“I’m so sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have left so abruptly. I should have helped you more.” I wasn’t sure I believed that, but it seemed like the right thing to say in the moment.
“Jordana. You did what you had to do. I know that now.”
“It must have been a huge burden for you. Everything with Dad.”
“A burden?” She sniffed. I thought she was about to cry again. But when her face rose back up to greet mine, all I saw was a sly smile. “Are you kidding?” She laughed giddily. “It was the best thing anyone ever did for me.”
“What?”
“For one, it afforded us more money in disability payments than he’d ever have made on his own.” That explained the home renovations. “But more important, it gave me the upper hand. After all those years of . . .”
“Abuse?” I supplied, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Clearly, she can’t bring herself to say the word.
“He couldn’t touch me anymore. Not in the same way.”
“That must have made him even angrier, though. And resentful.”
“At first, yes. The initial days, weeks, and months were a challenging adjustment, to say the least. But then something must have clicked inside him. It was like he all of a sudden accepted his handicap. He needed me more than I needed him. And he recognized that. He was still mean at times, don’t get me wrong. Although he never laid a hand on me again. He couldn’t. He knew I’d leave.”
“You should have left.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I loved him, Jordana.” She refused to look me in the eyes. “I still love him.”
“Why?” I wanted to shake her. “I don’t get it.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Which are?” I needed to know how someone like my mother could possibly love someone like my father. “Forgive me, but it’s hard to see why anyone would even like a man so vile.”
“I was young when I fell in love with him. He didn’t start out mean.” She sighed. “I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten until I was suddenly in charge. I knew I had a choice to make, but I decided it was too late to leave. I picked your father. And he picked me. We committed to each other. For better or for worse. That vow was important to me. More important than the allure of freedom. I didn’t want to have to start over. I was scared. That may not make sense to you, but it’s how I felt.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense to me.” It never will.
“Please just come with me to see him.”
“I can’t.”
“But you’re here. And this is the end.”
“You do understand that he abused me. That I loathe him, right?”
“Yes.” Did she really, though?
“Then why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is it so important to you that I see him.”
“Because it’s important to him. And because I honestly think you’ll regret it if you don’t. He’s the only father you’ll ever have, Jordana.” The waiter appeared at our side with a check, and my mother tried to hand him her credit card.
“I’ve got it.” I gave him mine instead. “Mom, I said good-bye to him nearly two decades ago when, apparently, I paralyzed him. I don’t regret that, and I won’t regret not visiting him today.”
“How do you know?” She wasn’t going to let it go. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that sometimes, once you realize you’ve made a mistake, it’s too late.” She was talking about both of us. “I think he wants to apologize to you.”
“I just . . .I don’t know.” Could I go see him? Let him grovel and then give him a piece of my mind? Slap him around a little, so he can see how it feels.
“If not for him or for yourself, then do it for me. I know I already asked you to stay the night when you didn’t want to. And I know you don’t owe me a single thing, much less two things. But I’m asking for this, too. Please.”
“I don’t know.” She was right that I didn’t owe her a thing, but—still—how could I deny her?
“Please, Jordana.”
“Fine, let’s go.” I stood up abruptly. “Before I change my mind.” I slapped a ten-dollar bill on the table. “I want this over with.”
30JORDANA
As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I regretted my decision. The corridors smacked of urine and beef stew, and I had to divert my eyes at every turn for fear of exposing myself to something unsettling.
When we got to his room, I didn’t walk right in. I wasn’t sure I could. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to say good-bye.
“Go ahead,” my mother urged, standing behind me.
“You’re not coming with me?” I should have known she’d expect me to do it alone.
“Not right now. You should see him privately first.”
“Great.” My teeth were chattering, even though my palms were lubricated with sweat.
“You can do this,” she encouraged.
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.” She nodded.
“I don’t have to.”
“I know.” She sat down on an errant plastic chair that someone had left in the hallway. Probably for situations just like this.
“Fine.” I pushed the door in, unprepared for what confronted me. A man that I didn’t recognize at all. So small. So insignificant. So fragile.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” He whistled through the oxygen tube.
“Hello.” I refused to call him Dad. I didn’t want to provide him the satisfaction of hearing me say it. “How are you?” A silly question, I knew, but what else to say?
“How the fuck do you think I am?” he barked. His skin was pallid beneath patches of white hair covering his chin and cheeks. His arms and legs were limp, very nearly comatose beneath the thin white sheet. I felt nothing. No sympathy. No empathy. No remorse. Certainly no love or even affection. He looked like a dead man already.
“Fair enough.” I stood over him, but not within reach. I didn’t want him to touch me.
“You look well.”
“Thank you.”
“Your mother said you’re doing real nicely for yourself down there in New York City.”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t. I didn’t offer to help. “Can’t say the same for myself.”
“I can see that.”
“So, uh, tell me how you’ve been.” I assumed he was kidding. We’re about eighteen years past idle chitchat. Well, let’s see. I got my hair styled last Monday. And on Tuesday, I had swordfish for dinner. Two great cuts in one week!
“I’ve been fine.”
“That’s all? Just fine.” I could see by his expression that he didn’t like that answer, but he was trying his best not to be a complete asshole. Valiant.
“That’s it.”
“You’ve got nothing else to say?” he grumbled.
“You look like hell.” How about that?
“Is that any way for you to talk to your old man?” It took all of my willpower not to suffocate him with his pillow. To watch him wriggle and writhe until his body went flaccid.
“Is that what you call yourself?”
“I’m your father, whether you like it or not.” He started coughing and couldn’t stop. He motioned to the water on his nightstand, but I remained still.
“As far as I’m concerned, you were a sperm donor.”
“You were always so moody. I see nothing has changed.”
I reached for the water. “Is this what you want?”
“Just give me the fucking water,” he rasped. I did. He didn’t say thank you. “I thought you were coming here to apologize.”
“You thought I was coming here to apologize?” I took a step clo
ser to him. “I’m not sure where you got that impression. But I sure as hell have no intention of saying I’m sorry for a damn thing. You are the one who should be sorry. I thought I was coming here for an apology from you. Not the other way around.” My mother had set us up. She’d duped each of us into believing the other one felt remorseful, perhaps in an attempt to assuage her own guilt.
“Well I guess it’s your unlucky day, then.”
“Any day that you’re a part of is unlucky.”
“You’re the one who left. You ran out on your family.”
“You gave me no choice. You ruined my childhood, and I wasn’t going to let you ruin my entire life.”
“You were an ingrate,” he barked.
“You were an animal. An abusive husband. An abusive father. And a sorry excuse for a man.”
“You think you’re better than me?”
“Oh, I know I’m better than you are.” I smiled. “Do you know where I live now? In a ten-million-dollar apartment on Park Avenue.” I puffed my chest, because money signifies independence. He knows that and I know that. “I own a company, did you know that? I’m a success. I’m living the fucking dream. Unlike you ever did.”
“Snooty bitch.” He tried to raise his voice but he couldn’t. That incensed him even more.
“I’ve waited two decades to say these things to you. To tell you that you repulse me. And that you treated me and mom like the piece of shit you were.” I took a breath. I didn’t want to let him rile me any further. He didn’t deserve that. But I couldn’t help myself. “How did it feel to be in a wheelchair all these years? To not be able to walk or run or loom over mom before you punched her in the face? To have to look up at everyone you spoke to? How did that feel? Huh? Tell me. I want to hear you say ‘I’m a sorry excuse for a man.’ Once and for all. So I can stroll—yes, stroll—out of here and never look back. Say it. Say ‘I’m a sorry fucking excuse for a man.’ Now!”
His eyes widened with rage just as one of the machines he was hooked up to began beeping. Faster and louder until it was pulsing inside my head. Within seconds a nurse was at his side frantically jabbing at buttons and adjusting dials.
She turned to me, her face alarmed and apologetic at the same time. She was under the mistaken impression that I cared about him. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you need to leave.”
“What’s happening?” I moved a little closer to get a better look.
“You need to leave right now.” Somehow he managed to grab my arm with what little strength he had left in him, but I squirmed free, and then I did exactly what I said I was going to.
I strolled right out of the room and never looked back.
An hour later, he suffered a massive heart attack. There were multiple attempts to resuscitate him, but they were in vain. My father died that day. No, my mistake. A stranger died that day. He died angry. And sour. He died knowing that I’d held him accountable for his sins. That I hadn’t apologized or forgiven him, and I certainly hadn’t forgotten.
That is what I call closure.
31KERRIE
“Yes, that’s correct. Size ten, black leather wingtips. The bow tie with the pinstripe. No cummerbund. No vest. Plain white shirt. Thank you, Daphne. Grey will be in next Monday to try everything on. Five o’clock. Excellent.” I hung up and took a bottomless breath as I shuffled through a stack of papers Jordana had left on my desk with a sticky note that read: TOP PRIORITY in all caps. Despite our hyper focus on the Doonan-Blum wedding, our other weddings still need some attention. And with Jordana out of town, it’s my job to concierge the shit out of them.
She called this afternoon to say that she’d be on her way home in a few hours and that she’ll be in first thing tomorrow morning. She also said that we’re going to be taking on two more major weddings (two more than the three she already told me about) and that she’ll be giving me much more responsibility due to the fact that I’ve proven myself over the last couple of months. She even promised me a promotion, which I couldn’t believe would happen so soon, despite the fact that I think I’ve earned it.
In the meantime, I’ve been keeping tabs on everything, fielding maniacal calls from Ethel, and I have an appointment at Harry Winston with William in forty-five minutes to finally select a wedding band.
I’m also supposed to meet Sara for dinner tonight.
And on top of all that, I’m making regular trips to the bathroom with an upset stomach. Fine, it’s diarrhea. Is this what they call stress?
Just as I was about to grab my purse and head out to meet William, my cell phone blared Sara’s number on the screen.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“You ready for some sushi and sake?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m starving already. This kid sucks the life out of me and all I want to do is shove some rice in my face.” I heard Dante wailing in the background, which would typically make me feel grateful for my single, childless existence. But lately I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to have a real family of my own. I’ve never had that. Not in the traditional sense.
Once my nana was gone, I figured I’d be shipped off to Florida to live with my father’s sister Ronna. She was my only living relative, and it never occurred to me that there would be another option. Ronna lived in Palm Beach with the “fancy folks,” as my nana called them. We visited her every now and then, marinating in the luxury of her waterfront condominium with its hand-painted pink Pelicans on the kitchen wall and its white and black lacquer furniture positioned around her sweeping, sunlit living room.
Ronna let me soak in her whirlpool tub for hours and scoop peanut butter out of the jar with my fingers. She called herself a tough cookie, which I admired. Her teeth were tarnished beyond bleaching, thanks to twenty-five years of smoking a pack or two a day, and she wore frosted peach lip gloss that coagulated at the corners of her mouth, but I didn’t care. Ronna had no husband or children of her own, though she was a natural at the art of nurturing. I wondered why Ronna didn’t take me in when my parents died, since she was much younger, but never asked.
While the time in my life surrounding Nana’s death is foggy, due to the trauma and the overwhelming guilt that I was to blame, I do recall feeling relieved to leave everything behind and start fresh. I remember thinking, Florida is sunny, which was a metaphor for what I believed my future would hold. Brightness.
Only that’s not what happened. Instead, it was decided by someone—I’m not sure whom—that I would be taken in by the assistant principal and his wife, who were already certified foster parents. I was told it would be better for me not to have my life upended again. I needed continuity. I needed to stay where all of my friends were. Except, what they didn’t understand was that I didn’t have any friends. In fact, there wasn’t one person who’d miss me if I never came back.
But I kept my mouth shut, even though I was raging inside, and I spent the next four years with my head down.
There was nothing wrong with Martin and Jean Splain. They were kind to me. They provided for me as best they could. They wanted so badly to be the parents I never had, which—to their disappointment—pushed me further and further away. Jean bought me pretty pink dresses. She’d leave them on my bed and ask me why I never wore them. She tried to re-create my nana’s chicken pot pie.
Some might say they were saints; they just weren’t my saints. And they certainly weren’t real family.
“We’re still on though, right?” Sara asked, drawing me back to our conversation.
“The thing is, I’m really swamped. Jordana is out of town, so everything is falling on me. And I still have to meet a client. I’m not sure I’m going to be the life of the party after that.”
“I don’t need you to be the life of the party. We need to strategize. The clock is ticking.”
“I hear you. It’s just—”
“It’s jus
t what? This comes ahead of everything else, right?”
“Yes, yes, but—” I thought about William.
“But nothing,” Sara cut me off. “I already have a babysitter lined up, so you have no choice.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I’m not hanging up until you say yes.”
“Fine, yes.”
“Great. See you at seven o’clock. With any luck, I’ll have some news on Arthur by then.”
32KERRIE
By the time I’d made my way across Central Park, William was already waiting for me outside Harry Winston. He rushed to open the door of my cab and offered me his hand as I stepped onto the street. What a gentleman.
“Hey there.” He smiled, as a construction worker whistled at me. Not only have I gotten used to this sort of reaction from strange men, I’ve come to expect it. Believe me, I never thought I’d see the day. “Ignore him.” He positioned a protective palm on my back.
“So, are you ready?” I smiled at him, too.
“Actually, no. I’m not.” He scratched his head as we stood facing each other on the sidewalk, with pedestrians zipping past us.
“What do you mean?” Jordana made me swear not to leave the store without a wedding band.
“We’re not shopping today.” His eyes met mine. And for the first time I noticed an aching that I’d never seen before. An almost imperceptible splinter of pain. “I need to talk again.”
“Okay, but what about our appointment?” He’d made it himself, which I found strange. We never let our brides and grooms do that sort of menial work.
“There’s no appointment.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“Come with me. There’s a little bar about seven blocks away. Nothing fancy, but we definitely won’t run into anyone we know.” Clearly, that was not a risk for me. “You okay to walk?” He looked down at my four-inch heels.
Pretty Revenge (ARC) Page 19
