by Meka James
“Yes, I’ll call my agent and set something up.”
She nodded before pulling her hand free.
During dinner, our moms talked excitedly about the house, our possible wedding, and how life was finally moving in the right direction. Collin joked about needing to have “the talk” with me. The mood was festive, but when I’d look at Ginger, she seemed to be elsewhere.
Sandy turned to her daughter. “Shawn can stay with us tonight, dear.”
Ginger’s brows furrowed together for a moment. Her face turned red when she picked up on what her mom meant. She signaled for the waiter to refill her Chardonnay. Was that the third or fourth?
“That won’t be necessary, but thanks,” she replied before excusing herself and heading off in the direction of the restrooms.
Sandra moved over, taking Ginger’s recently vacated seat. “We’ll take him home with us, just in case.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
She patted my arm and smiled. “We look for any and all excuses to have him over.”
Being their only grandchild, Sandra and Collin had a nursery set up for Shawn at their house, so he always had a second place to call home.
After dinner was finished and the bill was paid, Sandra and Collin gave Ginger and me hugs, said their goodbyes, and left with Shawn. Ginger frowned in my direction.
I put my hands up in defense. “I told them no.”
Everyone parted ways, leaving only us. I wanted to hold her hand as we walked, but I kept mine firmly placed inside my pockets.
The air was still a bit stifling, even with the onset of nightfall. Boisterous laughter wafted down at us as we passed South City Kitchen on the way to the parking garage. Ginger didn’t say anything as we walked. Instead, she actively looked at the passersby, focusing her attention anywhere but on me. The nightlife in Atlanta was always active, even on weekdays, although some saw Thursday as the official start to the weekend.
The moment we got to her car, Ginger dug through her purse to retrieve her keys.
“Let me take you home.”
She stopped rummaging and hesitated a moment before she looked up at me. Her eyes were wide, and color had drained from her face. “Malcolm, I—”
“It’s not what you think.”
Her parents had hinted to it earlier, so I already knew the first thought that popped into her head. I looked forward to the day I could make love to her, but I knew today was not that day. It was too soon, for both of us. Simply falling asleep holding her in my arms, that would be a dream, but she wasn’t ready for that either. She barely wanted me to hug her.
“You’ve had a little too much to drink, and I’d feel better driving you home. I’ll crash on the couch.”
“Oh. I’ll be fine. I mean, I am fine.”
I started to object, but she put her hand up to silence me. “Malcolm, today…all of this. I need time…to process.”
I’d gotten more than I’d expected, so I dropped it. I stepped toward her, and she took a step back. I remembered the look of fear she had on her face at the house. And the panicked looked she’d just given me at the suggestion.
I moved back to give her more space. “I understand.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Relieved. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t personal. I tried to tell myself it was because of what he’d done to her, but it still stung.
She unlocked her car and started to climb in, but stopped. She hesitated for a moment before she walked over, stretched up on her tiptoes to put her arms around my neck, and hugged me. My eyes closed. I let my arms wrap around her slender waist, and I held her tight, reveling in the moment of Ginger initiating contact with me. Something she hadn’t done in two years.
“I love you, Ginger,” I whispered.
She tensed then pulled away. “Goodnight, Mal.”
I stood in the parking lot until she drove off. The day hadn’t gone exactly as I’d hoped, but it could’ve been worse. She could have turned me down, but she didn’t. Somehow I’d managed to save what could’ve been a colossal fuck-up on my part.
Chapter 2
Calida
Once I pulled into the garage, I turned off the car and let my head rest on the steering wheel. I’d thought about going to pick up Shawn, but he was probably already in bed. Plus, Mom would want to know why I wasn’t with Malcolm. I didn’t want to have that talk with my mother.
Malcolm. I looked at the ring he’d given me. I’d told him I didn’t want this. I’d told him to find some other woman to date. He’d never had a shortage of women that wanted him, but he’d refused. He wanted to prove his commitment to me. Now, everyone acted like we were engaged. Momma D, and Mom talked about wedding plans. On top of that, my mom—my—own mother thought I was going to jump into bed with him. Then he asked me to spend the night. Why would he do that? Because he didn’t know. No one knew, and it needed to stay that way.
I climbed out and slammed the car door. Pressing the button on the wall, the garage door hummed to life and closed out the rest of the world. I paused before entering the house. I didn’t want to go into the dark and empty place alone, but that was my only choice. The house was eerily quiet; I hadn’t expected to be out so late, even with the adjustment in my appointment time, so I hadn’t left any lights on. The moonlight streamed through the windows in the kitchen, casting creepy shadows along the floor. I hung my keys on the key rack next to where Seth’s still hung.
I’d decorated every room in this place, but it’d never felt like home. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. None of them understood it, and I couldn’t explain it to them. How could I tell them that here, of all places, was the one place I could let down my guard? Despite all that happened, I could come back here at the end of each day and simply be without having to worry about my actions. This had become my judgement free zone. I gave a bitter laugh at the irony.
My favorite room was Shawn’s, so that’s where I headed. At first, I’d hated that it was upstairs, since the master bedroom was located on the main floor. Then I realized it gave me the perfect and believable excuse for why I’d moved out of there; choosing, instead, to stay in the guest room next door to his.
I flipped the switch, flooding Shawn’s Thomas the Train themed room with light. I’d poured all my energy into decorating his room with the help of my ex-business partner, Kerrin. She’d asked if I’d return to work, but I couldn’t. A Woman’s Touch Design had been an illusion, like much of my life with Seth. He’d made me think the business had been mine, but in truth it’d been another way he’d held control over me.
The loneliness surrounded me as I stood in the center of Shawn’s vacant space. I wanted him here to hold, to talk to. I confided in my toddler more than I did Dr. Carr. More than I did anyone. I wanted him here, but my parents stole him away, thinking I needed alone time with Malcolm. There’d been a time when I would have jumped at that chance. Now, it was the one thing I didn’t want or need.
Closing my eyes, my fingers went to my lips, remembering the kiss Mal had given me. It stirred feelings in me I’d long thought to be dead. They needed to remain that way. The life I was building was all I needed. It was neat; simple. I’d constructed it that way, and that’s how it was supposed to stay. But Malcolm was no longer pacified with my excuses.
Malcolm. There were three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, and he’d picked today. I was angry that he’d done it in general, but especially since he’d chosen today. The anniversary of Seth’s death. The one day I allowed myself to grieve for the life I took. Even though Dr. Carr didn’t think I had a reason to feel guilty for killing him. She said I’d done what I needed to do in order to protect myself and my child. But I needed one damn day of regret. So many bad choices led me to that point. How could I not carry guilt and remorse? Without it, I was no better than Seth.
I needed a drink.
Turning off the light, I headed downstairs. I pulled out a Moscato from the wine fridge, popped the cork, and poured myself a glassful.
I held my glass up toward the lady on the cliff. “Cheers.” I’d spent hours sitting on the couch staring at that painting, wishing I could be her—free and away from it all.
I drank down the wine without even tasting the flavor, and then I quickly refilled the glass. As I brought it to my lips, my gaze wandered down the darkened hallway, which led to our bedroom. After finishing the second glass just as fast as the first, I sat it down on the marble bar top and picked up the bottle. Drinking from it directly, I found myself heading toward the master bedroom. A room I hadn’t entered since I’d moved upstairs.
My hand shook when I placed it on the doorknob. I’d kept the door shut, hoping to keep the ghosts locked inside, but it didn’t work. They were always with me. He was always with me. I took another drink before turning the knob. The full moon illuminated the space thanks to the large floor-to-ceiling bay windows. I didn’t turn on the lights; I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to cast more light on the horrible memories contained within these walls.
The bed, like much of the room, remained untouched. Every decorative pillow was in place. It looked inviting, but it was a lie. Turning the bottle up, I took another drink as my legs carried me, seemingly of their own free will, farther into the room. I stood in front of his closet door. A door that had remained closed since I came back to this place. I opened it, and flipped the light switch. All of Seth’s clothes still hung neatly organized, just as he’d left them. I hadn’t touched a thing. My mind played tricks on me, because it smelled like him, as if he’d just been in there getting dressed for the day. Goosebumps popped up on my arms.
My fingers touched his shirts as I walked down the neatly color-coordinated rows, stopping in the white section. I placed the bottle of wine down on the built-in mahogany dresser that sat in the center of the space, and then I pulled out the shirt he’d worn the day we’d met. I put it on, brought the fabric to my nose, and inhaled deeply. It did smell like him, as if his essence was fused into each strand of the cotton. Wrapping the shirt tighter around my body, I grabbed the bottle and guzzled more of the wine.
I slid down to the floor, staring up at the color coordinated neatness. Everything always had to be perfect. Including me. I was the puppet, and he was the puppeteer. He controlled every aspect of my life with fear. The fear he’d hurt someone I loved and the fear he’d kill me.
I’d played my part well.
I took another drink. Mal was right about one thing: Seth remained in control. Fear never went away. It only changed and morphed into something new. Seth had me so well trained that I still played the part.
I laid down on the plush carpet and curled my body, hugging myself until I drifted off into what I hoped would be a dreamless sleep.
I awoke the next morning confused and with a pounding headache. I quickly covered my eyes to block out the light. As I attempted to get up, my leg hit something. Slowly, I lifted my fingers to see an empty wine bottle roll and come to rest against a black shoe—his shoe. Why did I come in here? My chest constricted and my breathing turned to rapid pants. I fought to get his shirt off, feeling suffocated with it on. I fled from the confined space, and slammed the door behind me.
I struggled to get air into my lungs. My heart pounded. The room spun. Dropping to my knees, I took deep, slow breaths, trying to stave off the impending panic attack. My limbs shook. Tears leaked from my eyes. I watched as one dropped from the path it had taken down the bridge of my nose, onto the plush carpet below.
My hands balled into fists as more tears followed that same path. The hot, pulsating throbbing of my head magnified the ringing in my ears. I swallowed hard, trying to fight against the growing urge to vomit. These things were supposed to be getting better. I was supposed to be getting better.
I am better. I am better. I am better. I repeated the mantra, willing myself to believe it. I’d been managing without the pills for nearly nine months now; I didn’t want to go back on them. I stayed on my hands and knees, trying to get control over my body.
Time ticked by slowly, but eventually my breathing slowed, my gag reflex dissipated, and my body no longer trembled. My heart rate lowered to a normal beat. I unclenched my fists, allowing my muscles to relax and oxygen to flow through me in a steady rhythm. Six months. It had been six months since my last panic attack. Mentally, I reset the counter, like one of those accident-free posters seen in workplaces. Using the doorknob for support, I pulled myself up, then stumbled from the master bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
After taking a shower, getting dressed, and taking a couple of aspirin, I called Dr. Carr. Once I got off the phone with her, I called my parents to check on Shawn and to see if they could keep him for a little while longer. My father made it a point to let me know that last question was never needed. They spoiled him rotten, especially since Dorian wasn’t going to be giving them grandchildren anytime soon.
Her marriage to Daniel was on the rocks and most likely headed for divorce. She now knew firsthand the pain of being cheated on. She knew how deep that sort of betrayal cut. Part of me felt sorry for her, but part of me, a small part of me, sort of enjoyed her pain. When I’d been cheated on by Paul, she’d had no sympathy. She’d loved to make snide comments about my inability to keep a man satisfied. Hell, she’d even invited him to her wedding.
He’d died that night. Ruled an accident, but now I knew better. It’d become another one of the memories that replayed in my head with the knowledge of who Seth really was. I shook my head and pushed away those thoughts.
Seth’s cars mocked me when I entered the garage. Just like his closet, they’d remained untouched. I needed to sell them, but I hadn’t. Instead, they sat under their custom-made car covers, serving as more reminders of a life forgotten. With a heavy sigh, I hit the button on the wall to open the garage door, climbed into my small SUV, and headed toward Dr. Carr’s Buckhead office.
“You knew!” I accused when I entered her office twenty minutes later.
She closed the door behind me. “Good morning to you as well, Calida,”
I dropped my bag into the chair in front of her desk and started pacing. The soothing blue colors and calming ocean décor were not having their desired effect. She’d told me yesterday that Malcolm had come to see her for advice. She knew I was walking into an ambush and yet she’d said nothing.
“Do you want to tell me what it is I knew about?” she asked in her annoyingly even tone.
I turned to glare at her. She always seemed to irritate me more than anything, and I found myself wondering why I hadn’t found a new therapist. Or why I even continued therapy at all.
“Malcolm! You knew he was planning that…that ambush, and you didn’t warn me. Or better yet, you didn’t tell him not to.” I dropped down into the club chair across from where she sat.
Dr. Carr pushed her square-rimmed glasses up on her nose. “I don’t tell my patients what to do or what not to do. I merely help them come to positive solutions on their own terms.”
“But he’s not your patient. I am.”
“He paid me for my time, as a…consultation. Which brings me to your first issue of me not telling you. I didn’t know what he had planned. He simply asked for the best way to deal with approaching a woman who had been through a traumatic relationship. Strictly in hypothetical terms. I could not tell you what he was or was not going to do because that would have been breaking privilege. I only told you he came because he asked me to before he left.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Since you like hypotheticals so much, why not tell me ‘hypothetically’ that he was going to propose, well not really propose, but sorta. UGH!” I balled my fists in my hair. “He even had our parents there. I couldn’t say no, not with them all looking so happy and expectantly at me. It wasn’t right. You weren’t right, and he wasn’t right.”
H
er head cocked to the side, and her voice raised an octave. “He asked you to marry him?”
Guess Malcolm didn’t give her the whole story. I looked down at the ring I now wore on my right hand instead of the left. I’d taken it off after I’d gotten dressed, but something made me put it back on. I was glad it wasn’t an engagement ring; that sort of pressure—commitment—I really wasn’t ready for. In another life, one before Seth, everything Malcolm had said to me yesterday would have made my heart sing. Years of playful flirting had fed into the pipe dream. I’d been young and naïve then, but hopeful. Now…now my world view was irrevocably jaded.
I massaged my temples. The aspirin weren’t doing much to alleviate the morning after headache. “No, not really. But something close. He basically told me he wasn’t going to allow me to continue saying no to being in a relationship with him. He took away my right to choose. He ignored everything I’d said to him, and he gave me this,” I said, holding up my hand and pointing to the ring. “As some sort of promise ring.”
“And your first reaction was to, what?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.
“To say no, of course,” I replied, mirroring her actions.
“But you said yes. Why?”
“Because…that’s what they all wanted me to say.”
“Is that the only reason?” she pressed.
I stood and walked over to the window. My fingers gingerly ran over my lips, again remembering the kiss Malcolm gave me yesterday. I’d felt something. I’d enjoyed it, but I was also scared. However, I wasn’t sure if I was scared of him or if I was scared of the feelings he’d stirred up.
“He kissed me,” I said, still staring out the window. “No warning. He just did it.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Scared, nervous, excited, confused, angry. Take your pick.” I returned to my seat, and buried my face in my hands. “Everyone was there, looking at me, expecting me to be happy about this, so I caved. People-pleaser to my core, I guess,” I said with a humorless laugh.
