’d felt against mine.
A shiver ran down my spine and despite the pain and heartbreak and anger that I was feeling, a wave of arousal passed through my body. That made me angriest of all – it was like my own body was betraying me to Benjamin. I hated how looking at him made the memories of our most torrid nights come rushing back.
Back when Benjamin and I had been together, I’d loved the way that he had made me feel. Like a sexy, confident, tough woman who could do anything. He saw past my fat, past my abrasiveness, past all of the things that I thought had made me unlovable.
But that was all over now.
And now, I hated the way that he made me feel.
12
Benjamin
Seeing Jessie again, up close and personal, had been devastating. She had looked beautiful – that wasn’t it. As gorgeous and curvy and happy as ever, at least until she saw me.
There had been a look in her big brown eyes that had broken my heart. Before, when Jess and I had been younger, she had always looked at me with laughter and light on her face.
Now, there was no trace of that. It made her look older and sadder, almost like a completely different person. The pain and heartbreak in her eyes had been so obvious that it nearly gutted me. I hadn’t meant to reach out and touch her, not without her consent, but seeing the wounded, broken look in her eyes had hurt me so deeply that I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
And the feel of her smooth, soft skin on mine, even for just a brief moment, had been so wonderful. I hadn’t known how much I had truly missed Jessie until I had touched her. A spark had sizzled between us, a flame had begun to grow.
She’d extinguished it when she’d yanked her hands back and run away, but I still had to hold onto a shred of hope that someday, Jessie would hear me out.
Since that day, I almost felt crazy. I wondered if what I was doing was wrong. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have said yes. But no one on earth had experienced the kind of intense, intoxicating love that Jessie and I had shared years ago and I knew that if I didn’t give it another try, I would spend the rest of my like regretting everything.
After seeing Jessie – and that heartbreaking pain in her big eyes – I got blackout drunk in my living room. It was disgusting, and I hated myself for doing it even as I was slamming back shot after shot of Jack Daniels, but I had to do something. Something big, something that would distract me so much that I would forget all about Jessie and how much pain and hurt I had caused her.
All this time, I had justified my decision with the knowledge that Jessie was the one who had always supported me and loved me. Jessie was the one who was proud of me, the person who I wanted to do right by.
But obviously, I had just been lying to myself. Jessie had been so hurt that she’d started her life over, with a new man and a child, and now seeing me had clearly ripped the band-aid off her old wounds. Knowing that I’d hurt her so badly – and worse, knowing that seeing me had hurt her again – made me want to turn my ass around and head right back to the Somalian coast.
Pirates?
They aren’t shit, at least not compared to seeing your old girlfriend and knowing that you ruined her life.
Predictably, I woke up the next morning with a real whopper of a hangover. There were six missed calls from Margot on my phone, and I groaned when I began reading her texts.
Mom called. Asking about U. go see her and dad, k?
Ok real mature, not answering me. Are u 10??
Mom called AGAIN!!! Dude she’s driving me crazy fuckin call her pls
Benny are you ok?
With a sigh, I got to my feet and walked into the bathroom. After gulping down four ibuprofen and a glass of tepid, lukewarm water from the ‘cold’ tap, I splashed my face in the sink. The water alone seemed to have a restorative effect on my system and it was so refreshing that I did it again, lowering my face to the faucet and closing my eyes. By the time my phone buzzed in my pocket, I was feeling almost human again. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then narrowed my eyes at the screen before swiping open the call.
“Hello,” I said.
On the other end of the line, my mother laughed stiffly.
“That’s a bit formal for your mother, don’t you think,” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Have you spoken with your sister,” my mother pressed on. “She called me this morning.”
I leaned against the bathroom counter and resisted the urge to groan. Ever since Margot had left home at nineteen, things had been ... strained between her and my parents. At first, my mother had acted as if Margot had died. She’d gone around in ridiculous black outfits, even a hat with a little veil pulled over her face, and sighed whenever someone asked about my younger sister.
Things had marginally improved after my father and I had given her a stern talking-to, but my mother had never come around entirely to the idea that Margot wanted a life completely independent of her and my father. Before I’d joined the SEALs and shipped out to Somalia, my mother had often used me as a go-between whenever she wanted to talk to Margot. She’d call and casually find a way to drop Margot’s name into the conversation, wheedling me to “check on” my sister, as if she was still a kid.
I desperately hoped that now that I was back, my mother wouldn’t resort to such tactics.
“Not yet,” I said finally. “She’s been texting me but I just woke up and got out of the shower. I’m sure she’s fine – she was the one asking if I was okay.”
My mother made a little noise in the back of her throat.
“Well, I was hoping that you would join us for dinner,” she said. “Your father and I would like to see you. We were feeling ever so distracted the other day – you know how your father gets when he’s got an idea for a new construction project.”
My eyebrow shot up so quickly that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had left my face entirely.
“Of course,” I said smoothly.
“It’ll be so lovely to see you,” my mother said in her flat, even voice that suggested exactly the opposite.
“Yep.”
“And please, call your sister,” my mother said. “I’d love to hear an update about her at dinner. Ta,”
“Wait,” I said. “Don’t hang up yet.”
“What is it?”
/> I sighed. “You ... well, you and Dad, but mostly you ... you’ve been acting like Margot committed some sort of horribly vicious crime because she moved out and did her own thing.”
“I do not,” my mother said. She had the grace to sound indignant, and I rolled my eyes.
“And she’s an adult now, Mom. She’s twenty-six, for god’s sake. If you want a relationship with her, why not reach out yourself?”
My mother didn’t reply.
“Well, if that’s everything, I’ll see you tonight,” she said after a long, pregnant pause.
Then, she hung up and I stared down at the phone in my hand, shaking my head all the while.
I had been gone for almost five years and here I was, playing the very same games with my parents that I had before I left. It made me start to wonder about other adults in their thirties: did talking to their parents always make them feel like some sort of naughty, misbehaving adolescent?
I hoped not. I hoped it was just a phase – one that I would grow out of, as quickly as possible.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. In trying to keep my mind off Jessie for the moment, the hours seemed to drag by. Knowing that I’d hurt her so deeply again made me wonder for a moment if the half-baked plan I’d come up with was just that: a stupid, desperate ruse that wouldn’t bring the woman I loved back to me. Maybe, Jessie was really happy in her new life. Maybe seeing me had only left her feeling shocked and angry.
Did I even dare to hope that she still loved me?
When the sun began to sink low in the sky, I got into my Land Rover and drove across town. The gates to my parents’ estate were already open when I arrived and I took it as a half-hearted attempt at an apology from my mother – maybe she was ready to let Margot back into her life, after all.
Or maybe, Margot didn’t want shit to do with our parents. I couldn’t blame her, really. I’d always been the subject of disapproval but Margot was the outright black sheep of the entire Grove family. She’d been a rebellious teenager with blue hair and a pierced nose – perfectly normal, at least I thought so – but every act of defiance, every single “weird” thing she did, my mother saw it as heresy. According to her, Margot should have emerged from the womb a strict disciple of The Official Preppy Handbook.
The thought made me roll my eyes as my Land Rover halted to a stop in front of the large house. I walked inside without knocking.
My parents were in the large living room, seated stiffly on a brown leather couch that I didn’t recognize. When I walked in, my mother’s face stretched into a tight, plasticine smile.
“I rather hoped you wouldn’t be alone,” my mother said.
I had to suppress a laugh – after the conversation that she and I’d had that morning, had she really expected me to show up with Margot in tow?
“I beg pardon,” I said as I walked over to them and took a seat in a matching brown leather armchair. “You really thought Margot would feel like showing up for dinner?”
My mother blinked. Her smile faded and she looked confused.
“Why, no,” she said. “Your new girlfriend, that charming woman you mentioned the other day on the phone.”
Oh, fuck, I thought. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. My mother hadn’t been calling Margot because she wanted to reconcile.
She’d been calling Margot because of my lie – clearly, my mother was shrewd enough to realize that I spoke about far more of my personal life with Margot than I did with her.
And she was nosy enough to want all of the details.
“Ah,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Well, she, uh, couldn’t make it – I didn’t know she was invited, to be honest. And I know how much you hate being surprised.”
My mother looked wounded at my last remark.
“I do not hate being surprised,” she said. “I’m just so very eager to meet this girl! Tell me about her,” she encouraged. “Your father and I are just so curious!”
I shifted in the chair.
“She’s very charming,” I said. As I spoke, I pictured Jessie’s face in my mind. Her stunning, slightly crooked smile that I loved. Her big brown eyes and the soft, playful way they looked at me.
“I’m sure,” my mother said. “Where did she summer? Where did she go to university?”
“Vermont,” I lied. I don’t know why the state popped into my head – I hadn’t ever been there, and unless Jessie’s life had changed radically in the last five years, she hadn’t either.
“Ah, New England,” my mother replied. “Well, that sounds lovely. How about her family?”
“I ... uh, she has a lot of brothers and sisters. She’s the oldest,” I said. “A twin.”
“Oh, so she’ll want lots of children, then?” My mother asked eagerly.
She’s already got one, I thought darkly as I pictured the little girl I’d seen romping around with Jessie in the yard.
“Uh, sure,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sure she does.”
“And when are you going to ask her to marry you,” my mother said. “You know, we have some lovely family rings that I’m sure she’d appreciate. And have you spoken to her father?”
My father glanced up at me, as if seeing me for the first time, and the atmosphere in the room became tense and uncomfortable.
I cleared my throat. “Well, that’s the thing. I already have asked her to marry me,” I said. “We’re engaged.”
My mother blinked in surprise and even my father looked stunned.
“Oh my goodness, why didn’t you tell me,” my mother gushed. She leapt up from the couch and rushed over to me to give me a hug, wrapping me in her bony arms and squeezing me tightly.
“Congratulations, son,” my father boomed. He rose to his feet and clapped me on the back.
Thankfully, the interrogation ended there, right as I’d told the biggest lie yet. My parents’ maid, Hannah, brought in a tray of champagne flutes and the conversation switched over to what my father was doing – researching an international investment that could skyrocket their portfolio to new heights – and I found myself tuning out and sipping my drink. My mother would occasionally make a comment about my “pending nuptials” and every time that she did, I felt a twinge of unease.
I knew it was wrong to lie about Jessie, but the lie had unfortunately done the trick. The visit, aside from a couple of awkward moments, was easily the most harmonious time I had spent with my parents in years. Even dinner wasn’t the fight it normally was. My mother kept bringing up various relatives, people who just “had” to be included in the wedding party, and all I did was smile and nod.
“I want Margot to be my best woman,” I said, testing the waters.
To my great relief, my mother smiled.
“I think that would be a lovely gesture,” she said. “But please, try to make her do something about that hair of hers.”
I leaned back in my chair, practically sweating with relief.
So far, the first part of my plan was working – my mother would be so distracted with my fake engagement that now, I’d be free to pursue Jessie and win her back.
I just hoped the second part of my plan would be as successful.
13
Jessie
The one thing that killed me about everything happening in my life was that despite the anger and pain and heartbreak I felt, I couldn’t deny that I felt one other thing, too.
Curiosity.
“That’s what killed the cat, you know,” Henny said softly one day. We were having a rare brunch in my apartment – It made all the rarer because Olive was still sleeping. Henny had come over with chocolate-chip brioche, eggs, and orange juice. We’d just whipped up some chocolate-chip French toast, and now, we were sitting at my kitchen table feeling gluttonous and pleased with ourselves.
“I ... I wish I didn’t feel that way. Honest,” I told her, matching her quiet tone in a hopeful attempt to keep our gathering adults-only. “But I feel like I deserve answers. He left me a stupid fucking Dear Jane letter
and then disappeared for five years! Who wouldn’t want answers?”
Henny cocked her head to the side and sipped her orange juice.
“You know, my therapist says that closure is a myth,” she said slowly. “That it’s selfish – that we only want to get our idea of closure because it makes us feel better about ourselves.”
I blinked at her.
“And that’s our job,” Henny said. “You know – like, it’s my own job to manage my expectations and emotions.”
“If you feel like that, why do you have a therapist?” I asked.
Henny blushed, and I felt a pang of guilt.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly. “It’s just, aren’t there ever some situations where it’s appropriate? Like this one? I mean, what do I tell Olive? She’s already getting so curious – asking about her daddy almost every day.”
At this, Henny looked uneasy.
“I mean, you tell her the truth. In an age-appropriate way,” she said.
“Not that I hate her father’s fucking guts,” I suggested airily.
Henny blushed at my profanity, then shook her head.
“Of course not,” she said. “You wouldn’t want her to grow up thinking that her father is a bad man, would you?”
I was quiet for a second. The obvious, rational answer was ‘no’ – I’d never want Olive to think anyone less than human perfection had been part of creating her existence.
“The thing is,” I said softly. “Ben isn’t a bad man. He ... well, I guess he had some reason for leaving. He did always used to say that I was too emotional for him. Maybe he couldn’t handle it. Maybe he needed to find some female version of Dr. Spock, you know – all logic and reason.”
“That still didn’t give him the right to leave you without an explanation,” Henny said.
“I know. But even the best people sometimes make mistakes,” I continued. “He’s not a bad man. Maybe he is now, I don’t know – a lot can change in five years. But like, maybe he’s just not the man for me.”
Secret Baby: A Second Chance Navy SEAL Romance (Forbidden First Times Book 4) Page 9
