He probably should have shared that.
“Oh God! Shit! Fuck!” Simone exclaimed the minute she rounded into the kitchen, dashing straight to him on gold, no-heel sandals, wearing dark gray harem pants and a butter-yellow suede top that fell off one of her shoulders, making that street chic look haute couture. “I’m late. So late! I’d hoped to be home in time to help. But you … would not … believe,” she declared directly prior to practically accosting him in order to press a hard kiss on his jaw.
She did not tell him what he would not believe. She also didn’t give him a chance to say anything, for instance, ask what she thought she could do to help considering she had no interest in the goings-on of a kitchen, including when drinks were being mixed, except the end result of all of that.
“I need to freshen up real quick. Gah!” she cried, moving swiftly away from him, finishing, “Be back as fast as I can!”
With that, she threw her purse and laptop bag to the table at the foot of the stairs and raced up them.
Stellan stood still in his kitchen and stared at his stairs long after she disappeared.
Something had happened the day before.
Something had broken.
In Sixx.
He knew this because Simone was shining through.
Everywhere.
They’d had dinner the night before on a break from whatever it was she did to do what she did for Joel, and they’d had breakfast that morning with M.
In other words, they had not shared a lot of time together since she’d come to his office the day before.
And still, he knew.
It was that blatant.
It was that beautiful.
The woman who just arrived in his home had just come home.
She’d come home to him.
He smiled down at the baby spinach leaves in the bowl just as his cell rang.
He looked to where it was sitting on the counter, suspecting it would be Susan unnecessarily sharing they would be late.
It was not.
He frowned.
It was his mother.
He did not ever want to take a call from his mother, particularly not then.
But it was of an hour in the evening that if he did not pick up, she would simply call again. And again. And again. One right after the other.
He had little hope of making it quick, even if he had an excuse to do so. But if he turned off his ringer, he might miss a call from Susan, and dealing with his mother’s petulance that he didn’t pick up was worse than dealing with her rambling when she was nearing the end of bottle number one of the night.
He sighed, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and picked up the phone, taking the call.
“Mother.”
“My son,” she replied, and it was not slurred.
A good sign.
“I have—” He started to share his excuse that he could not talk long, moving away from the island toward the windows to stop and stand, looking out at his pool with its light flowing through different colors, the waters rippling from the water feature.
“I’m coming down, spending the weekend, starting tomorrow,” she cut him off to announce.
Stellan stood still and stared at the pool, feeling a surge of fury rush through him, the kind he had not felt in years.
She did not ask how he was.
She did not ask after his health.
She did not ask if maybe he’d met someone he enjoyed spending time with.
She did not ask if he might have plans this weekend and perhaps could not entertain his mother.
She called about her, not to talk to him.
“I have some shopping to do, and the symphony is doing Stravinsky,” she carried on. “I thought I’d make it a long weekend, visit some friends, go home on Tuesday. Can you see to Susan getting tickets for us and have Margarita put fresh sheets on the bed in my room?”
He kept his voice carefully modulated when he replied, “You can’t come down this weekend.”
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“You can’t come down this weekend,” he repeated.
This was met with silence.
“Actually,” he continued. “You can’t come down at all, Mother, not for the foreseeable future.”
“I … for goodness sakes, why?” she asked, not hiding her shock.
“Because this isn’t your home to call and announce you’re coming down and you want my housekeeper to make your bed,” he answered.
“You’re my son. I’m your mother,” she returned. “And I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I no longer live alone,” he shared abruptly. “A woman who means a great deal to me has moved in. At an appropriate time, we’ll come up to Sedona, take you out to dinner so you can meet her and start to get to know her. However, until she’s comfortable with you, you cannot come down and stay with us.”
“You’ve moved a woman into your home?” she queried, quiet, wary and sidling toward wounded.
“Yes.”
“One I haven’t met?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been … hiding her from me?”
“Of course not,” he sighed.
“Then why have I not met her yet?”
He didn’t answer that and not simply because it was none of her business.
He said, “I can’t get into this now. We’re having company for dinner and they’re arriving soon. I’ll call you when I have time, and we’ll talk about when Simone and I can come up and have dinner with you.”
“This is … Stellan, this is outrageous,” she declared.
“I’m not certain how it’s outrageous, Mother,” he replied.
“You’re not certain?” she demanded. “You’re living with a woman who hasn’t met your mother!”
“I’m hardly at an age where I need my mother’s approval of the women I see,” he returned.
“You’re always at an age where you should respect your mother,” she fired back.
And it was then, Stellan was done.
Done with the kind of people in the world who thought they could produce children and then leave them entirely to their own devices as they attempt to learn to become functional human beings. Done with dealing with family members you had to endure rather than enjoy.
His mother had once been a good mother, loving and nurturing.
Life had then surprised her simply by sharing the knowledge she’d chosen the wrong man to love, to make a family with. And for decades, she’d been entirely unable to cope, and there was no nurture, no support, no tuition. Instead, she had railed and scorned and exhibited every selfish, self-involved behavior you should not teach a child.
She had not lived a life devoid of love or access to anyone in it that could give that to her.
She had not witnessed her only anchor in the world being gunned down right before her eyes directly after he’d moved to protect her.
She had been relatively wealthy and privileged before she met his father. And after him, she had not been forced to learn a trade or fend for herself.
And it occurred to Stellan right then that she was one of those women who simply could not function without a man to take care of her, and she had decided precisely how she should be taken care of.
Therefore, when Brigette Lange lost her husband, and she was saddled with two children after being spurned by a powerful, rich, well-known man and of an age where it was easy to convince herself that her prospects were few and certainly none of them had the promise of an Andreas Lange, she’d given up.
She had been in her late thirties, had decided she was washed up, and had set a course for her life to make that so.
And simply because Stellan was bored of her nonsense and entirely unmotivated to deal with the fallout should he make the effort to exit her life, he’d unwittingly enabled her dysfunction by negligently supporting it.
He was done with that as well.
He also didn’t hesitate to share he was.
“And can you explain how it’s respect to call your son the day prior to your arrival to share you’ll be coming to spend time in his home, not to mention tell him to bother his assistant and housekeeper to see to your wishes, also without any notice?” he queried.