by Mia Ford
“Of course I can come home,” I said. I squeezed Mom’s hand again. “I can stay for however long you need.”
Mom nodded. “That would be great, sweetie.” She nodded slowly, like I was still talking. Just looking at her was enough to punch me in the gut – she looked like a shell of her former self, a husk of the confident woman I’d always known.
I could tell she was still in shock.
“Come on, Mom,” I said gently, pulling her away from the table and leading her over to the living room. “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? We can make some plans when you wake up.”
Mom nodded. “That’s a good idea, Belle,” she said dreamily. “You’ve always been the best daughter.”
As I watched my mom drift off into an uneasy sleep, I felt conflicted. Angry. Scared. I knew that everything was about to change.
If only I’d known how much things would change, maybe I could have done a better job preparing myself for what was going to come next.
But there was no way of knowing, and now I was coasting off into the void like a missile off course.
The next couple of days were a blur. Between emailing my professors and packing a big bag, I barely had time to eat. Mom had gone home the morning after driving up to Alfred to give me the news, and even though I’d tried distracting myself, nothing had worked. I couldn’t even focus on studying – I was too worried about Mom, and what would happen to her now that Mitchell was gone.
Even though I’d lived with Mitchell and Mom as a teenager, I never really got to know my stepfather all that well. He was nice enough – Mom really loved him – but he never made too much of an interest in my life. I could count the number of dinners we’d had as a family on one hand…most of the time, Mom was too obsessed with spending as much time with her husband as possible.
It probably sounds like I was a little neglected. Some people would likely say that, but I’m not sure I could agree with them. After all, I didn’t mind. I’ve always been an introvert, and the idea of spending family dinners with a man I barely knew always made me want to break out into hives. So, while Mom and Mitchell flirted over fancy wine and Italian cuisine, I normally read books in my room and snuck down to the kitchen for late-night snacks after everyone else was in bed. I’d always thought of it as doing Mom a favor, like giving her the time with her husband that she seemed to need so desperately.
I never imagined that I’d have to be the one who supported my mother through something like this. Mitchell had been so full of life, so energetic. The fact that he was dead didn’t even resonate with me.
Friday morning, Alexa drove me to the train station. We hugged for a long time before I left.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Alexa squinted at me against the early morning sun. “I know you haven’t been doing so well lately.”
I sighed. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just have to go be there for Mom.” And I have to manage not to break down at the sight of Jackson, I added silently in my head.
As much as I wanted to tell Alexa all about how nervous I was at the thought of seeing Jackson, I knew I couldn’t let her in on my little secret. After all, I didn’t think she’d exactly understand. Alexa could have men eating out of the palm of her hand in a matter of minutes. I knew that she wouldn’t believe me when I told her what a jackass he really was…she’d probably lie, and say something like “Oh, I’m sure you just haven’t gotten to know him yet.”
“Okay, well, I’ve got to run,” I said, smiling tightly. “I’ll see you next week.”
Alexa nodded. “I’ll miss you, bestie,” she said. She air-kissed my cheeks and then I climbed out of her car into the blistering cold.
Alfred, New York was beautiful in the summer months but the winters were cold, snowy, and dreadful. I hated the cold. In another life, I was probably a beach bum – tan and bronzed and worshipping the sun all day long. But in this life, I’m a pale little mouse, I thought as I glanced down at my phone to check the time. And that’s not going to change any time soon.
The train from Alfred to New York City took almost three hours. I couldn’t relax the whole time – I kept thinking about Mom, and how much she must be hurting. I wished that I’d stayed with her the whole time, that I hadn’t let her leave. She must be so alone, and so sad, I thought nervously as I rubbed my hands together for warmth. I need to work hard on being a better daughter to her.
When I got into Grand Central Terminal, I grabbed my bags and walked quickly towards the entrance. Mom had said she’d be waiting for me, but after a few minutes went by and I didn’t see her, I pulled out my phone.
Mom didn’t answer until the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Mom, it’s me,” I said. “Um, I just got into the city. Are you here? Are you coming to pick me up?”
“Oh, Belle, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Mom said. She sniffled. “I sent a car, well, actually, Jackson heard you were coming and sent a car for you. I told him that was okay – are you going to be meeting up with us at the church?”
I frowned. I hadn’t spoken to Jackson in years – why the hell was he reaching out now?
“Are you sure?” I wrinkled my nose. “That doesn’t sound like something Jackson would do, Mom.”
“Belle, be easy on him,” Mom warned. “He’s just lost his father. Don’t you remember what that feels like?”
A weird mix of guilt and embarrassment seeped into my chest. She was right – I should understand exactly how Jackson was feeling. My own dad had died when I was a little kid, but I didn’t really remember him. Mostly what I remembered before Mom married Mitchell was how it felt for the two of us to be out there on our own. I remembered the little nights in our cramped kitchen, the way Mom would make macaroni and cheese for dinner. We’d spent the whole evening camped out in front of the television, watching all of our old favorites.
“I know,” I said. I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just kind of a surprise, that’s all.”
Mom made a funny little noise with her mouth. “Well, maybe now the two of you will finally be close,” she said after a pause. “You’re both older now. Maybe that’s finally going to happen.”
Fat chance, I thought, thinking of Jackson’s sneer after he’d tricked me into embarrassing myself at Mitchell’s party, years before. But to Mom, I said: “I’m sure. Okay, Mom. See you soon.”
After we hung up, I dragged my suitcase out of the terminal and onto the street. It was bitterly cold. I hadn’t expected much of a change from Alfred, but this was astonishingly brutal. Wind whipped across my face, stinging my eyes and making them tear up. My lips were so chapped they ached, and my fingers gripped numbly at the handles of my suitcase.
When I looked up, I saw a black Town Car parked right in front of me. There was a man standing in front, holding a sign that read: “Belle Harrington.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course, Jackson would do something like this – it was ostentatious, loud, and completely unnecessary…. just like him.
“Miss Harrington?” The driver stepped forward when he saw me glance over the car. “Is that you?”
I nodded. As he tried to grab my suitcase from my hands, I held tightly onto it.
“Miss, let me take your bag,” the man said. “Please.”
I glared at him. “I can manage on my own,” I sniffed. “I didn’t hire you, after all.”
The man’s expression soured, then darkened. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Very well.”
As I dragged my suitcase towards the backseat of the car, I felt a hot anger wash over me. I hated Jackson, for making a scene like this! It was like he’d known everything about his plan was going to make me supremely uncomfortable…and yet, he’d done it anyway.
Climbing into the back of the warm car was a relief. My boots were caked with snow and ice and my toes were still numb, but at least the exposed parts of me were beginning to warm up. The heat was blasting full-force from hidden vents all around the back of the car, and I shivered inside of my down jack
et.
The driver didn’t speak to me again. He guided the car expertly through New York City traffic. As we drove past Central Park, I couldn’t help but look out over the wintery expanse and sigh. Just when I thought I was done with the city, there was always something magical that pulled me in when I least expected it.
I’d expected the car to take me somewhere, anywhere, to change. Instead, the driver parked in front of St. Paul’s Chapel. I gasped as I realized that Mitchell’s funeral was inside. The chapel was grander than any church I’d ever seen before, and I felt awkward as I lugged my suitcase away from the sleek car and through the front doors.
Mom was waiting for me, in a severe black dress that made her look twenty years older. Her eyes were still rimmed with red, but she looked a hell of a lot more composed than she had when I’d last seen her. She pulled me into an awkward hug. I didn’t want to release the grip on my suitcase, but Mom didn’t seem to notice I was carrying luggage and for a moment, we stood there uncomfortably with our arms wrapped around each other.
“Belle, I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom whispered into my neck. She was wearing so much perfume that it almost choked me. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know what to do without you.”
The sound of her voice stung me. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I told her. We pulled away but Mom kept a firm grip on my hands, clutching and squeezing my fingers painfully hard. “I know this is really hard for you.”
Mom nodded. “It is,” she said softly. “But I know you’ll help me through it, Belle.”
I swallowed nervously. “Am I late?”
Mom shook her head. She glanced around – there were tons of people, all clad in black, shuffling from one end of the vestibule to the other.
“Mitchell was so loved,” Mom said. A tear dripped down her cheek and she wiped it hastily away. “He was just such a wonderful man.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, feeling lame. As the sound of music began to play, Mom linked her arm with mine and we walked down the aisle of the church together. People were staring – for a moment, I thought it was because I was still carrying a suitcase – but Mom kept her head up and her chin lifted as she walked resolutely towards the front pews.
And that’s when I saw him.
Jackson Rhodes, my stepbrother.
He was seated at the front of the chapel, in a dark Calvin Klein suit. His blonde hair was a little longer than I remembered – he’d pushed it back from his forehead in a glossy pompadour – but his grey eyes were just as chilly. When he saw Mom, he smirked.
“Hello, Anne,” Jackson said in a slow drawl. “So pleased you could make it.”
Mom’s cheeks pinked but she didn’t say anything. Just as I was about to snarl something back at Jackson, Mom grabbed my elbow.
“Belle, behave yourself,” Mom hissed into my ear. “This is a place of God!”
Jackson kept his eyes glued to my body. “Hey, Sis,” he said smugly. “How’re you?”
I fought the urge to smack his smug, gorgeous face. “I’m fine,” I said curtly. “I’m sorry about your father, Jackson.”
For a moment, the icy look in Jackson’s eyes wavered. But seconds later, his cruel smirk was back on his face.
I wondered if he ever smiled.
Just as Jackson opened his mouth, the priest stepped up to the pulpit. I glared at Jackson and smirked, as if to say: “I see you can’t exactly sass me back now!”
Jackson glared right back.
Mom squeezed my hand and tugged me down into the pew. As the priest began to speak of Mitchell’s life, Mom began to sob. I knew at that moment that I had to forget about Jackson – I was there for Mom, and she was my priority.
--
After the funeral, Mom and I took a cab to the reception. It was being held at a restaurant a few blocks away. I didn’t think I was hungry, but at the mention of food, my stomach started cramping and twisting. By the time the cab pulled up, I was starving.
A group of Mitchell’s female friends spotted Mom and pulled her into a tight hug. Before I could say anything, they’d tugged her away to the side of the room and encircled her with sympathy. I stood there, feeling awkward. He was only my stepfather, I wanted to say each time that someone wished me sympathy. And I barely knew him.
A black car pulled up in front of the restaurant and Jackson climbed out of the backseat. He wasn’t smirking anymore – his eyes were narrowed into tiny slits and his mouth was set in a thin line. I watched him brush past the crowds of women and disappear inside.
This is my chance, I thought. I hated the idea of apologizing to him, but I knew it was what Mom would want. And I had to admit, I felt terrible for Jackson. His father had just died – I knew it must be a horrible feeling.
“Jackson,” I called loudly, following him down a narrow hall. “Jackson, I wanna talk to you for a minute.”
Jackson turned around. His handsome features were twisted with grief and his blonde hair was hanging over his forehead.
“What?” Jackson hissed. “What the fuck do you want, Belle?”
I licked my lips and swallowed. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about Mitchell,” I said softly. “I know we haven’t always gotten along before, but I think we should make more of an effort now.”
Jackson crossed his muscular arms over his bulging chest. Even in his tailored suit, I could tell that he was ripped. I blushed as I thought about what he looked like without that suit on. Stop it, Belle, this is a funeral for God’s sake! I thought as the blood rushed to my cheeks. You can’t be ogling him. He’s your stepbrother!
“Oh yeah?” Jackson raised his eyebrows. “And why would we get along now, Belle?” He stepped closer and a wave of musky, masculine cologne washed over my face. “Has something changed between us?”
My heart was in my throat as Jackson stepped nearer again, closing the distance between our bodies.
“Um,” I said softly. “I just thought…” I trailed off, my mouth dry and achy. “I just thought that…”
“You thought what?” Jackson’s eyes flashed cruelly. He flicked his glance over my body, down my sides and over the curve of my bust line. “You thought that my dad dying would somehow make everything okay?”
“Jackson, I’m just really sorry,” I said in a rush. “I’m really sorry about Mitchell. He was a good guy. I know it must be really hard.”
Jackson’s lips curled into a cruel sneer.
“Fuck off,” he snarled. “I don’t need your sympathy, Belle. You don’t understand me at all.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.
As I watched Jackson walk away, anger and resentment filled my body. Fuck you, I thought. I tried being nice and you just threw it back in my face.
At that moment, I made a vow to never say anything kind to Jackson Rhodes for the rest of my life.
I couldn’t wait to get back to school. The tension was too much to bear. Even though I didn’t see Jackson again after the funeral, I felt him everywhere I went. Mom was too upset and distracted to notice – she spent most of her days crying and staying in bed – and I’d done nothing but pretend to study while actually watching bad reruns of Teen Mom on MTV.
As soon as I got home, Alexa hugged me and handed me a glass of wine.
I laughed. “It’s ten in the morning, babe,” I said, staring down at the glass of cabernet in my right hand. “You sure about this?”
Alexa raised her eyebrows. “It’s finals week,” she said smugly. “That means we can drink all day if we don’t have a final.”
I groaned. “Aren’t you forgetting about studying?”
Alexa shrugged and gave me a guilty look. “I thought you’d like it,” she said. “Don’t you want to tell me about your trip?”
I sighed. Leaving my suitcase by the door, I kicked off my ice-crusted boots and hung my jacket up in the foyer. I’d always been one of those people who liked to unpack immediately, but the smell of the wine in my hand was too tempting to resist.
Walking into the kitche
n, I sat down at one of the wooden chairs. “It was okay,” I told Alexa. “I mean, it was really horrible. Mom is so devastated. I don’t know what she’s going to do. And God, that asshole Jackson! He practically ruined the whole reception! He drank a whole handle of whiskey and passed out on the floor.”
“He’s probably hurting,” Alexa said.
I glared at her. “He ruined everything,” I said sharply. “He’s a cocky asshole who can’t stand one second not being about him, and he ruined everything.”
“Belle, Jackson’s going through a lot.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, well so am I,” I said hotly. “And I don’t treat everyone like crap!”
“How’s your mom doing?”
“Terrible,” I said flatly. “She’s crushed. I’ve never seen her this devastated about anything before. I don’t know what to do – it’s impossible to take care of her right now.”
Alexa nodded and sipped at her wine. “Well, I’m sure Mitchell made plans to take care of her,” she said wisely. “A guy with that much money wouldn’t exactly leave his widow bereft.”
