Before I knew it, midnight had rolled around and the party thinned to a few stragglers. Cleanup began while the staff sat around discussing the night’s events while munching on the leftover treats Alexis had brought. I went to the office to retrieve my iPad, to make some notes after I had a quick rundown with my kids, when I noticed a very large gift basket sitting on my desk.
Through the clear cellophane, I could identify several popular Chicago items. I pulled the large blue bow apart and spread open the cellophane. The scents of chocolate and popcorn floated from the basket, and my sense of smell triggered all the memories I had associated with these specific foods.
Vosges Haut-Chocolat and Garrett Popcorn were two of Chicago’s (and mine) favorite treats. That combined with Jays potato chips, Salerno Butter Cookies, and even a box of Cracker Jack made me smile. It was all tucked between various Chicago periodicals, but it was what was in the center of the basket that made me really excited: two bottles of single-barrel bourbon from Koval, a distillery based on the North Side of Chicago. While working at WET, I had my pick of tastings from a wide range of often very high-end bourbons, but for whatever reason, maybe because my Chicago blood knew it was made locally, Koval was always my top pick.
A small, plain envelope was taped to the front of one of the bottles, my name written in elegant handwriting across it. I opened it and slipped the folded note card out.
Marshall,
Wish we could be there with you tonight. Couldn’t be prouder. Keep working it hard out there, California boy, but make sure you find time to enjoy new favorites in your new town.
Love,
Aaron, Callie, and Delilah
“That’s amazing.”
I spun around, and Alexis was standing close. Her eyes flickered to the card in my hand before shifting up to me. I attempted to bring it to my chest to hide, but I could tell by the look on her face that she saw it already.
I tossed the card down next to the basket. “Yeah, they are.”
She pressed her lips together as she swallowed, forcing out a smile. “I’m sure he’s really proud of you. Well, both of them. I’m sure they are both very proud of you.”
And this was an impasse I wasn’t prepared for. It was going to be a fucked-up thing no matter what. While there were many situations or things I thought might pop up during the time we’d be working together, explaining Callie, Aaron’s current live-in girlfriend and really, the only mother Delilah had ever known, to Alexis was something I didn’t think I’d ever have to do.
“It’s not like I never expected him to be with anyone else, Marshall,” she said.
Her eyebrows were lifted, her smile gone. It was hard to know if she was fishing for information, pressing, or if it was the rare form of sincerity coming from her. Again. Fucked either way.
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Lighten up, will you? It’s not like I thought he’d be celibate the rest of his life. I left him.”
“He practically was,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Everything seemed to go well tonight, right?”
“Answer my question. What did you say?”
“Just forget it, okay?”
She bit down on her lowered lip as her eyes narrowed at me, egging me on to try and dismiss her. She was, in fact, going to push, and I knew both old Lexie and new Alexis well enough and stubbornness was something they both had in common.
“It took him years to recover,” I said with directness. “He was, in fact, celibate. For years. He was a single parent, always putting his daughter first.”
I watched as her appearance took on the once-familiar hardness, the pointed, daring stare displayed across her face. She stood taller. Her breathing controlled to the point where it was almost impossible to see the rise and fall of her chest.
“We all have choices, Marshall,” she said.
And her tone turned ice-cold.
Unfortunately for her, I was carrying around some serious bitterness about lying to my best friend and for accidentally eyeballing her earlier. How could I’ve been so stupid?
“No, we all,” I said, putting the “all” in air quotes, “don’t have choices. If you take off on your husband and baby without even so much as a good-bye, the husband, the father, doesn’t have a fucking choice. He has a little person to take care of. He has to help her learn to walk and be a good person. And she is. She is the most dynamic, funny little girl I’ve ever known. She is everything, absolutely everything she is because of Aaron and not because of any DNA she got from you.”
I waited to see hurt, some minute sign that I’d gotten through to her. She wasn’t around for the aftermath, the destruction that nearly destroyed someone I thought of like a brother, and there was no way I could articulate what that was like to witness. I couldn’t imagine what Aaron had felt, but it had to be a level of fucked-up pain like I’d only had a taste of. Even watching it happen was the kind of suffering I could barely swallow.
I waited, but there was nothing from her. No emotion at all. No tears. No downcast eyes. There wasn’t even the slightest wavering of her posture to indicate she processed the weight of my words.
“I can’t believe I was starting to think you really changed,” I said.
“Likewise,” she responded, dropping something on the table next to the basket. “I saved you one. I know they’re your favorite. By the way, I like the haircut.”
I’d completely forgot about my haircut until that moment. In an act of ownership and to show I was responsible, I cut off my shaggy mess of hair in exchange for closely shaved sides and something longer on top.
By the time I glanced to the table, noticing one of her frosted stout brownies, and looked up, her back was already to me. She left without another word, and I knew that when I saw her tomorrow, the harshness of what I’d just said would still be hanging in the air like stale beer and cigarette smoke.
Chapter Six
Alexis—
Three things happened at the beginning of the evening.
One: When I walked in and saw Marshall dressed in a fitted, white button-down and ginger-colored bow tie, I reacted. It made my body react. It wasn’t fleeting, either. I had to consciously shake off the thoughts—his muscular arms and chest pressed against the fabric of his shirt and the faint outline of his tattoos underneath, the way his tall, lean body moved with authority around the bar, respectfully ordering people around while making sure everything was set up properly for the opening. I knew I had to shake whatever response I was having.
Two: My treats were a hit. They were bigger than a hit. While the majority of the customers who came to the opening were locals, and most were familiar with my sweets, there was such excitement surrounding them when they were spotted. The matching up of the different desserts with suggestions of a corresponding cocktail worked out perfectly. Customers would pick up one or the other and instantly be drawn to see how well the complementary item fit. Once the doors were opened for moneymaking, there was no doubt in my mind people would do the pairings when they visited. It came together exactly how Marshall and I hoped it would.
Three: At one point, I was looking for extra mini-chalkboard stands in a box under my table. No doubt my ass was probably hanging out no matter how ladylike I was trying to be, but at five foot ten inches, almost everything was always short on me. As I attempted to pull myself back out from under the table, I sensed someone staring at me. I glanced to my left, and it was Marshall. Marshall was the one staring at me.
It was a moment, and I didn’t know what to think.
There was nothing familiar about it, about him, in that moment. The way his eyes fixated on the slit of my skirt before rising up to my eyes. He held them there, and before the intensity made me turn away from the power of his gaze, it was hitting me: It was almost like we were strangers. I wasn’t Lexie. He wasn’t Marshall. We weren’t the two people who knew each other.
But.
I saw him.
Then he saw me.
Then we saw each other.
One thing happened at the end of the evening.
Marshall was a jackass. A pleasant, sincere comment about the gift basket sent from Aaron turned him into a, well, jackass. Something tipped him off, and I wasn’t naive enough not to think it wasn’t me, but his reaction held nothing back. He went straight for the jugular with his words, wanting and waiting to see me crumble under them.
And I deserved it.
I understood the emotions behind his words, and it was 100 percent justified. I couldn’t even find fault with them.
But it was a shame that he’d never see me crumble the way he wanted me to. It would give him his own peace, the place in his heart where I knew I hurt him and others around him he loved, but he’d never see me crack. There was one simple reason for this: Whatever thoughts I inflicted on myself daily, all the things that rolled around my brain day in and day out, were far more vile than anything Marshall or any other person could say to me. Ever.
The brownie was left as a promise of peace. It was all I had. I would allow the anger to come at me at seemingly unexpected times. The residual hurt and his fierce desire to defend Aaron—that was something I was prepared for. I had to come to the resolution that if we were going to be working together, I would never let him see all the burdens I carried: I would allow him to think I was strong enough to stand on all of my baggage on my own.
The dark, winding roads were the familiar comfort I needed as I drove home. The breeze from my open windows was chilly but not cold, a balance to try and find my center of reason. While my body was exhausted, my brain was far from it. Marshall’s words were what should’ve been adhering to my thoughts, but they weren’t. It was the way that he looked at me earlier.
It was the excitement of the night.
A natural response to a short skirt.
Or was it more?
It felt like more.
I felt more.
As I made the turn down my driveway, I had no idea how to process any of it.
So I decided not to.
What I did decide to do was something I reserved only for occasions when I needed to completely indulge. Being around and taste testing sweets every day led me to add on a few pounds to my average weight for the last ten years. I didn’t exercise anymore because I got far more of a workout running Tipsy daily, but I knew that my diet needed to consist of more than sugar. Regularly, I did my best; however, there were times to be conscientious and other times to say screw it instead.
Tonight was a screw-it night and that meant Pizza Rolls and a beer.
My wild and crazy night
I dropped my bag by the front door and flipped the switch to turn on the overhead lights, immediately dimming them. My body, and mind went to a place that only my home gave me. Peace. The tension I had in my neck and shoulders began to dissipate as I kicked off my heels, the coolness of the limestone and hardwood floors a relief to my aching feet.
My home never smelled of anything but baked treats. That aroma always soothed me, not only because it reminded me of home, but also knowing I was doing something with my life that brought me a semblance of joy eased me. I entered the kitchen, switching on the lights in there as well before heading to the refrigerator to retrieve my Pizza Rolls from the freezer.
I leaned over the stove to preheat the oven. Pizza Rolls were fine in the microwave, but baked for exactly eleven minutes resulted in a much more enjoyable roll. Once the oven was ready, I slid a small baking sheet into the oven, with the rolls neatly arranged in rows. With the timer set, I had enough time for a quick email check.
After grabbing my phone, I plopped down on my couch, the plush cushions molding to my body from the years of wear. This couch was the first thing I bought when I moved to Boston, another city I had once loved, after I left Chicago. I stood in the furniture store, alone, and had a panic attack for the first time ever in my life. I had no idea what was happening to me. It was this tingling, burning from the center of my chest and spreading to all my extremities. I tried to breathe it away, taking in all the oxygen I could, but exhaling only gave me a half-second moment of reprieve.
A fear deeper than falling to the bottom of an ocean, or from the highest building, overcame me. Logic was replaced by deception that my brain was feeding me.
I thought, I’m having a heart attack. The world is crashing down, the earth under my feet shaking. I’m dying.
In that moment, I was certain I was going to die.
I heard voices asking what was wrong and what they could do.
Talk to me. Be quiet. Don’t say a word. Hug me. Don’t touch me. Why don’t you know what to do? Why don’t I?
Let me cry. Tears won’t come. I think I’ll feel better if I do, but they don’t come.
Slice me down the middle. Gut me like a fish and take out whatever is doing this to me.
That attack was one of many that followed in the years after. Medication eased them and they were rare now.
But it took me four times of going back to that same furniture store to be able to choose a couch.
It was the only thing I took from Boston to here.
That couch.
A reminder.
I opened my email app since all my personal and work emails filtered into one and began scrolling through the usual—vendor requests, store ads, and spam. Clicking through, I read or deleted, until I came to the last one and I paused.
And then…impact.
Seeing her email, her name, always hit me in the gut, leaving me briefly paralyzed. Leslie Matthews.
Aaron’s mother. Delilah’s grandmother.
It was always a blessing and a curse to get one of Leslie’s emails. I would always be grateful to her for reaching out, especially because there was no telling how angry Aaron would be if he ever found out, but the pain associated with it left me hollow.
Like with everything else, I took it because it was my penance and because I owed it to Leslie.
I owed her everything.
I owed her my life. Literally.
She did something so selfless, so beyond the realm of anything I thought a mother, a grandmother, could be capable of. When I was in the darkest part of my life, the first year of Delilah’s life, I thought the only way I could get out was to…make myself…disappear. Permanently.
Aaron thought it was postpartum depression.
I wanted to get as close to his face as I could, scream as loud as I could that it wasn’t—it was because I knew I was full of poison and that eventually, if I hadn’t already, I’d poison Delilah.
With no family of my own, Leslie was the only one I could talk to. Of course, she never knew the entire truth. No one did, but she recognized it was something different.
She was the one that saved me. I remember the day that she gave me an out.
“Oh, Delilah,” Leslie says, hugging Delilah close before sitting her on her lap. “I could just eat you all up.”
Leslie’s eyes move between Delilah and me. She always does that. She’s always looking.
Searching.
But there is still the same answer pouring from my eyes.
I can’t.
She nods. “What can I do?” she asks.
I shrug because what can she do?
We sit quietly. I think Delilah is laughing at her stuffed elephant that plays the ABC song, but I can’t tell.
“Lexie?” Leslie says after so long I forget she is still there.
My tired eyes move back to hers.
“I believe you,” she says. “And I will help you.”
Her words cause a cathartic breath to rush through my body. It almost makes me sick to stomach.
It was the first relief I’ve had.
“Why?” I ask, my voice cracking with shame. “No one does this. You would never do this.”
She moves herself to the edge of the couch, placing Delilah on the ground next to her before putting her hand on mi
ne. “You are killing yourself, dear. Little by little. And I know if it isn’t fast enough for you, you’ll make it there sooner.”
She is right.
Ending my life seems logical. I don’t want to. It isn’t a wanting it all to go away. It is wanting me to go away. It is wanting to save my daughter.
The wolf that chews off its own leg.
“Do you love Aaron?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows raise in question.
“Yes,” I repeat.
“Do you love him wholly?”
I don’t understand what she means.
“Do you love him with everything inside of you?” she asks. “Do you miss him when he’s not near? Do you see him as an old man and you as an old woman, together, still in love with him?”
No.
It’s an instant reaction, one I have no way to verbalize.
It makes me even more disgusting than I already know I am.
Her grip on my hand tightens. “My dear. You need to find that as well. And you will need to let Aaron find his.”
Her tone is so calm, so comforting, like she’s wrapping me up in a warm blanket and holding me tight. Why is she doing this?
Again. Like she knows my thoughts, she says, “I’m telling you this, I’m telling you it’s okay because no one else will.”
Of course she knows what I’m thinking. She has seen it from the day I found out I was pregnant. I’d asked her to get a manicure with me. I didn’t know why, except with no mom, no family, around to confide in, Leslie was the closest thing I had. I didn’t even intend to tell her. I just needed her because I couldn’t tell Aaron, not for another two weeks.
So Wicked Page 7
