Mister Diamond

by Chance Carter

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I said.

  “I’ll come down with you.”

  I shook my head. “No, wait here. I’ll only be a second.”

  Nik eyed me with concern. “What’s wrong?’

  “Nothing,” I lied, heart racing faster in my chest. “I’ll be right back.”

  I nearly tripped on my way to the door, walking fast and hoping that Nik wouldn’t follow me. My hands shook. My body ached. Anxious energy vibrated my bones and I felt like I was going to throw up. Maybe I did need to go to the bathroom.

  No. What I needed, more than anything else, was to escape. To be alone. To do anything other than look at the face of the man I loved, knowing that one day his eyes would turn cold and he’d realize what I’d always known—that he’d been wrong about me.

  I was about halfway to the subway when Nik realized something was wrong and called me. I ignored it. I didn’t know what I’d say to him. How could I possibly explain the tornado of anxiety spiraling through my brain? He would deny every fear I had, and that might work to calm me down for now, but I needed a long-term solution.

  I didn’t want to run from Nik. Ironic, since I was currently running from him, but I wanted to be happy. I had no chance of happiness if I couldn’t learn to let go of this acidic guilt and everything that went along with it. I was tired of feeling like this. I was tired of falling into pits of panic without warning and having to claw my way back out.

  Somewhere on the way I realized that there was only one thing to do. It might not work, but I had to try. I got home and hunkered down on the couch, ignoring Nik’s second and third phone calls. I had a phone call of my own to make.

  I dialed the number and waited with baited breath. I was facing my fears.

  I was calling home.

  Chapter 25

  Dominik

  I did one last walk through of my apartment, checking to see if I’d missed anything. The place was immaculate, and smelled like lemons. Gary, my realtor, had suggested I put out a bowl of citrus fruits to give the place a fresh feel, but while it had accomplished that it also made my home feel foreign. Fitting, I supposed, since a stranger was about to walk through and evaluate it. Soon enough it might not be my home at all.

  I locked the door and took the elevator down to the street, waving at the doorman and hopping into a cab. I only had to be out for an hour or so. I figured Central Park was as good a place to pass the time as any, especially since it was such a beautiful day. The temperature verged on uncomfortably hot, but I didn’t mind. I had no plans other than soaking in some sun and pretending that my world wasn’t about to change dramatically. And trying not to worry too much about Gemma.

  The park bustled with life, and it reminded me of that first time Gemma and I came here together. That had been a perfect day. I meandered over to the bench we sat on and took a seat, watching parents and laughing children stroll past.

  I checked my phone but I still had no new alerts. I sighed. I hadn’t seen Gemma since Dexter’s party, when she left out of the blue. She hadn’t answered my calls that night, or any of the texts the day after. I was worried but also frustrated, and that made me hesitant to try calling her again.

  Sometimes Gemma made perfect sense to me. Others she was a mystery. I didn’t know what had set her off at the party but it must’ve been bad. I’d heard through Molly, via Dexter, that she wasn’t dead at least, and that she was just going through something. It hurt that she didn’t think she could talk to me about it. Or that she didn’t want to.

  It was a strange feeling to miss someone while also being angry at them. To want to comfort someone while also wanting to yell at them. I carried such an odd mix of emotions where Gemma was concerned. Foremost among them all was an overwhelming desire to fix whatever problem had driven her from Dexter’s party. Even if that problem was me.

  My phone buzzed and startled me from my thoughts. I peered at the screen, hoping to see Gemma’s name, but it was an unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Dominik Orlov?” said a female voice.

  “Speaking.”

  “Hi Dominik, my name is Natasha Santos. I’m one of the founders of a New York based jewelry company called Rocks. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of us?”

  I racked my brain but came up with nothing. “I’m afraid not.”

  She chuckled. “That’s okay. We’re new on the scene. Our goal is to put a more artistic and holistic spin on the jewelry market, and when we read about your romantic story in the New York Times we knew you’d be perfect.”

  I frowned. “Perfect for what?”

  If this woman was going to try to sell me something, she’d called at the wrong time. I had half a mind to hang up on her right then and there, but something told me to keep listening for at least a little longer.

  “Forgive me, I’m getting ahead of myself,” she said. “I’m a big fan of the #FINDGEMMA movement and I was excited to get the go-ahead for this. Are you still looking for work? The article said you’d lost your job at the family business after defying your father.”

  The article had been sparse with my personal details but the writer couldn’t resist the drama of my father’s ultimatum. Much as I didn’t love having my story broadcast in such a way, I couldn’t blame them.

  “I’m assessing a couple options right now,” I said. “What’s this about?”

  “Rocks is looking to hire a CEO,” she explained. “I’ve researched Orlov Import/Export and I know that the position would be a step down for you, since we’re such a small company, but I truly believe we’d be a good fit for each other. Is there any way I could convince you to come in and meet the team?”

  Considering the options I was assessing were grim at best, I welcomed the opportunity for an interview. It might be a step down, as she said, but I liked the idea of leading a fledgling company, particularly if it had potential. I’d need to do some research, but there was no harm in going in for the interview.

  “I’m sure I can fit that in,” I said.

  Natasha yelped gleefully, then quickly apologized. We made plans to meet early next week and I ended the call with a small smile. Though I’d interviewed for more promising positions, I had a good feeling about Rocks. If nothing else, Natasha’s enthusiasm was hard to beat. It was nice to feel wanted, especially after trudging through so much rejection.

  I’d barely begun to slide my phone back in my pocket when it buzzed again. And, again, I was disappointed to find it wasn’t Gemma. This time I recognized the number as my realtor’s.

  “Hey Gary,” I answered. “How’s it going?”

  “It went,” he replied. “No dice, I’m afraid.”

  “Even after I put out all that citrus?” I joked, oddly relieved that the viewing hadn’t gone well.

  “I’m afraid so. But look, we’ve got the open house this weekend, and I’m sure we’ll get a bite then. It’s not a great market for sellers at the moment but with a place as nice as yours we’re bound to find someone.”

  That kind of oily positivity came standard with realtors, even ones like Gary who were more down to earth, but he was probably right. It was a good place, and we’d set it at a good price. I knew I needed to start looking for somewhere else, somewhere more reasonable, but I hadn’t had the heart to do it yet. It made moving seem so permanent.

  “Thanks, Gary. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “See you then.”

  He hung up and I let out a long sigh. Even though I’d potentially get a new job next week, I still had to sell and it stung. I didn’t know what the salary would be but I doubted it would be enough to replace the money from my inheritance I was going to use for retirement. That would be a miracle.

  I stood and began walking toward the road, hands in my pockets and thoughts in the clouds. When I saw Gary this weekend I’d talk to him about a new apartment, and I decided until then I’d try to think about moving as little as possible. Probably
not the most mature way of dealing with it, but I had a lot on my mind.

  What the hell was Gemma up to? I kicked a rock and sent it flying across the concrete until it eventually collided with the leg of a bench. It felt good, so I kicked another.

  Should I call her again? It seemed pointless, considering she obviously knew I was trying to get a hold of her but hadn’t responded. Still, it felt good just to do something.

  I dug my phone out of my pocket and dialed her number, waiting with a tense jaw. I didn’t even know what I would say if she picked up. I was angry, but was I so angry I’d start yelling? Or would I just beg her to tell me what was wrong? She was the only person who’d ever been able to make this much of a mess of me. Even my father couldn’t claim that honor.

  As expected, Gemma didn’t answer. I didn’t bother to leave a voicemail. I left the park and stepped to the edge of the curb to hail a taxi and was surprised when my phone binged with a new text from Gemma.

  I’m dealing with something, it said, but we’ll talk soon. I’m sorry.

  What kind of response was that after so long ignoring me? Anger bubbled in my veins, but at the same time I ached to be there for her for whatever she was going through. I wondered if she was okay. I even considered going straight over to her apartment and demanding she tell me what was going on, but I knew Gemma and knew that would only make things worse. She needed a little time, a little space, and I would give that to her.

  There wasn’t a single thing in this world I wouldn’t give her if I could.

  Chapter 26

  Gemma

  I expected to feel nothing but panic at this point, but an odd sort of calm swept in instead. I stood at the end of the driveway, taking in the hedges, carved into perfect spheres, and the uniformly trimmed lawn, and I realized it looked exactly like I remembered it.

  My childhood home stood before me, and suddenly I was a child again. I could still hear my father’s angry, berating words. I could still feel the salty tears stinging my eyes. That hollow in my chest still throbbed.

  Even though this was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, I knew it was the one thing I needed to. This wound wasn’t one I could leave alone, let heal on its own. It needed tending to. Nursing. And the first step was this—the disinfection.

  I took a breath and walked to the front door. It was a bright, garish red that all those years ago had seemed to taunt me with its prominence. Now I only saw a door, one that I’d gone through and never looked back.

  I knocked. I waited, hands clenched at my sides. The brief phone call with my mom the day before hadn’t given me much of an idea of what to expect. She sounded happy to hear from me, but since then she would have talked to my dad and he never failed to manipulate her thoughts to match his own.

  Mom answered the door and a knot tightened in my chest. Her eyes were bloodshot and distant, features tight on her pallid skin. She wore her hair, a faded corn silk blonde, in a tight bun, which clashed with her flowy sundress. At first I thought it was the pale-yellow fabric washing her out, but then I remembered she always looked like that. It was this life that washed her out, not anything she wore.

  “Gemma,” Mom said, breaking into a smile. “You’re home.”

  “Hey Mom.” I blinked back tears. As much as I’d tried to vilify this woman in the years since my departure, I never could. All it took was one smile and I’d love her with everything I had.

  Then she’d turn her back on me and the torment my father and brothers inflicted on me and I’d remember why that love was my downfall.

  She caught me off guard and pulled me into a hug, squeezing me like she never wanted to let me go. I had to pull back or risk breaking down into tears, and I caught a sour whiff of wine on her breath. Another reminder that nothing had changed.

  “Come inside,” Mom said, swaying a little as she stepped back into the entry hall. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No,” I replied. Quietly, I asked, “Is everybody else here?”

  “Andrew is staying late at the office, but your brothers are here.”

  My heart seized up again and I had to force myself through the front door. The place was spotless, clinically so, and smelled like bleach. Mom spent most of her day cleaning while my dad was at work, even more so when she was nervous or upset.

  I kicked off my shoes and put one foot in front of the other, following my mom as she led me into the living room. It was one of the few places in this house I had happy memories. Not every Christmas had ended in tears, and there were times when we’d been the picture of a perfect family. My brothers and I on the floor, working on homework or reading. My mom on the couch, drinking wine and staring blankly out the window while my father sat beside her and watched TV. I’d forgotten these quiet, peaceful times in the years since, or maybe the memories had been chased away by all the pain.

  Justin and Carson stood by the window in expensive suits, talking quietly to each other. They didn’t smile when they saw me.

  It annoyed me that we’d have to wait for my dad to get home. He knew I was coming—couldn’t he have prioritized being home to greet his estranged daughter? This was just like him. I was dreading seeing him most of all and would’ve preferred to rip that bandage off as quickly as possible. I didn’t even know what I was going to say, but I wanted them all to be here when I said it.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” Justin said in a friendly tone, even though his expression was anything but friendly. He pursed his lips in a sour sneer and gave me a once over. I stood tall.

  “What’s this all about, then?” Carson asked. He looked so much older than when I’d last seen him, more so than a few years should’ve granted him. He took after my mother in looks, with light hair and dark eyes that sat wide on his face.

  “Finally swallowing your pride and coming back where you belong?” Justin added.

  “Boys, be nice,” Mom said in a weak voice.

  “Be nice?” Justin said with a snort. “I should’ve known that the second Gemma showed her face you’d go sniffing at her heels like a little pup. Get a backbone, woman. She abandoned us.”

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” I said.

  Mom touched my elbow. “It’s okay. You know how he is when he’s upset.”

  I tried to swallow my irritation but it stuck in my throat. There she went, always defending their nasty behavior. Ironically, Justin was right. She did need to get a backbone.

  “That’s not an excuse, Mom.” I glared at my brothers, shaking my head. “You don’t think I’m upset too? I came here to make peace, not to start another fight.”

  Justin stepped forward. “You started a fight the second you left this house. You disrespected all of us.”

  Mom sighed and walked to the couch, sitting down and emptying her half-finished glass of wine. I knew how this was going to work—she would blend into the wallpaper, just like she always did, and leave me to the wolves. Except I wasn’t a little lamb anymore. I’d learned a few things living with Molly, besides how to do laundry. Most importantly, I’d learned how to stand up for myself.

  I stepped up to Justin with gritted teeth. “You earned that disrespect. My life was so miserable that the only way out I could see was making a run for it. Either that or a body bag.”

  He scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  The old Gemma would have cowered at this, would have wondered if maybe she was being a touch dramatic. She would have bowed to whatever he said and ended up agreeing with him before scuttling back into her corner.

  The old Gemma was dead. New Gemma was out for blood.

  “Dramatic, Justin?” I stood taller, heart pumping fire. “I was miserable here and you knew that. You engineered it that way, because if I started to stand on my own and dream my own dreams I wouldn’t be your perfect little subservient chess piece anymore. You never saw me as your equal and still don’t.”

  “Of course you’re not my equal,” he said, voice rising. “You’re a petulant little
girl who threw a hissy fit when she didn’t get what she wanted.”

  “You don’t have a clue what I want!” I yelled. “All you’ve ever cared about is yourself, and if I wasn’t fitting your mold and making you and the rest of the family look good then I didn’t have value. Do you know what treating someone like that does to a person? It took me years to stop apologizing to everyone just for breathing and taking up space.”

  Carson stepped forward. He’d never been as aggressive as his older brother, but he stood behind him and wouldn’t hesitate to jump if Justin said so.

  “You could never stand on your own,” he said coldly. “There’s a price to pay for being a burden.”

  “You never let me stand on my own! If you had, maybe I wouldn’t have had to leave.” I spread my arms wide, inviting them to take me in. “Look at me now. Standing on my own, not a burden on anybody. I made it.”

  “You were a pretty trinket and you got a job selling pretty trinkets,” Justin said dismissively. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I dug myself out of years of ingrained self-loathing and learned what kind of person I want to be,” I countered. “I might not be a fancy lawyer but I’m a good person, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

  I felt exhilarated. I’d never had the guts to say anything like this to my family before, never mind to believe it. Conviction burned down to my very soul and I finally knew what it felt like to fight for something I believed in. And, for the first time, the thing I believed in was myself. It felt good. I rode high on that intoxication and knew I could handle whatever they threw at me. They couldn’t hurt me anymore.

  “You could have been something,” Justin spat.

  “Yeah,” I said with a bitter laugh. “I could’ve been Niles Proust’s dutiful wife and let my own identity become an afterthought.