Problem Child (ARC)
Page 3
a few more.
“Pardon the interruption,” I say, just as Mr. Browning is
tensing to open his mouth. “Robert and I ran the numbers,
and we’re predicting district cost savings of over fifteen
percent just on frozen processed chicken alone. Frozen
raw chicken? Well, that gets even better, and, believe me,
the school districts we approached were very excited.”
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Victoria Helen Stone
I flash a smile at the table and dip my head toward
Rob. “I apologize, I don’t have Robert’s notes, but let me
sum up the numbers for you on the board.” I stand and
spin to the whiteboard behind me, snatching up a pen to
immediately start jotting down the costs I’ve memorized
along with the offers we’ve predicted we could pitch for
years one through three.
“These are just rough estimates, of course. We can
move forward with a deep dive before negotiations begin,
but we all agree that North Unlimited is offering an ideal
arrangement, and of course everyone is looking to cut costs, especially in non–education-related expenses. Reduced
school funding only works toward your advantage in this
environment. I even got a hint of interest from the state
college system.”
“Whoa,” the president of North Unlimited breathes.
“That would be unbelievable.”
It is unbelievable, because this is absolutely untrue, but who could know that? Four weeks from now, if anyone
asks, I’ll glumly inform them that it didn’t work out.
“Obviously, the laws governing raw chicken imports
create quite a complication, but that’s why you’ve hired us.
So … do you think your supplier in Brazil could handle
an order increase of three hundred percent? Because those
are the kind of numbers we’re looking at.”
“Absolutely.” His supplier isn’t really in Brazil and
the owner of North Unlimited is a goddamn scammer,
but what do I care?
“So this should be our starting point with the first
school districts,” I finish, poking the marker hard into
the board. “You’ve indicated that we can afford to budge
quite a bit from here, but I’m not sure we’ll have to.
They’re excited by your assurances about the product being
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Problem Child
all-natural and minimally processed at that price point.”
I swing back to smile at the clients. “We can definitely
open with a two-year contract. What do you think?”
I don’t care what they think, of course, just like I’m
not actually sorry for interrupting good old Rob. But I
need to be likable as well as capable and confident. What
a tightrope.
The room has relaxed, thrilled that someone stepped
in to avert disaster. Rob is slumped into a loose lump of
puzzlement on the other side of the table, thinking, What just happened?
The clients jump in with questions. I answer most of
them, though I bite my tongue occasionally to let others
at the table share in the triumph. We’ve got ourselves a
plan now, and there’s profit to be had by all.
Half an hour later, I’m the one shaking hands with
everyone in the room as they file out, though Rob has
rallied enough to make a game effort of it. Still, quite
a few people manage to slip by him with eyes locked
on the doorway and hands occupied. The partners
don’t bother avoiding his eyes. They clap my shoulder
and say good job, and then they walk past him with
lips curled.
“Thanks, Robert,” I say as I breeze through the door,
the last to leave him standing there. “I’ll type up a sum-
mary of the details we covered and cc you on it. Don’t
worry.”
“Oh,” I hear him murmur behind me. “Yeah, great.”
He won’t be fired, though once I start dropping hints
about him and the mournful receptionist, he might be-
come too much of a liability to keep around. But for now
his job is safe; he’s just lost his golden-boy shine, and I’ve stolen it to rub all over myself.
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Victoria Helen Stone
Jane really saved the day, stepping in like that. Did you see her pull those numbers out of the air? What an asset she is in times like these.
Good old unflappable Jane.
I leave the door of my office open so I can catch
snatches of conversation from the hallway as people buzz
by. Rob closes his door with a hollow thunk that shivers over my excited nerves.
Grinning, I get out my phone to send a text. Meet
me for a drink at The Train Car? 5:30?
Yes, he responds immediately.
They have individual bathrooms there. We can go
in together and lock the door. J
Luke is a nice, quiet guy. Modest and kind. But I can
get him to do anything. I make him nervous, but he feels
alive, and isn’t that what really matters?
I hope it is, because that’s all I’ve got.
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CHAPTER TWO
The problem with having sex early in the evening is that
it frees up too many hours for things like talking. This
is my first committed relationship, and it’s the thing I
hate most about it, that moment when he says “Jane…”
in that serious tone.
“Nope,” I respond.
Luke looks startled by that and twists on the couch
to face me more fully. “Pardon?”
“Nope,” I repeat.
“But I didn’t ask anything.”
“Well, I’m reading.”
“Oh.” He pauses for only a moment before trying
again. “I just wanted to talk about something with you
while we have the time.”
I don’t have the time. I’m in the middle of a book,
and I just said that. But if I push him off now, he’ll bring it up later when I’m trying to fall asleep, and that will
be even worse. I’ll say something that hurts his feelings
because I’m tired and not being careful.
Then again, even if he brings it up later, I could distract him with sex because he’ll be fully recovered.
But I’ve hesitated too long and Luke takes that as
acceptance. “We’ve been dating for a year now, and it’s
been great.”
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Victoria Helen Stone
Well, here it is. This is why I hate talking. It never
leads to anything good, like food or sex or action movies.
It leads to this: Luke is breaking up with me.
I’ve known it would come eventually. I’m not the
marrying type. I’m not even the girlfriend type, because
I have a kind of … disability. I’m not capable of experi-
encing a full range of emotion, and most emotions I can’t
pull off at all, but that’s not my fault.
That’s the thing no one wants to acknowledge about
sociopaths. It’s not my fault. I didn’t choose this.
But whether or not I can feel sympathy or tenderness
or true, genuine love, I can pretend. It’s not difficult even for normal people to manipulate their way into a longer
relationship, after all. I just have to tell him what he wants to hear. Easy as pie.
He might wa
nt to break it off now, but I can keep
it going for months longer. Maybe even years. Guilt is
a powerful drug for people like Luke. But I now know
this is the beginning of the end, at least.
“I think it’s been great?” Luke ventures. That means
he is expecting me to chime in with something.
I stare at him and wait. Does he think I’ll actually
help him along? Make it easier for him to toss me out of
his life? If so, he doesn’t know me at all, and that means
I’m not responsible for this breakdown in our relation-
ship. He is.
Luke finally swallows and soldiers on without my
encouragement. “For the past few months, I’ve been
thinking of making some changes.”
I can’t let him go easily. I can’t, and I certainly won’t.
He’s my one person. My connection. My only entrée into
the flow and pulse of humanity.
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Problem Child
I had an enjoyable life with men before Luke, of
course, but it was cool and distant. The only moments of
connection were manipulations at work and meaningless
sex. I never had this before. His hand warm around my
ankle the way it always is when we sit and read together.
Thoughtful texts to make sure I’m happy. Cozy heat at
night that I actually want to snuggle close to.
The common belief is that people like me don’t feel
love at all, but I do feel something. We’re not robots. We crave the connections we can’t make.
The silence between us swells, ticking like a clock as
he waits for me to blink or cry or gasp in panic. I don’t.
“I think we should move in together,” he finally
blurts out.
That shocks me into yelling, “What the hell?”
Luke nods. “I told you I’ve been thinking of a bigger
place.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe something a little closer to Holly.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And I’d like to share that place with you.”
“Me,” I say dully, briefly confused by the shift. I’ve
read him incorrectly, and I like that almost as little as I like this surprise he’s presenting.
“You,” Luke confirms, his hand now clutching ner-
vously at my ankle instead of caressing. “Absolutely. I
think we should get a place together. A little house.
White picket fence.”
I pull my foot away and set my book down. “You’re
kidding.”
“No. Well, the white picket fence part was a joke.”
“I don’t want a husband, Luke.”
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Victoria Helen Stone
“I know that. I respect that you don’t want to get
married.”
“It’s weird!” I say too loudly. “All it does is mix up
your finances without giving any kind of security, because
you can just get divorced at any time. It doesn’t even make any sense! What’s wrong with people?”
Luke’s mouth twitches into a nervous smile. “I get
what you’re saying, but that’s not what I’m asking. We’ve
been dating a year. One of us is usually at the other’s
house, which gets a little inconvenient. We don’t even
have to buy a place together if that’s not what you want.
I’d like to be closer to my niece, and I’d love it if you
moved in with me.”
I’m just staring at him again. I really wasn’t expect-
ing this. Though now that he’s asked, I see that there
were hints I ignored. Clues he’s been dropping that I just
stepped over because I didn’t want to acknowledge them.
Luke’s brother got married a couple of years ago, and
last year he and his husband adopted a newborn girl. Luke
fell head over heels in love with his baby niece, and he
lights up like the sun when he spends time with her. Even
I can see the pink hearts floating over his head.
And now he imagines a white picket fence of his
own. Of course.
He wants that, and I don’t. I like my solitary space. I
like my condo and my cat and my views of the city. But
I like Luke too.
I shake my head. “I don’t know about any of this.”
“You need to think about it. That’s only fair. I’ve
been thinking about it for months, so you need time.”
I study him for a long moment. “You want kids,” I
say flatly.
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Problem Child
His eyes widen. He blinks. He doesn’t say no. Goddamn it.
“Luke!” I snap in horror.
“I’ve never wanted kids,” he says carefully.
“You know, I’m an attorney, and I can tell pretty eas-
ily when someone isn’t addressing the implied question at
hand. You never wanted kids before. I know that. We’ve
talked about it plenty of times. But now? After Holly?”
Another blink and he finally looks away, guilt tighten-
ing his face. Something frantic rises in my chest, confusing me. It’s unpleasant and I don’t like it at all, and Luke is the one doing this to me. My Luke. “I don’t like this,” I mutter, pushing out of his clingy, cushiony leather couch
to look for my shoes. “I’m going home.”
I should be the one to break up with him. I should
be the one to leave, and this may be the right moment to
end this so I don’t have to endure any more unpleasant
surprises in the future.
“Jane, come on. Let’s talk.”
“No, I need to feed my cat. And you want to change
everything.”
“Not everything. It’ll be just like this, every night.
Just the same, but in a bigger place, together.”
“No, it won’t. The same won’t be enough.”
“Enough of what?”
“Enough of what you want. You want”—I wave a
hand—“something else. Someone else. I’m not going to stick around and watch you yearn for a wife and a baby
when what you have is me. That’s stupid.”
I stalk off and he follows me to the table where I left
my purse. “I want you, Jane. You know that.”
“I know you want me, but you want more than me
too. I won’t give you that. I’m not…” I growl, unable to
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Victoria Helen Stone
find the right word. I don’t even want to find the right
word. None of this is fair. “You know I’m not!” I yell as
I yank open the door.
“Not what?”
That scratching, swelling mess of anger inside me gets
bigger and climbs into my throat as I lurch through the
door. “I’m not a real person! ” I scream.
My voice echoes off the ten-foot ceilings of his hallway,
banging around on the doors of the other five loft condos
up here. I don’t care. I’ll yell it in their faces if they stick their heads out. He doesn’t know I’m a sociopath, but he
knows I’m different. He said he liked that, so what the
hell does he think he’s pulling here?
“Jane,” Luke calls from behind me as I rush for the
stairwell.
“Don’t follow me,” I warn. And he doesn’t. He never
pushes me. Or he never did before today.
I race down the metal stairs, clanking my fury out in
&
nbsp; rapid steps. It doesn’t help.
Why would he do this? Everything has been going
fine. Luke and I had a routine, a relationship, and for the first time in my life I’ve been … comfortable.
No, that isn’t the right word. I’ve always been satis-
fied with my life. I’ve always made myself happy, doing
exactly what I want to do. Every creature comfort I’ve
ever wanted, I’ve given myself.
But Luke loves me, which is different. And in my own way I love him back. I try, anyway. I give him sex and
gifts and attention, because that’s what I have to give. But he needs more. Of course he does. He needs real love to
bask in, not this strange mirrored heat I throw.
I knew this day would come, just not like this. I
thought I’d be in charge of it. Now Luke is asking more
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Problem Child
of me when he’s already scraped the shallowest depths of
my soul. “Fuck!”
Still cursing, I slam through the stairwell door into
the sparse hallway that serves as a lobby to his building.
One of his neighbors is getting mail, and she squeaks
with alarm and drops everything on the floor as I storm
past and out into the night.
If I were a real girl, I’d be excited by Luke’s sudden
proposal to cohabitate. My man wants to take it to the
next level! He’s ready to settle down!
I’d be looking up real estate websites and planning my
dream kitchen. That’s what my best friend Meg would
have done. But those kinds of dreams destroyed her like
they’ve destroyed so many others, so I’m better off. She’s
dead. She’s dead because those dreams fell apart and she
killed herself, and I’m glad I’ve never felt anything that
deeply.
I know I can’t have it all, so I won’t bother trying
to fool myself into thinking I can make Luke’s dreams
come true.
“Shit,” I growl as I beep my car door open and drop
into the seat. My phone buzzes.
Please come back. Let’s talk.
He may as well have typed, Come back so we can
feed your fingers to a rabid wolverine, because that
sounds like just as much fun.
I thought you’d be at least a little happy??? he tries.
Well, there’s the problem. Luke doesn’t see me for
what I am. When we started dating, he guessed that I
was on the autism spectrum, and I let him believe that.
He accepted me and my quirks, so I could let my guard
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Victoria Helen Stone