“Mommeeeee!” Grayson sobbed. “You said a bad word!”
She dropped his backpack and covered Grayson’s ears. “You arrogant, arrogant asshole! How dare you think you can mow me down! For your information, Tom never said anything about your stupid meeting, just said he was going to run in and see if these guys were around and say hello. Second of all, if you would get down off that high and mighty throne of yours and quit trying to top everyone on staff, you might know a little more of what was going on. Do you think we’re all mind readers? How could we possibly know what you’ve been working on? All you ever do is complain about what we’re doing! You waltz in, bark your opinions, and then you waltz out. But do you ever ask what anyone else is doing?”
“That’s not so—”
“Let me finish,” she said, seething. “You think you’re so special, Matt? All I see is a hack lawyer who thinks more of his title than his work. And you know what the worst thing is about you?” she asked as a hot tear burned her cheek. “You made me believe you. You made me believe!”
Matt’s face turned dark; his eyes glittered with fury. “You didn’t believe,” he said, spitting out the word. “You’ve held me by a string like your personal little puppet, playing with my feelings. You’re perfect on the outside but miserably incomplete on the inside!”
His words slapped at her conscience and she felt on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably. “You think I’m empty? Take a look at your own life, Matt. But hey, say or think what you will, because you know what? You win. You can have it all. In fact, you can shove it up your ass,” she said, and dropped her hands from Grayson’s head. “Come on, honey,” she said, peeling his arms from her legs. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed Grayson’s hand. “And one last thing—I never, ever want to see you again.”
She turned her back on Matt and marched away from him as quickly as she could while her Grayson struggled to keep up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Habit is habit and not to be flung out the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time . . .
MARK TWAIN
Rebecca and Grayson cried all the way home.
Rebecca cried because she felt like she had been dumped all over again, which of course she hadn’t, because you can’t be dumped if you’re not involved, but nonetheless, it felt pretty darn near the same. And Grayson cried because he had witnessed a horrible fight and rarely saw his mom cry. Rebecca’s repeated and blubbering attempts to tell him it was okay were not enough to make him stop. Plus she was so angry, so very angry—with Matt, with Tom—but mostly with herself and the universe in general.
As she and Grayson turned onto the two-lane road that would take them to the lake house, Rebecca swiped at the tears beneath her eyes, then dragged the back of her hand beneath her nose, took a deep breath, and stopped crying. After forty-five minutes, her tank was completely empty. Now she could just be angry in peace.
What pissed her off more than anything was that she was so fragile. Oh sure, after suffering the astounding humiliation of being dumped by Bud, she’d pretty much figured out that she didn’t have a lot of chutzpah to cling to when the going got rough. Which was why, of course, she’d spent all that money and time—to build chutzpah! Well obviously, transformation seminars, subliminal motivational tapes, videos and stacks of books about eastern philosophies and self-awareness practices had all piled up and up until she was a huge bundle of Pick Up sticks. And all it took was for someone like Mr. Big Pants to pull the wrong stick out of the pile, and there she went, literally collapsing into one huge mess.
Thank you, Matt Parrish.