by Leah Holt
A small compact smart car was perfect for me. I was able to park anywhere in the city, it was a hybrid, so it was good on gas and used electricity. Shit, I really only used it to get back and forth from work or to run a quick a errand or two if my drivers were away or sick, or if I just wanted to be alone and do something for myself.
“When did Matchbox start selling just add water cars?” Giggling, Ella gave me an elbow to the ribs playfully.
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“Alright, I'll stop, I just didn't expect this tiny car. It's good though, who needs some stupid fancy luxury car? It's a waste of money.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Pulling out of the garage, we drove to my mother's apartment uptown.
“So, how much does your mom know about all this?” Ella asked, moving her eyes from the window onto me.
“As far as I know, nothing.”
“That doesn't seem possible. Wouldn't she know something?”
“My parents got divorced when I was a kid, they were barely a part of each other's lives. The only reason either one still had to act like the other existed was because of me.”
“You still haven't told me exactly why you need this baby.” Her gaze hardened as she rubbed her hands together.
Letting out an audible breath, I swallowed hard. It was time for her to know. “My father decided a child was the only I'd get to keep everything that's rightfully mine. I thought it was a sick joke when I saw it in his will after her passed, but it was true. No baby by the time I'm thirty-five meant no company, no job, no inheritance, no nothing.”
“Wow, is that even legal?”
“Apparently it is.”
“So why not just ask a girl you already know, why the ad in the paper?”
Looking at Ella from the corner of my eyes, I chuckled dryly. “You wouldn't be asking me that if you met any of the girls I know.”
“They can't be that bad.”
“They can and they are. The women I know are selfish and have their priorities all wrong. They think money defines you and how much you have should decide where you sit on the ladder of society. That's not the kind of person I want raising my child. So, I decided on the ad after several failed attempts to meet someone.”
Slowing the car, I pulled up to the front of my mother's skyscraper pent house apartment. Ella pressed her forehead to the glass and looked up in awe.
“Here we are,” I said.
“Holy fucking shit. Your mother lives here?”
“Yup, and she thinks this is down sizing from her last place.”
“I can't even imagine. My mother owns a two bedroom cottage on a main road, in a city that no one has ever heard of. This is insane.”
The doorman came over, opening Ella's door and helping her out. Climbing out, I walked to her side as her head was tipped all the way back and her eyes were squinting.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I'm trying to see the top.”
“How about we go in and you see the city from the top?”
“Wait—she's all the way. . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked up.
“Come on, before we're any later.” Taking her hand, I led her inside the building and over to the elevator. “Ready to be on top of the world?” Hitting the button for the top floor, Ella squeezed my hand and snuggled against my ribs.
“I'm nervous,” she said, baring her teeth as her eyes opened wide.
“Don't be, we've already established she's going to hate you.” Bumping her with my hip, Ella giggled and nodded. “Tonight is just a formality, what she thinks doesn't even matter. This is all an act, right, so there's nothing to worry about.”
“Right, all an act,” Ella repeated, her eyes set on the floor counter, watching the arm as it ticked. “Nothing to worry about.”
The way she said it sent my heart into my throat. I didn't like the tone of her voice or how the words sounded in my ears.
I knew what I was doing was dangerous. I was tempting the devil with fruit. Creating an imaginary world that only existed in the playground of my mind for my own gain.
And within that fictional playground Ella made me laugh and smile, she made my heart hammer and body come alive. That was far more dangerous than making up stories to satisfy a piece of paper.
But I had gone a step further, taking this character and making her real. She was now in my life, and if everything went as planned, she'd be in my life forever.
That thought should scare me, only it didn't.
What the hell does that mean?
Chapter Eighteen
Ella
There's everything to be worried about!
What the hell are you doing, Ella?!
My nerves were going wild, filling my stomach like a giant ball of thorns as the elevator brought us higher into the sky.
August was right, I shouldn't be nervous, because it didn't really matter what his mother ended up thinking about me. This was all fake, a twisted business opportunity for both of us to get what we wanted.
I just couldn't stop what was happening inside. My emotions were in charge. I shouldn't be a lot of things; I shouldn't be there, I shouldn't be accepting money in exchange for a child, and I absolutely shouldn't be falling for this man. But all of this was starting to feel comfortable, normal, very real on a certain level.
Nope, not real. Not a couple, not in a relationship. This is only business.
What his mother thought was irrelevant, she could think anything she wanted. If I could just get my head to hold onto that idea, and keep it in the forefront of everything, the woman could curse me to hell and I'd be fine.
And yet, as we stood hip to hip in the elevator, a small voice inside was praying that August's mother and I would somehow hit it off. That she would smile at me with a smile she hadn't used on any another girl he brought home to her. That we would share this small, but important, connection that only we would understand.
But these were all just silly hopes, immature ideas that young girls have about boys they like. Because this was going to be difficult, we had to pull off the magic trick of a lifetime and convince his mother that we had somehow met and fallen in love before she knew I existed.
I can do this. I can play the part.
His hand was on my back, rubbing up and down between my shoulder blades. “You doing okay? You look a little pale.”
“Me? I feel fine. This is just a walk in the park.”
Liar! You're terrified!
“We can always leave, tell her we need to cancel,” he said, his eyes full of concern. I knew he could sense how I was feeling. It was probably written all over my face.
Waving him off, I shook my head. “No, no, I'm fine. Your mother is expecting us, we can't ditch her now.”
“Yes we can,” August said, no hint of teasing in his voice. “I'm only doing this because I'll never hear the end of it if I don't.”
“You and your mom don't get along?” I asked.
“My mother is an entity of her own, you'll see what I mean. She's a difficult woman, someone who sees the world through violet lenses. I love her, I respect her, but she's a handful on her own.”
“If you're trying to help ease my nerves, that's not comforting.”
“I just don't want you to get blindsided, that wouldn't be fair.”
The elevator doors opened up and I was immediately stunned. Looking across the hall, all I could see were the tops of buildings and the lights from windows. The skyline was a washy gray, with swirls of black, blue and silver.
“Oh wow,” I said, stepping forward and placing my hand on the window. Looking down, my forehead touched the cool glass as I watched the small taillights of the cars moving like red rope lights. “This is incredible.”
August rested his hands on the top of my shoulders, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “I can think of something more incredible.” The tips of his fingers trailed down the curve of my throat. “Like earlier, before we left to come here.”
A shiver ran up and down my body as he touched me. The weight of his fingers on my skin was delicate and gentle, but within the feathery tickle was something else. Something more personal.
I could feel it as he passed it like a hot torch and it spread across my skin like fire. My body ignited, the small flame now a burning inferno in my belly.
Twisting to look at him over my shoulder, our eyes were fixed on each other. His lips hovered over mine as his thumb followed the smooth curve of my jaw. The look in his eyes was filled with a million different thoughts and words he was holding in.
“What are—” I started to ask, but was suddenly interrupted.
“Oh good lord. You do realize you're in public, and not in a red light district or sex club, right?” Turning around quickly, I saw a small, older woman standing in the middle of the hall. She looked like my grandmother, except she had extremely good fashion sense.
Dressed in a satin Kaftan with sequin embellishments along the neckline, her silhouette was almost flawless. But as my eyes settled on her face, I knew instantly that this wasn't your sweet little grandma who baked cookies, and cooked big five course meals.
This woman had a resting bitch face. There wasn't a smile to be seen. Not built within her weathered lips or frayed eyes.
“Mom,” August said, pulling me to his side. “I want you to meet—”
“Was she—” she asked, ignoring her son completely as she pushed her head out, reminding me of an aged turtle. Her neck was long and wrinkled, her lips smacking as she opened and closed them. “She was, she was touching the window,” she said, answering herself. “Great, now I have to get Olivia to come and clean it before anyone else sees this greasy mess.” Rolling her eyes, she cupped her hip. “I can only imagine what your windows look like, August. Do you let her just paw at them freely?”
“And so it begins.” August whispered into the air, his voice loud enough so only I could hear it. Braiding our fingers together, he took a firm step forward. “The window is fine, you don't need to have anyone come and clean it.”
Swinging a finger in the air, she pointed at the window. “Don't you see that smudge? It looks like she ran her nose across it, just like that dog who lived across the street from us when you were really little.”
Did she just call me a dog?
I stood shocked, balancing on this single thread of doubt. I didn't want to think that his mother could be so vile, but I also couldn't ignore the words she used. Biting my tongue, I took the high road and let it go.
“His name was Sam, and it wasn't a dog, it was Mrs. Neylon's son.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, squinting an eye. August nodded and his mother scoffed, throwing a hand in the air. “Well, we're cutting apples here if you ask me. I swear that boy barked once.” Glancing up in the air, it looked like she was recounting that moment, only to shrug it off. “Come on, let's go inside, dinner will be ready shortly.”
Following his mother in silence, she opened her door and stepped inside. Lifting both her arms as if she was an Egyptian princess, his mother glanced back at us over her shoulder as her feet swept weightlessly over the floor without a sound.
“Ella is it?”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
Stopping short, she spun around in one graceful move. “Please, call me Fran, Ma'am makes me feel so old.”
“You are old,” August said, winking at me as he smirked.
His mother glared at him, pursing her lips like a tight asshole, but not reprimanding him for his cocky remark. “And no Mrs. Burke either, because I haven't been Mrs in a very long time.”
“Of course, thank you so much for inviting me for dinner, Fran. Your home is beautiful.”
“Isn't it?” she asked, her voice coming out as more of a fact than a question. “Does your family live in the city?”
“Oh, no, my mother lives in Greenwich.”
“Ah, that part of Connecticut is beautiful, we almost bought a home there when August was young.”
“Oh no, not Old Greenwich, East Greenwich, it's in Rhode Island.”
“Mm,” Fran grumbled, her expression falling flat as she tried to figure out if I was one of them.
Did I belong in her home? Was it alright for us mingle like friends, or should we be arms distance like enemies?
“So your family, would I know any of them? You said your last name was what?”
“Day, Ella Day.”
“Day. . .” Her eyes went to the ceiling, mouth crinkling and rocking back and forth. “Are you related to the Day's out of Denver?”
“I don't think so. My father was an only child, and most of our family is from New England.”
Raising two fingers in the air, Fran called out, “Nathan, Nathan can you come in here, please.”
A slender man came in, holding his arms behind his back. Opening his mouth as if he was about to speak, Fran cut in first. “Nathan, can you please bring in the bottle of Chateau Petrus I've been saving.” Smiling, she walked with both her arms partially up, hands folded like a raptor. “This is the perfect night to indulge.”
“Mom, you don't need to do that. We can just drink what you already have open, or a bottle from the batch Dad made years ago if you want to indulge.”
“August, honey, I'm meeting your girlfriend, the girl who I've heard nothing about and yet she moved in already. That must mean she's pretty special. When you choose silence over telling your mother, it deserves a certain recognition, don't you think?”
“You're right, she is special,” he said, curling an arm around my waist.
“So special,” her voice faded for a moment as she tapped a finger against her lip. “That the newspaper thinks she's pregnant, yet, you claim she's not. So special, she's living with you, and I never knew she existed until last week. But she's not pregnant. I don't know, August, that seems really strange if you ask me.”
“No one asked you—at least, I know I didn't.” August wasn't intimidated by his mother and she seemed like she could be a really difficult woman to please. I already felt extremely small and I had only been in her presence for five minutes. “I thought we came for dinner, but if all you're going to do is question my choices, then we'll leave. We don't need to stay, and I certainly don't need your approval.”
Veering her stare, Fran turned on her heels and started walking. “Dinner should be ready anytime now, we can go sit at the table.”
Following her through her enormous home, I was blown away by the fancy decorations and expensive handcrafted furniture. Everything looked like it had been flown in from another country or made specifically just for her.
But I did notice one thing, there wasn't one picture of August, old or young. Or any pictures of the two of them together at any stage of their lives. The home lacked any family warmth, that feeling you would get when you walked into a home and could tell it had been lived in.
If this was how he lived, August must have had a very boring childhood.
I couldn't imagine she'd let him run wild through the halls, possibly getting tauntingly close to her crystal encrusted, hand carved giraffe that was standing against the wall in the far side of her living room, or the Andy Warhol she had hanging in her hallway.
The dining room was elegant, with a long ten person table and intricately designed chairs with arms and velvet seating. A giant glass vase sat in the center, filled with roses and baby breaths. Each seat had a place setting, fitted with a small plate and bowl, napkin and silverware.
We had come from two different worlds. I ran around in the woods, climbing trees and getting dirty. I went fishing, camping, chased fireflies and frogs. I'd play the cello until my fingers bled and my mother told me to take a rest.
August learned how to tie a tie, he wore suits and was taught how to carry himself in front of prying eyes. He was born in the sea, while I was born in a pond.
We were never meant to meet, we were never meant to find each other.
Fran went and sat at the head of the table. She too
k her seat like a queen, letting her arms fall with grace onto the arms of the chair, her back seemingly elongating like a snake climbing a tree.
She had gone from this older, matured looking woman into a powerful force that I was suddenly afraid of. She looked like she had the power to destroy me with one look, one word, one snap of her fingers.
Nathan came to her side, pouring her a glass of red wine, then moved between August and myself, filling our cups.
Fran didn't say a word as she studied me suspiciously, lifting the glass and swirling the liquor under her nose.
“So, what's on the menu for tonight?” August asked, resting his hand on my thigh and giving me a reassuring squeeze.
Sipping her wine, she glared at August through her glass. “I told you, we're having lamb. Do you not listen when I'm talking?”
“I try not to,” he said, chuckling lightly. “But you still keep talking.”
Fran let her eyes glide over to mine. “I don't need to talk to him, I'll just talk to you.” Taking another big gulp of her drink, she pointed at me as she swallowed. “Tell me, what do you do, Ella?”
“I'm a teacher—well, trying to be. I substitute right now.”
“A substitute, isn't that just—nice.” Setting her glass down, she looked unimpressed and uninterested.
Who cares what she thinks! You don't need to impress her!
So why does it feel like I do?
“What about you? Do you work at the brewery with August?” I asked, gingerly picking up my glass by the stem.
August let out a loud laugh, quickly reeling it back in, and clearing his throat. “My mother wouldn't step foot in that place unless she absolutely needs to. And she hasn't needed to in years.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked, sternly setting her glass on the table.
“I know you, Mom, you hate that place.”
Leaning forward, Fran folded her hands together and rested her chin on her fists. “Let me tell you a little something, that brewery didn't build itself, and your father didn't create it on his own. Behind every great man is a great woman, unfortunately, your father refused to see that.”
