“Bite your doubtful tongue. What do you mean if? When this works out, you can all bask in my awesomeness when everyone in this family is home where they belong. Complete and growing. Love you, missy.”
“Love you, too,” January replied before she even thought about it. How good it felt to hear that from someone with no strings attached. Not because she could be brokered into a power pairing or used to manipulate her, but just because it was actually the way someone felt.
Heading a block over for her hair appointment, her mind drifted to those words she couldn’t wait to say to Logan and have him feel that utter contentment at just reveling in the way someone else felt for him with no ulterior motive.
While getting washed, cut, dyed, styled, and talked at by a lady whose hairstyle belonged with burned bras and peace and love, January let herself get lost in the picture Andy created.
Of course, their place wouldn’t be too nice at first, what with the lease on the shop and no customer base to pay the bills. But eventually, once they built a clientele and were able to move up in the world, she imagined they might get a little home in Augusta’s neighborhood.
They could go to all the Reid family barbecues and get togethers. She could maybe coach Macy’s community softball team; she had been pretty decent back in her day. Dax may even make them a piece of furniture or a weapon. She laughed at the latter notion. He would never trust klutzy me with a weapon.
She would go through with dress shopping tomorrow. Not because she cared anymore, but she kinda wanted to just to feel what it would be and imagine she was picking out a gown for the wedding she really wanted.
Any dress her mother or Chadwick’s mother liked was an automatic no-go. Then she’d find the gaudiest dresses in the place just to make her mother squirm. January knew she was being childish and wholly immature, but it would be her one and only semi-open act of defiance as an adult before the shit hit the fan. It is long overdue.
After the fitting, she would facetime her sister and explain everything so she would know what to expect. Then, first thing the next morning, she would empty the accounts her parents knew about, the ones Stacy didn’t already have, and tell them to go fuck themselves and get back to Florida as fast a legally possible.
Logan. January would find the man she loved and grovel at his feet until he forgave her. Even if it takes a lifetime, I’ll wait.
The January who would walk out of the salon didn’t even resemble the one who walked in, and not because of her hair. Although that was a world removed from anything she’d ever done before, and her mother would hate it, so bonus. It was her; she was different.
Stronger.
Bolder.
Wiser.
“Somehow, a little dye and a #2 blade matured me the way I never could have grown under the stifling control of my parents,” she mumbled as she tipped the stylist.
The shame she had always felt for letting her parents control her, even when she’d moved away, lifted. Something finally clicked and she realized she was a victim, a label she never wanted, but one she needed just so she could cast it off like a cocoon and emerge as a beautiful butterfly. A butterfly who could love a man like Logan freely and undeniably, and who deserved to be loved by him.
The Reid Family tête-à-tête had finally wound down. He was still at his brother’s house along with the majority of the Reid clan, but most had taken naps in waves, and a few went home but were now making their way back.
Michael and Logan weren’t exactly hugging it out, but he hadn’t thrown Logan out on his ear. The opposite, in fact; he’d asked him to stick around town so they could see “where things go.”
When shit went south with January, he was ready to bolt far and fast. Hell, I still want to. Staying here would be painful. The pitying looks from Gus and John were the worst. His gut twisted so hard, Logan thought it would be forever knotted every time Gus’ eyes landed on him and she made that face. The one that said, “oh, poor you.”
Logan had lived with that look most of his life, and he still hated it. The saving grace were the eyes themselves, although not the exact same color, they still reminded him of January’s. That and Logan knew Gus wasn’t pitying him for pity’s sake so much as feeling his pain.
Surprisingly, no one else gave him the same look. Most of the faces held a more “bless his heart” look, and not in the real blessing way but the sarcastic as fuck southern way. Others were more “what a fool.”
Something nudged his bicep, and when he turned, he was assaulted with that God-awful aroma. Michael and that damn coffee. He accepted it appreciatively all the same, and Michael took up a seat on the couch off to the right of Logan. For hours into the night and through the morning, he’d sat across from him, intense eye contact. This felt a little more relaxed.
“So, tell me more about my birth mom, something special?” Logan had already given him the highlights, or lowlights, of their dad’s life and death. He even came clean about the resentment he harbored toward him and Lucinda, and that he had found the flaws in his logic. Or rather, others helped him see the flaws in it. He even told him she was a good mom, and he wished he hadn’t harbored the resentment he had because he let it taint his memories.
“Well,” Logan began but stalled. Trying to untaint decades old memories is like telling your boss to unfuck himself. It doesn’t really work that way. Stalling by sipping the crap coffee, he met his little brother’s eye over the brim of the “I’m Fucking Fabulous” mug—a Tori purchase, no doubt. In those hopeful depths, he found a memory he’d forgotten about…for Michael.
“This one time, we went to the carnival. Even the sperm donor joined us. It was one of the few times we did anything as a family. Anyway, there was a stuffed elephant that I wanted so bad, but you had to toss those rings on the milk jugs to get it.” Logan paused, lost in the memory. He felt the cool evening breeze, saw the lights and even smelled corndogs. How could I have forgotten where Bologna came from?
“Anyway, the douche I called Dad threw some bills down and told the carny to, ‘let the pussy embarrass himself if he wants.’ He turned to me with a look of disgust on his face, “Go ahead and waste my goddamned hard earned money. It’s all you’ve ever been good for…either of you.” He stormed off to ‘drain the lizard.’ Lucinda dropped to her knees and dried my tears with her shirt.” Logan drained his cup. He didn’t exactly want more, but he needed a break, so he raised it and asked, “You mind?”
Michael was sitting, mouth agape, his own cup dangling on the verge of spilling until Logan asked for a refill. “Uh, no. I don’t think chicory is going to do it. We need something with a little more bite.”
Michael disappeared with their mugs and returned with tumblers and a bottle of Jack. He poured two generous shots, passed one over, and took up residence on the coffee table—uncomfortably close to Logan, in his bubble. Logan leaned back instinctively. “Sorry, is this to much for you, I mean me…here?” Logan’s tongue was forming the reply, yes, it’s too fucking close and raw, when he saw something in his little brother’s eyes.
Lucinda.
The look she used when she first married the asshole and was trying to reach out to Logan and feared his rejection that always inevitably came. One time, it didn’t, and that look transformed into something special that day. Here he was, being offered a do-over of sorts. “Nah, man. It’s cool.”
The relief on Michael’s face was immediate. They both downed their tumblers and refilled them with that fiery amber liquid.
Leaning back into his seat, Logan picked up the tale. “Anyway, she dried my tears, and I stood there and didn’t ring a single bottle. My crying resumed full-force. At this point, it wasn’t about the elephant, it was about the beating I knew I would take for being a pussy.”
“Fuck.” Michael breathed. “How old were you?”
“Six, I think, maybe seven.”
Michael’s eyes seemed to ponder that. Logan could see when realization dawned on Michael. His look was riddled with
disbelief when he understood that Logan got a major beating for damn near anything.
Oh yeah, I’ve had plenty of those in my lifetime. For being a pussy, being born…breathing.
“Mom said I would get my elephant; she believed in me. She knew it wasn’t about the elephant either. Him putting that money down was a trap, an excuse. He seemed to feel better about what he did when he had an excuse. ‘If you don’t get it the first try, we’ll keep going until you do.’ she said as she pulled some money from her bra. ‘No matter what it takes, he’s yours, even if we have to split our bologna sandwiches next week. Okay? But it’s our secret that I’m using this money. Don’t tell your dad, pinkie promise?’”
“Wait, I’m a little lost. Why would he care how you won it? If it was a test of pussyhood or some bogus shit?” Michael didn’t understand the significance of bra money.
“Mom kept her money in separate stashes, some on herself and some around the house. That way when he came home drunk and found some, he’d think he got it all and stop looking for more. So, she always kept a little in in her bra for food.”
“Damn.” It was a barely audible sound over the refilling of their glasses.
It occurred to Logan that this memory sounded dark, not special, but it was…very special. “I’m sorry, it sounds like a horrible tale, and I guess it kind of is for the most part, but it will give you a glimpse of who your mother really was. I can stop if you want.”
“No.” Michael cleared his throat, tears threatening. “No, please continue, unless…it’s too much for you?”
Logan gave a quick shake of his head. “It took a lot for me to win it. My head barely cleared the counter. I couldn’t even see where my rings were landing, but Mom stood there cheering me on. It finally happened or the guy took pity on us, either way, I had the elephant and my dad had to eat a little crow.”
“Really? It mattered that much to him?”
“Nope, not one fucking bit. He just grumbled about it was still too much to pay for a stupid stuffed toy and that I was still a pussy. Believe it or not, with all that fucked up shit and the prospect of half rations, it was one of the best nights of my life.” Logan made eye contact with Michael who sat in stunned silence as a smile slowly crept over his face. “Pretty pathetic as far as best days go, huh?”
“Not at all.” Michael spoke giddily. “I bet that the half sandwiches for a week were the best too, because of why you had them?” Of course, Michael would pick up on that; he was a glass half-full kind of guy.
“Nope. I didn’t have halves; I had whole fried bologna sandwiches for the next week. Mom mysteriously wasn’t hungry.” Logan air quoted. “That’s who your mother was, Michael. She was a woman who loved a kid who wasn’t her own and went without lunches for a week so he could have the one prized possession in this world she had the power to give him.”
The moment was heavy and light at the same time. The memory was one of many that made Logan realize, Lucinda would never have simply abandoned him. She had every intention of coming back for him, but she had to protect her other son as well. In that moment, Logan knew, had she been given the time, she would have found a way, just like with the elephant.
Mumbling to himself, Logan didn’t care if he were heard, “Yep, the only thing she had to give besides her love was the pride of doing something myself and an elephant named Bologna.”
Nineteen
“Damn it, seems I’m doing a lot of this lately,” January spoke to herself as she sighed and opened the door. Knowing her parents would be in the drawing room—yeah, who the fuck has those anymore? — she made her way to her room, hoping to hold off the inevitable until morning. No such luck.
Her foot paused just four feet from freedom at her father’s voice beckoning her back. Dear old Dad never really spoke to her without her mom, so she knew what awaited her.
After swiping and tapping on her phone, she dropped it in her pocket, careful not to butt dial it. January let her computer and Coach cross-body slide gently to the floor, then she smoothed her tank top and took a steadying breath. No, she didn’t need to provoke her mom, but she did this for her. Melody’s apoplectic fit would simply be a bonus.
January was sick and tired of bowing to her parents. She was an adult, but she had somehow given them the power to control her. She could see that now. It was coercion, plain and simple.
Looking back, it all made sense. When she was young, they used the all-important social standing to manipulate her. Not hard to do since popularity in middle school is life to a kid. That carried over into high school. Yes, January was just as shallow as most teenagers were…shocker.
The part that galled her most was after. College. January wasn’t under their roof any more, but she was so well-conditioned, she never even dreamed of open defiance. She had enjoyed her little acts of it, but she was having a hard time processing the fact that it never occurred to her to just say no.
Those realizations made her feel weak-willed and stupid. Andy tried to explain it and suggested she seek counseling to understand it. “It’s not your fault, you were conditioned well.” Even though she got that, it didn’t do much to alleviate her guilt or self-doubt. It did, however, stiffen her spine and strengthen her resolve.
No more. She was going through with tomorrow, but that was more for her to get lost in a fantasy of her choosing.
Her steps no sooner landed on the tile when her parents’ audible gasp brought her attention back to the present.
“January Snow Thorne, what on God’s green Earth have you done to yourself?” Her mother turned her sputtering face to her father. “Thomas, do you see your daughter? Do you see what she’s done to herself? This is to punish me. I just know it is.” Now she was talking to herself about her ever-defiant and ungrateful daughter ruining her big day. Not her as in January’s, her as in Melody’s.
Somehow, standing there as a grown-ass woman in her parents’ house, she had a revelation as sorts. She wasn’t as stupid and weak as she’d led herself to believe. She’d been defying her parents for a long time. It was in minor and sometimes childish ways, but she was never just a pushover. She’d made them work for her compliance.
“Oh, this?” January teased, running her hands along the shaved sides of her now vibrant purple hair. “I kind of did it for you. Purple is the color of royalty. I thought it fitting since I seem to be marrying into local royalty.” January tried and failed to keep all the sarcasm from her voice. Luckily, she recovered before her parents. Adopting a lost puppy look, January twirled her finger in the part that was still long enough to do so.
“I thought it would be a beautiful contrast to the white and a nice surprise to the groom. You know, show him he’s not marrying a mouse.”
Too thick, Melody?
“Did you even think how this would clash with the tone and colors of your wedding? Of course you didn’t, you only thought of yourself.” Melody threw her hands up in surrender, but January knew that was a lie. She was just reloading her verbal cannon and thinking of ways to fix it.
“Of course I didn’t think about wedding colors, Mother,” she spat the word. Gone was her faux peaceful mien. “I don’t even know what the colors of my wedding are. And yes, as a matter of fact, I was only thinking of myself. This is my wedding, after all, isn’t it?”
The little thread of power January seized from this exchange was quickly unraveling as she watched the rage build on her mother’s face. It was unlike anything she’d witnessed in the past. She’d gone too far, or maybe…she hadn’t gone far enough.
“Oh wait, that’s right, it isn’t really my wedding, now is it? I’m just the body to hold up the dress, the voice to speak the vows, and the vagina for the wedding night, which, if you’re lucky, will produce your golden grandchild.”
The slap came out of nowhere. Her mother had always been cruel but never physical. Not like that. The Thornes consider this kind of expression to be beneath them.
That one action was, for lack of a better de
scription, the slap in the face January needed to see the absurdity of Melody Thorne once and for all. She had no real power and had used her sister and ridiculous contracts to control January, and the minute her plan was questioned, she had nowhere to go but violence.
The calm tone with which Melody spoke was in contrast to the rage that was so obvious to anyone near. “You went and got laid by some filthy trailer trash and you think that makes you hot shit now, don’t you? Probably even grew a pair and talked to someone about your contracts.” January didn’t mean to tip her hand with her visible shock, but there it was, she couldn’t hide it.
“Oh, yes, I can see quite clearly that you did. Well, let me tell you something. Our little family deals may carry no weight in the court system, but our family name does. Not to mention the business contract is rock solid, so I still own you, little girl. You will do what you’re told, when you’re told. I don’t care if that means lying on your back until the second coming of Christ to give me my grandkid.”
January couldn’t breathe. She had never seen her mother in such a state before. To think she defended her as simply a misguided parent and not the calculating sociopath that she was.
“By the way,” her mother’s voice had lost some of the menace and was now threaded with superiority. That was even scarier. “Have you read the buyout provision of the employment contract? Of course, you haven’t. There’s a copy in your father’s desk, should you feel so inclined. It’s a doozy, if I do say so myself. Your eggs will be long dried up before you get out from under it. Not to mention, I will take your sister’s personal history public myself.”
Melody chuckled. She fucking chuckled.
“We have distanced ourselves far enough from her that any social backlash will miss us by a mile, even if you try to sully us with exposing our family contracts. All people will see after we put our spin on it, is exhausted parents dealing with over-rebellious children, and one with a mental illness to boot, the most creative way we knew how.”
Unmistakably Us (Imagine Ink Book 5) Page 20
