BENTLEY

by Olivia Chase

  “Well, this place is fancy,” Mom muses as she looks around. There are red fabrics draped along the wall, and our booth is plush and comfortable. Dark woods accentuate the bronze metal fixtures, along with old-world paintings of Italy featured in strategic places. The owner clearly has taken the time to create an inviting atmosphere .

  And my parents appreciate it .

  Even though I’ve made a lot of money, my family is still humble and refuses to take much from me, only when absolutely necessary—I can count on two fingers how many times that’s happened. Once when they owed back taxes on their home, and once when my uncle’s jewelry shop needed upfront cash for new inventory and equipment .

  We make small talk, which helps distract me from my errant thoughts about Samantha, and finally our appetizers come. We switch to talking about various things…which eventually leads to their favorite topic. My dating life .

  “You ever gonna settle down?” My mom hacks off half of a meatball and takes great pleasure in dipping it in marinara, then nibbling on it bit by bit .

  I ignore her, hoping to divert her attention, and dig the meat out of a mussel. “These are fantastic. Best I’ve had in ages .”

  She raises a brow at me and shakes her head. “It’s not good for you to be single .”

  “I know we’re eating at an Italian place, but we’re not actually Italian, you know,” I say. “You don’t have to marry me off to make sure someone feeds me. I’m doing a decent job taking care of myself .”

  Dad laughs. “You know she’ll never stop worrying about you, Bentley .”

  “I just want you to be happy.” Mom puts down her fork and pats my hand. “You’re so…closed off. I hate seeing you this way. All you do is think about work, but there’s more to life, you know .”

  “We can’t all be you and Dad,” I say lightly as I remove my hand and drop it into my lap. My appetite is suddenly gone .

  Dad wisely chooses to stay quiet, knowing when he’s fighting a losing battle. But Mom won’t give up. “I know lots of eligible girls — ”

  “No one says that anymore,” I tell her with a warning tone. “And I’m not looking.” I know my words are clipped, but I don’t like her pushing me. I’m perfectly happy alone .

  Well, I’m functional. Happy is not something I even think about .

  I have a sudden flash of Samantha in my arms, her soft smile as she beamed up at me. The urge to hold her closer and never let her go. But she doesn’t know me, not really. She wouldn’t smile like that if she saw the darkness I lock away .

  My family and I have never talked about the reason I’m adopted. It’s the elephant in the room. And maybe they think I’ve gotten over it, but truth is, I haven’t. I’m still haunted by what I saw .

  They’ll never understand me because they’ll never understand the brutality of what happened to me, to my mother, to my entire world .

  Our main meal arrives. I turn my attention to eating. Dad finally distracts Mom enough with a new topic to get her to stop hounding me about women. The food is probably good, if I could taste it. But I’m moving on autopilot. Faking my way through another thing .

  Same old, same old .

  Lunch can’t end soon enough. I’m a mass of tension as we get back to my office. The limo is waiting there—I already texted the driver—and I give my adoptive parents perfunctory hugs and send them off .

  And now I have to go upstairs and face my biggest problem. A woman who is becoming far too prominent in my life. I’m not in a place to be what she wants or deserves. I know she isn’t saying anything, but her prying questions last night gave me a hint that she’s going to want more and more from me .

  Rightfully so .

  And I can’t give her more .

  I ride the elevator to my floor and when I get to Samantha’s desk, I say in a quiet tone, “I need you to come in my office .”

  This isn’t going to be an easy conversation, but it’s necessary. For my wellbeing and for hers .

  I push every ounce of emotion out of me as I move behind my desk and sit in my chair. She hovers in the doorway, her eyes radiating her unease, confusion .

  “Close the door and have a seat .”

  This is a deviation from our norm. She’s sensing something is happening, because she closes the door and takes halting steps, then settles into the seat. Tries to school her face into a neutral expression and doesn’t speak .

  “This isn’t working out,” I tell her bluntly. “The arrangement we’ve made doesn’t work for me anymore. If you are to remain employed at Strongwell Ink, it will be as my employee and nothing else. Strictly professional .”

  Truth is, I need her gone. And I’m hoping she’ll see I don’t mean for her to stay—every day she’s here just adds more pressure to me. She’s a disruption. And I have to eliminate the problem. Samantha has to go .

  Her throat bobs as she swallows hard twice. Her face is like stone. “I… Is this because I was prying last night? I know you didn’t want to talk — ”

  “I made things very clear up front. I told you I have exacting demands.” I can sense my emotions shutting down one by one. I’m not feeling anything anymore, just a shell of a person with a voice. I welcome the numbness, because she makes me feel things I don’t want to feel. I was doing just fine before I met her, and then she came along and wrecked things. “This was a very particular arrangement, and it was beginning to evolve into something I’m not interested in. So either you remain here as just my employee, or you part ways with Strongwell Ink .”

  Emotions are warring on her face. She’s weighing what I’ve said, trying to analyze me, her bold eyes locked on mine. But she won’t find anything. I’m not here anymore .

  I see the moment her pride rises to the surface. Samantha stands. In this moment, she is full of rage and hurt, and the one last shred of humanity in me hates that I caused her this pain. But it’s better for me to hurt her now than hurt her later. When she realizes I’ll never make her happy .

  “I’m offering my resignation,” she says, “effective immediately.” Then Samantha turns away from me, and I’m left staring at her back as she quietly opens and closes the door behind her .

  It’s done now. And it’s for the best. I am fully numb as I type out an email to Kim asking her to please arrange for Samantha’s tasks to be redistributed again, as I am in need of Kim’s services for the indefinite future .

  I don’t leave the office to tell Samantha to stay after all. I don’t tell her that she aroused and stimulated me in a way a woman never has before. I don’t, because I can’t afford to let myself feel those emotions. If I unlock them, they will all come spilling out. And I’ll be destroyed, because as it is I’m only hanging together because of my stubborn will, and the thickness of the defensive walls I erected as a child .

  Without the walls, I will be rubble. I will be like an open wound .

  The only thing I truly have is this company. It’s my pride and joy. I started it after high school, built it from the ground up. Every penny I’ve earned, I earned through my blood, sweat, and tears .

  In interviews, when people ask me why publishing, I tell them that education and reading was fundamental to my life and I want to spread that passion to others for generations to come. But the truth is, one of my most vivid memories is my biological mother curling up against me in our trailer, us lying on a cheap leather couch, her reading to me .

  She loved reading, and she’d hit every yard sale in sight to find new books. Any genre, any type, she didn’t care. Reading was her escape from poverty, from being alone and raising a kid with no support, no family .

  And then, one night, everything changed. My world was blown apart and all I have left are faint memories, most of which I’d just as soon not think about .

  Coming back to a much different present circumstance, I stand up and stare out the window of my corner office. Below me, New York City is bustling, cars and buses honking, people rushing to and fro. I have a life here, a c
ompany I built into something big and important. I came from a background no one could even imagine .

  I did that alone. The way I work best .

  I can’t afford to let a woman bring me down and tangle my life. Especially since she was dangerously close to piercing through the armor .

  It’s strange, but I can feel the moment Samantha’s gone. Like a warmth left the room and was filled in by the cooler air around it. I should be relieved, and I am .

  I am .

  Mostly .

  Kim comes to my office a short time later, and wisely she doesn’t ask questions. Just tells me she’s set up at the desk and to let her know what I need from her. Working with her is easy. There’s no challenge, no tension. None of those pesky feelings getting in the way. I know what to expect. I know who I am .

  This is what I need. This is the way I like my life .

  So why do I feel like my stomach is about to twist in on itself—why do I feel a knife in my guts when I picture her smile ?

  I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I turn away from that smile. Samantha’s just another faint memory now, soon forgotten .

  Samantha

  I stand in the middle of my apartment, feelings too much of a riot to process. I just quit my job. I just quit the one “relationship” I had. Because he didn’t want me anymore. The pain is real, and vivid, and it pierces my heart in a way I hadn’t imagined .

  So much for all my lofty plans. My aspirations to save money and go back to school. I have enough to pay the next month or two of rent, at best. And now I have to find another shitty job to fill my time, and school has retreated yet further from view .

  And that doesn’t even touch the hurt I’m feeling over Bentley’s sudden 180 .

  This blow was too much to deal with. I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now. I sit on the edge of my small twin-size bed and ponder my options in an effort to get my mind off the deep, deep sadness I feel from Bentley’s rejection .

  One, I can stay. Take on another bartending/waitress job…if I can even get one .

  Two, I can return home and face my parents .

  God, I don’t want to. I can already imagine what they’re going to say. The sharp disappointment they’ll express at me once again blundering away an important moment in my life. I could try to lie and pretend something else happened that drove me away. But I’m a terrible liar, and they’ll drag it out of me eventually .

  Maybe I’m wrong, though. Maybe if I show up and they see how hurt and struggling I am, they’ll take pity on me and help me figure out what to do. How to get over Bentley. How to find direction again. Maybe I’m not giving them enough credit. After all, I know they care about me. They want the best for me .

  When my roommate gets back that evening from work, I decide to tell her the news—that I’m moving back home to live with my parents again, at least for the foreseeable future. I’m nervous that she’ll be angry at me leaving her with no notice. And I can’t blame her. But surely she’d want someone who can carry her end of the bargain .

  I can’t expect her to float me until I find a job that will pay my way. It isn’t fair .

  Callie is surprisingly kind. Perhaps because she sees my mascara-stained cheeks. I don’t go into details about what specifically happened. Just that I got tangled up with my boss and it ended badly .

  “It happens,” she says as she draws me into a hug. I feel bad for not thinking better of her .

  “I’ll find a way to keep paying my rent until you can replace me,” I tell her as I pull away .

  She grins. “No worries. My girlfriend wants to move in, anyway. We’ve been talking about it for a few weeks now, but I was waiting for the right time to see what you thought. She can help me until we can fill your spot .”

  I’m partly relieved that she’s able to make things work. And I’m partly envious. Because my life feels like it’s turning to crap. Instead of being a Debbie Downer, I just give her a grateful hug. “I’m so glad it’ll work out .”

  Now it’s time to make the hardest call .

  I head to my room and close the door. Fidget with my cell phone. It wouldn’t be fair for me to just drop by with all my belongings in hand and ask them to take me in. They deserve a head’s up. Doesn’t mean I’m not dreading this conversation though .

  Wish I had some wine handy. I could use a chug or two to ease my nerves .

  Stop being a chicken and get it over with. I suck in a breath and dial my mom .

  “Oh hi, Samantha. Nice surprise!” Mom says, happiness evident in her voice. “How are you? Last time we talked, you had a new job. How’s that going ?”

  Her enthusiasm is so strong that it makes me cry. Big, fat, ugly tears rip out of my chest .

  “Oh no, what’s wrong?” she asks, her joy instantly gone .

  Through sniffles, I tell her that I’m not working there anymore and I want to come home. I’m not ready to get into details yet, especially not over the phone. I need time to heal, time to figure out what to say that won’t make them utterly disgusted with me .

  “Oh, of course you can,” Mom soothes. “Come when you’re ready. Do you need money for a bus ticket ?”

  Her offer makes me cry harder. I’m a mess, struggling to take breaths .

  “Is there something else wrong? Are you pregnant? Are you sick?” Now the flood of questions is coming, and the worry in her voice is on edge .

  “No, no,” I manage to say. I struggle to regain control over myself. I can’t lose it. Not now. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had a hard day and I’m tired. I wanted to make sure it was okay for me to come before I showed up on your doorstep .”

  “This is still your home too,” she says. The earnestness in her voice lifts some of my pain .

  “Thank you. I’ll be there this weekend. I have enough to get there, but thanks for offering .”

  “Your father and I worry about you,” Mom says needlessly. I know they do. Especially since the debacle at my old college. I can only imagine what she’ll say if she knows why I quit my current job .

  I can’t think about that now. I have to focus. Get back home, lick my wounds. Come up with a plan. Figure out how to get my life back on track…again .

  * * *

  T he bus ride home takes a couple of hours, with an hour of that just getting out of downtown NYC. I head toward the suburbs where my parents live, outside the city. Our family home is small but cozy, in a welcoming neighborhood. All my old childhood friends still have family here .

  I get to the bus depot that’s close to my home and call for an Uber to take me the rest of the way. As I get closer, my stomach is in knots, worried about the reception I’ll get. Their only child, fucking things up again. Continually disappointing them .

  The drive seems to take longer than usual. When I get a mile or so from home, I’m flooded with memories—over there in front of the 7-11 is where I got my first kiss. Billy Banks, third grade. We walked there on the way back to our neighborhood, and he just grabbed me and planted a big, wet one on my lips. It was gross, and I shoved him away. The other kids around us laughed .

  That sidewalk is where I wiped out on my bike and skinned my knee. Still have the scar .

  I used to trick-or-treat every year religiously, scouring up and down these streets in our neighborhood .

  A longing for simpler times hits me hard in the chest, and I absorb the feelings. Life was easier before this. Before I grew up. If only I could escape into that, even if just for a while. But I know better. I can’t run from the mess I’ve made of my life. I have to find my way out, somehow .

  At least I can buy more time until I do .

  The driver pulls into our driveway. I thank him and exit the car, bearing my suitcases. The entirety of my life is right here around me, packed away in these bags. It’s a sobering thought .

  I knock on the door, unsure if I should just walk in or what. Erring on the side of caution seems wise .

  The door flies open, and my dad i
s standing there, a knowing look on his face. “Come in, Samantha.” He immediately steps out to help me with my luggage. “Let’s get you up to your room .”

  Nothing has changed in here. I don’t know if they just haven’t gotten around to changing it in the past year, or if they somehow expected me to return. But my bed is still in place, fresh sheets and the same bedspread on. Dresser and desk empty and waiting. Closet with hangers in place, ready to be filled .

  Dad leaves me alone to unpack .

  I take out my portable speaker and sync it to my phone, pulling up a playlist. Unpack each suitcase one at a time. Methodical, carefully putting my stuff away. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, but my impulse to live out of my bags isn’t going to do me any good. My life has changed, and I have to accept it .

  Bentley comes to mind then, and I instantly push away all thoughts of him. He’s in my past. I’m not going to torture myself wondering what he’s doing, if he’s regretting cutting me out like that. He probably isn’t, and the only person who would get hurt by wondering otherwise is me .

  The unpacking doesn’t take long. I linger in my room for a while, too uncomfortable to go downstairs and face the music. I know I’m going to get grilled at dinner. Trying to put it off as long as possible, despite the impending doom .

  Maybe I can go out after dinner with some of my old friends. See if anyone is still around. Then I won’t feel so alone. I used to get along with people pretty well before I returned home after college, ashamed and unwilling to let anyone in. Afraid they’d see me and judge me .

  But I can’t just be an island. I have to move forward .

  I grab my phone and scroll down my list. A couple of friends from the area are in my contacts. I fire up texts, telling them I’m back around and asking if they want to meet for drinks soon .

  There’s a knock on my door. “Samantha, you in here?” It’s Mom .

  Time to face her. I try to keep my heart in its place in my chest, not in my throat, and get up. “Yeah,” I say and open the door .