Space Between (Smart Girl Mafia Series: Book 3)

by Amiee Smith

  “We became friends. She was my only friend really. I got mom to hire Brit for the summer so she could afford to go to concerts with me and still pay her rent. We... we... could have hooked up back then, but I was going to leave for New York. It... didn’t seem right to start a relationship if I was going to move away. At some point over the summer, I decided I didn’t want to work on Wall Street. I wanted to stay in L.A. and build my own business. But I didn’t have the capital. And... dad had cut me off.

  “She had an inheritance that she could only collect if she was married. Her dad... or the man that fathered her... left her three million dollars and a house in Silver Lake. I... convinced Brit to marry me so she could get the house, so she’d have a place to live, but also so I had the capital to start my business...”

  “How much, Alexander? We will just pay her back. Get her out of our lives,” my mom says.

  My brother interjects. “Stop it, Mom.”

  “Yes, Sophia. Let him finish,” my dad says.

  “Brit gave me a half a million dollars.”

  My parents gasp and sit on the long chestnut brown leather sofa. My brother crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

  “We got married at the end of the summer. This August will be nine years. Brit’s only stipulations in our... transaction... was I had to give money... a percentage of my profits to charity and we could never be intimate. And we weren’t. Until recently. We were both free to be with other people... but I never did... I couldn’t.”

  “You went almost nine years without having sex? At all?” my mom asks, quietly.

  “Yeah. I was married. For better or worse. I was married.”

  “What about the rehab?” my dad asks.

  “Ah... after we got married, we went our separate ways. I struggled to study for my securities exams and get clients. Brit... Brit... spent over two million dollars in three months....”

  “On what?!” my dad asks.

  “Shoes. Clothes. One-of-a-kind pieces. She loves coats. Kimonos. Music equipment. She built a studio in her home... ah, the Silver Lake house. Once I found out, I took her to Canyon. She spent 30 days there.”

  “Oh, my God! That poor girl,” my mom says.

  “No. There is nothing poor about my wife. So, please stop saying that. She took her time at Canyon seriously. She did the work. Really did the work... trying to understand her addiction. But she also made friends. She makes friends wherever she goes. Friends with women from the wealthiest families in Los Angeles. She told them about my business. She told them I was a good guy. She told them I was a... good husband. She exaggerated a bit, but never lied. Those women told their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers about me... about my business.

  “I went from no clients to more clients than I could handle seemingly overnight. Since most of my clients lived on the Westside of L.A., at the time, we decided to stay married because no one in Pasadena would find out. Brit was on leave from her doctorate program, so she helped me in the business. Went to meetings and events with me. Set up my first office in Downtown L.A. I took care of the house in Silver Lake. Made sure she had her basic needs met.

  “Sh... sh... she... she... wanted to make an album, but I pushed her to return to school. My business grew quickly. Too quickly. If something were to happen to me, I’d know she’d have a job in academia to fall back on.”

  “What would have happened, son?” my dad asks.

  “What did happen. At the end of last year, the FBI began investigating me. A group of my clients used my business to launder millions of dollars. I swear on my life; I had no knowledge of it. The FBI closed the case without filing any charges. But the SEC suspended my trading license for six months. It’s why I took a leave of absence and Will now oversees all trading activity.”

  “Did you know?” my dad asks Nick.

  “Yes, but only because Brit told the girls and Lynn told me.”

  My mom scoffs. “And your wife divorced you in the middle of an investigation?!”

  “No. No. Mother, please stop trying to make her the villain. Brit was already going to divorce me. She had finished her doctorate and she really wanted to focus on music, but I wanted her to focus on getting a tenure-track position. I was...”

  “...being a Willingham,” Nick says, quietly.

  “Yeah. And she left me for it. We were finally getting close... and I got all up in her life. Telling her what to do. But she didn’t cave. She went to the Bay Area. Spent a week in Oakland and made a record. An immaculate album of songs. Her songs. And then the investigation happened. She was going to ride it out with me. But Evelyn found out we were married and told Lynn...”

  “Lynn and I were assholes to them about it. We gave them a hard time, a really hard time... and Brit left him,” Nick says, somberly.

  “She filed for divorce, moved out of the Silver Lake house and took a job at Mills College in Oakland. Started a whole new life for herself. Formed a band. Had a weekly gig at a venue in San Francisco. She sold a portion of her wardrobe. She was dating...”

  “Unsuccessfully dating. Brit could find countless ways to run a guy off,” Nick says.

  “That’s surprising. She’s such a pretty girl, tattoo and piercings aside,” my dad says.

  “My wife is beautiful. Inside and out. I’ve probably loved her since the day I stepped into her small, messy office. I tried to sweet talk her to get a good grade, but by the end of our meeting, I just wanted to be around her.

  “She’s never asked me for anything. I’d buy her a coat or a pair of shoes from time to time, but everything I did for her, I did because I wanted to be a good husband. I wanted to protect her. I wanted her to love me, the way I’ve always loved her,” I state.

  The room is silent for a bit, and the tension from earlier lifts.

  “She couldn’t get a man because she already had one,” my mom says, matter-of-factly.

  My dad sighs. “Well, Sophia, we’ve made a big mess of our sons’ relationships.”

  “No. We may have added to it, but Alexander and Nicholas did not handle this well.”

  “I didn’t handle it well?!” Nick snaps.

  My dad interjects. “No, son, you didn’t handle it well. You should have told us you and Lynn got married. You should have told us she didn’t want a big wedding. But that’s not the issue...”

  My dad stands, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  “Alex, I’m sorry. So very sorry you did not feel comfortable enough to share with us all you’ve gone through over the last eight years. I... have the same issue with reading as you do. I’m sorry I was so hard on you, son.”

  My dad never apologizes. Never. And while I sensed he may have dyslexia, I never imagined he’d admit it.

  “God, I was awful to Brit tonight,” my mom confesses.

  “We were all awful to her. To both our daughters,” my dad says.

  “Well, we’re all a part of the Mafia family now. Let’s work out a scheme to get our wolves back,” Nick says.

  “I need to go to Brit now,” I say.

  “Man, you can’t drive. We’ll wait until morning. And I pray my wife hasn’t left the country. But if she has, everyone in this room is going to travel the world with me until I find her. Got it?”

  “Got it,” we say.

  “I need to go to my place to let Pep out of her crate.”

  “Pep?” my dad asks.

  “My Maltipoo. Brit and I co-parent a dog.”

  “Is there anything else you’ve left out, Alexander?”

  “Probably. It’s been a long eight years.”

  “I’ll drive you. I’ve only had this glass of wine. Can I crash with you? I don’t want to stay in the townhouse... alone,” Nick says, soberly.

  “Sure, man. Any time.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry for shoving you.”

  “I’d rather endure your wrath instead of Jen’s.”

  “Yeah, let’s just figure out a scheme good enough to get back into her good graces.”
r />   “Nick says Lynn schemes. What does Brit do?” my dad asks.

  “She’s... the nice one.”

  “I guess we have to figure out something nice to do for her. And pray she’s nice enough to forgive us,” my mom says.

  “The Willingham Effect,” my brother, dad, and I say in unison.

  CHAPTER 28

  BRIT PALMER

  Tears stream down my face.

  It’s after 11:00 p.m. The doorbell chimes, jolting me out of my moment. I wipe my face on the lapels of my pink kimono.

  Still in my emotional fog, I get up from the cream-colored sofa and open the door without checking the peephole.

  “Holy Unicorn! Do not waste tears on those terrible people!” Lynn yells.

  In a frenzy fury that can only be her, she rolls a large black suitcase into the house. She’s changed out of her Sophia dress and wears a Bikini Kill T-shirt, yoga pants, and sneakers. Reusable grocery bags hang on each of her slender shoulders.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  I shut the door, returning to the sofa.

  “Brit, you can’t cry over the Willinghams!”

  “I’m not. I was watching an episode of ‘This Is Us,’” I say, pointing at the TV.

  “Oh. Yeah, that show can get me to tear up. And I never cry. Good writing,” she says, retrieving bottles of wine from a grocery bag and placing them on the coffee table.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I left Nick. Can I crash with you? I was going to stay with my parents, but my mom started hinting I should move back to Pasadena, so I had to bounce out. I brought weed and wine!” she rambles.

  She unpacks another grocery bag, placing jars of weed on the table.

  “Wait, you left Nick? Why?”

  “You saw that shitshow of a family! You didn’t expect me to just go all Tammy Wynette and stand by my man while they treated you so poorly. Fuck them!”

  “Lynn, you’re getting married tomorrow... oh, wow, you took the Volcano?”

  “Yes! There’s no prenup, I’m entitled to whatever I want. Starting with the Volcano, and his wine collection,” Lynn says, mischievously.

  “Good to know your priorities. I thought you bought your own Volcano?” I ask with a chuckle.

  “When I moved in with Nick, I donated mine to our dispensary. They give them to patients who can’t afford a vaporizer. Get glasses and a corkscrew. I’ll heat up the Volcano.”

  I go to the kitchen.

  “Where’s Emma?” Lynn calls from the living room.

  “Ah, your guess is as good as mine,” I say, opening drawers trying to find a corkscrew.

  “Well, I hope at least someone is getting laid after that poor excuse of a party.”

  I return to the living room, placing two wine glasses on the table.

  “It was a really beautiful party, Lynn. The Willinghams really went all out,” I say quietly.

  “This is not a time for diplomacy, Brit. We are at war with Nick and Alex. They just sat there. And did nothing!”

  “Yeah, I know. But I don’t have any more fight left in me. I’ve been fighting for my marriage-friendship for nearly nine years. I just want to get through this weekend, go home, and sign my divorce settlement.”

  “That’s easy to say when you’re going to get 10 million dollars,” she says, grinding up bright green buds.

  I told the girls about Alex’s generous divorce settlement offer during Jen’s party. How after I repeatedly told my attorney I didn’t want anything from him, he still was going to give me half of everything.

  Another way of talking him up. Making him seem like a great guy. I’m so done being the champion of Alex Willingham. I’m so done.

  “No, it’s not. I never wanted anything from Alex. But now I know, I deserve that money.”

  I open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, pouring two very full glasses. I click off Hulu and select the Pandora app on the TV.

  Any time Lynn is bummed, or really happy, she likes to dance and (badly) sing along to the Pop Divas station. Janet Jackson’s “Miss You Much” starts playing on the TV speakers.

  “I just want my place back, but I feel bad asking my new tenants to move out.”

  “You can stay at my place until you get everything worked out. But please don’t split up with Nick for me. He’s your dream man.”

  “But that is not my dream family. Why are you handling this so well?”

  I sigh, sitting on the sofa with my glass of wine.

  “I’ve probably grown callous. My heart can only be broken so many times. I just want to hang out with my sister-friend in the Airbnb I paid for with my own money and have fun. My life can’t always be about Alex.”

  “Wow, we are sister-friends,” she says, sitting next to me.

  “Yeah, we are. Let’s just have fun tonight.”

  “K. Give me your phone,” she says pointing at my phone on the coffee table.

  “What? Why?”

  “So, Alex can’t sweet talk you with romantic words in Italian.”

  “How do you know he does that?!”

  “He’s a fucking Willingham!” Lynn yells, extending her palm.

  I hand over my phone.

  “Is your passcode still the same?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Awesome. I just blocked him. I’ve already blocked Nick. Now we don’t have to deal with them until we’re ready.”

  I reach for my phone, but Lynn tosses it in her bright pink purse. “Is that really necessary? What if he needs to reach me?”

  “Brit! I thought you were cutting the cord? I’m helping you out. You don’t need Alex.”

  “No, I don’t need him. But what if I want him? For fun. You used to have guys for fun,” I say with a bashful grin.

  “Holy Unicorn, Brit! You can’t be friends-with-benefits with your husband! Wait. Can you? How would that work? I mean, we wouldn’t have to deal with their family, and we could keep our own places. Hmm. This seems promising.”

  She retrieves her wine glass from the table and I watch the wheels turn in her scheming mind.

  “Girl, you know Nick wouldn’t go for that.”

  “Yeah, I know. The Willinghams are a package deal,” Lynn says with a sigh and a big gulp of wine.

  “I was really excited about living with Alex. Being a family with him and Miz Pepper. Here I am making plans for happily-ever-after and he hadn’t even told his parents.”

  “I know this may not make sense to you, but it’s difficult to tell our parents we’re leaving the nest.”

  Looking down at my lap, I trace the floral print on my robe with my sparkly gray fingernail. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense to me. I haven’t spoken to my mom in months. Almost a year, really. I want to believe she’d send flowers if I died.”

  “Gosh, Brit. I’m so sorry. First, you have terrible parents, and then you get terrible in-laws.”

  “They’re human. Just human.”

  Lynn gives me a you-are-full-of-shit glance.

  “Alright. You’re right. They are terrible people. But I need to believe there can be good mired in the mess.”

  “I do too, sister-friend. But sometimes we need to call a spade a spade so we can move on. Maybe you missed all the red flags with Alex because you didn’t want him to abandon you like your mom?”

  “No, my mom didn’t abandon me. And neither did Alex. They just had something in their lives more important than me. I can’t be mad at that,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “But now I have something more important than them.”

  “What?”

  “Me. I have me. And I will never abandon myself... again.”

  After years of therapy, trying desperately to unpack why I compulsively shop, I’ve finally figured out what was tattooed on my forearm all along.

  People will come and go. Like fashion trends. Money. Hit songs. Teaching gigs. Band members. Even friends and family. But what will never change is my fiercely independent nature. And now, with or without Alex, i
t is time for me to run free. I can keep myself safe and secure. I can take care of myself. I can be independent.

  I’ll always have the girls. And music. Manolos. Snacks, preferably with hot sauce. The Warriors. And all the people and things I love. But never again will I love anyone more than myself.

  Because as the great Mother Ru always says: “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you going to love anyone else? Can I get an Amen?!”

  “Amen, sister-friend! The Willinghams are still the enemy. This is war.”

  “Okay. But why are we at war? Over is just... over, Lynn.”

  Her big brown eyes fill with sadness.

  Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” plays on the TV. We both exhale and sip our wine, letting the feels of the iconic song, an iconic voice, wash over us. Both of us coming to terms with our new reality.

  Single ladies, once again.

  ***

  In therapy, I learned everyone experiences the stages of grief differently... denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance... and in no particular order. My only responsibility is to feel my feelings. Each stage twisting and turning, until the hurricane of grief passes.

  I wake up the next morning entangled in me and Alex’s sex sheets from yesterday, slightly hung over, wearing his gray sweatpants and a white tank, still sore from all the sex I’ve been having, and in rage.

  Why hang out with Lady Anger when I can spend time with her wickedly alluring sister-friend, Lady Rage?

  There is only one person I want to share the deep, seething, pain-inflicting feeling of Lady Rage with: Alex.

  Throwing the covers off my body, I storm down the hallway to the living room. Lynn sleeps on the sofa, wrapped in a light blue throw blanket.

  “Lynn! Where’s my phone?!” I yell.

  Like a mummy rising from her tomb, she pops up with wide eyes, wearing a Long Beach State Water Polo T-shirt.

  “Holy Unicorn! I just had the worst dream ever! I gave my perfect engagement ring back to Nick.”

  I watch her fumble to get her hand free, staring down at her bare ring finger. And then she screams.