Chapter 25.5
Claire
Eight weeks ago...
I walked into Dutchman’s, a small gift shop on the eastern docks, and followed Ashley and Caroline around. They’d insisted on coming with me to help pick out a birthday present for Jonathan, even though they hadn’t met him yet.
We’d been shopping up and down the pier all day, but we hadn’t had much luck.
“If you would let us meet whoever this guy is, this would be a whole lot easier.” Ashley picked up a plastic fish and smiled. “Does he like fish?”
“A hundred boxes of sardines, maybe?” Caroline shrugged.
Ugh... “I’ll take a look around...” I walked towards the back of the store and stopped once I caught a view of the ocean from the windows.
“Breathtaking isn’t it?” An older brunette stood next to me and smiled. She was dressed in an all-white suit that perfectly complemented her thin frame, and her hair was neatly swept into a high bun.
Her eyes were stark blue with light wisps of gray, and they looked slightly familiar for some reason.
“Very...” I said. “What do you do when it rains though?” I noticed that the window was broken and the coverings desperately needed to be replaced.
“Well, we’re getting a brand new window next week, but as far as the coverings go...I don’t know. We still want people to see the view, rain or shine.”
“You should get bamboo shades—not the yellow ones because they’ll fade after six months. Get the brown ones with the smooth finish; it’ll look more authentic and bring out the earth tones in this room.”
Her eyes sparkled and she reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Denise.”
“Claire.”
“Well Claire, I was thinking more along the lines of the basic, plastic white blinds because they’re dirt cheap, but I’ll keep that in mind if this place ever makes a profit.” She laughed. “May I help you with something?”
“I’m looking for a birthday gift for someone I’m dating and I’m not sure what to get him...”
“I take it that this man loves yachts?”
I nodded.
“Come over here to the front then, honey.” She led me to the counter. “Now, there are many things you could get a man who loves yachts, but if he knows his stuff, you have to get it right. How serious are you two?”
I blushed. “I don’t know... I—”
“So, pretty serious.” She smiled. “I have just the thing for that.” She disappeared into a side room for several minutes and came back with a pretty brown box, sliding it to me. “This is what you want.”
“Mini metal anchors?”
She burst into laughter. “No, dear. These are sea hooks. They symbolize that you’re in it for the long haul, that you are—figuratively speaking, anchoring his ship. You get them personalized however you want, and if he knows his yachts like he’s supposed to, he’ll have the hooks welded onto his ship’s real anchor. This will be perfect.” I rummaged through the box of hooks and pulled out a few golden ones, running my hands along their pointy ends. “I’ll take them.”
“You’ll take what?” “What are those things, mom?” “You’re getting your boyfriend toy anchors?” “What type of guy is this?”
Denise shook her head. “There’s a logic behind it girls, I promise. How would you like them personalized, Claire?”
“Well...How about my name on the bottom of the hooks and his name on the side corners?”
“Sounds great.” She took a pen from behind her ear and wrote on a pad. “And what is your boyfriend’s name?”
“Jonathan.”
“Oh! I have a son named Jonathan. It’s a great name!” She laughed. “Write down your number so I can call you when they’re ready, okay? And trust me, he’ll love them.” Six weeks ago
I stepped off the elevator and walked over to Jonathan’s secretary. “Good afternoon, Angela. Is Mr.
Statham available?”
She looked at me with a “Why are you even asking me that” expression and picked up her phone.
“Mr. Statham? I have...” She rolled her eyes. “It’s Miss Gracen, sir...Right away. You can go in now, Miss Gracen.”
“Thank you.”
I smoothed my navy blue dress and opened the door, slowly walking inside. As soon as Jonathan’s eyes met mine, I smiled and felt butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.
“Good afternoon.” He walked over and kissed me on the cheek. “You look amazing...” He led me over to the older brunette I’d seen weeks ago at Dutchman’s. “This is my mother, Denise Statham.
And mother, this is—”
“Claire.” She smiled and reached out for my hand.
I was about to say, ‘It’s nice seeing you again,’ but she said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” I guessed he’d told her about me and she probably didn’t remember me ever being in her shop.
“You’re absolutely gorgeous...” she said. “Jonathan’s very lucky to have you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Statham.”
“I’ll see you next week, son.” She hugged Jonathan and walked out of the office.
As soon as he heard the ping of the elevator, he pulled me into his arms. “Is something wrong?
Are you sick? It must be something fatal if you came up here during the hours when people might actually see you.”
I rolled my eyes. “We just wrapped up the s Tablet so Mr. Barnes is letting us go home early. My phone died so I figured I’d come tell you that before you thought I was ignoring you.”
“Good decision. I would take you out to lunch to celebrate, but I’m booked with meetings until six. Dinner? There’s a new bistro down at—”
“Mr. Statham? I hate to bother you again, but Miss Griffin is here with an emergency.” Angela’s voice came over the intercom. “She says it can’t wait another second.” He sighed and stepped back. “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere.” He pulled out a chair for me and walked out of the room.
I leaned back in the chair and shut my eyes. I was thrilled to be done with the strenuous s Tablet campaign and I couldn’t wait to move on to something much easier: the s Phone red.
I stretched my legs out and heard the jangling of keys. I opened my eyes and saw Denise walking back into the room.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. I forgot my—” She stopped. “Where’s Jonathan?”
“He left for an emergency.”
“Hmmm.” She walked over to the couch and picked up a pair of glasses. “Tell me something, Claire...How old are you?”
“Forty...”
Her eyes widened and she tilted her head to the side. “Well, now I know the true meaning of
‘looks can be deceiving’...Is my Jonathan the Jonathan you bought those sea hooks for?” Clearly... “Yes.”
“Well, between me and you, I wouldn’t waste my time giving those to him. They don’t stand for short-term relationships.”
“Excuse me?”
She sighed. “When his friend Vanessa told me that his girlfriend was a forty year old with two kids I didn’t believe it...I thought to myself, ‘No, Jonathan would never date someone who was that much older than him. He knows better.’ I even wondered what I would say to this woman if I ever had the chance to meet her... And I think my exact words were f*ck off.” What? My mind went blank.
“Whatever is going on between the two of you isn’t going to last another season and you know it.” She hissed. “What young, attractive billionaire wants to live his life with an aging woman and her two teenaged kids? In what world is that happily ever after possible?” I wasn’t sure what it was about this woman, but she was scaring the living shit out of me and I couldn’t come up with anything to say.
“I’ve seen this all before, Claire.” She narrowed her icy blue eyes at me. “Divorced woman with kids wants to start her life over and decides to go for the younger man this time around. The rehab center is full of those types...The older woman thinks it’s exciting and new; that she’s one of the lucky ones and it’ll last forever, but it won’t—especially not with someone like Jonathan. He’s used to dating supermodels and actresses who are younger than him, not thirsty cougars who want to trick him into thinking he’s in love so they can get his money.”
“Mrs. Statham, I’m not—”
“And before you think otherwise about the way this so-called “relationship” you two have is going to end, let me help you figure it out: He’ll probably never meet your daughters because he’s only into you for sex. Or if he has met them, it was only to put on a show and act like he cares when he really doesn’t. But, oh... What’s this?” She gave me a sarcastic frown. “He hasn’t met them has he?”
My poker face was failing me. I could feel a look of sadness sliding onto my cheeks.
She smiled. “Hasn’t even asked to, huh? Poor cougar Claire...That’s actually not shocking at all, but it must be quite disheartening for you. Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Mrs. Statham—”
“Us middle-aged people don’t have to call each other by our formal titles, Claire. You should be calling me Denise. Then again, you shouldn’t really be around in the first place, so—”
“I don’t think antagonizing me will get you any closer to Jonathan.” I said as firmly as I could.
“You’re right. Getting rid of you will.”
I rolled my eyes. I was going to tell Jonathan about this little encounter as soon as he walked back into the room.
Denise shook her head and turned away, but then she spun back around. “By the way, if you even think about telling him about this—if you repeat any of what I said to you, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Do your worst.” My personality was finally re-surfacing.
She laughed. “Don’t underestimate me, Claire. You’d be amazed at what types of people end up in rehab: Former judges, celebrities, and my favorite— ousted news reporters who are always looking for the right story to get their jobs back.”
“You don’t have anything on me.”
“I don’t. But there’s someone on the company board here who does. You must have really pissed her off because she’s been crafting this little story for a while...Remember, it doesn’t have to be true, it just has to look true. So, think about that before you open your mouth. In the meantime, figure out a quick way—a two week way, to break up with my gullible son before I do it for you.” She slid her glasses over her eyes and walked out of the room.
I sat back in my chair and thought long and hard about what she could possibly have on me. I’d never been arrested, never been to rehab, never done anything that would scare me if it was brought to the light.
“I’m so sorry about that.” Jonathan walked back into the room. He pulled me out of my chair and smiled. “What was I saying before?”
“Dinner...” I murmured. I wasn’t going to go. I needed to use tonight to think about what his mother had said to me, to make sure she didn’t have anything that could hurt me. I figured I’d use the same “time with my daughters” line since he always bought that.
“Right. There’s a new restaurant down at Fisherman’s Wharf and I’d love to—”
“Rain check? I promised the girls that I would make pasta tonight. Maybe we can—”
“I like pasta.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll bring the leftovers to work tomorrow. Do you want me to pack parmesan cheese with—”
“I can’t come over and have dinner with you and your family?” What? “Um...”
“Um?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “What type of answer is that?”
“You want to meet my daughters?”
“Do they know I exist?”
I nodded.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing...” I decided that his mother was full of shit. “Dinner is at seven.” Jonathan’s Birthday
I gazed into Jonathan eyes as he gazed back into mine. We were sitting at a table in Sierra Mar—
sharing our own special silence, talking without saying a word. Even though Hayley was sitting across from us, it felt like we were the only people in the room.
I heard her asking me questions—“Have you always lived in San Fran?” “Are your daughters coming here with us tonight?” “How did you manage to keep this dinner a secret from my brother all this time?”—but all I could say in return was “Not always,” “Not tonight,” and “Umm hmm.” I couldn’t focus on anything else but the beautiful man sitting next to me. I was still entranced by the hour long “scenic route” we’d taken before we came to dinner, wishing that it hadn’t come to an end.
“Excuse me.” A waitress touched my shoulder, snapping me out of my trance. She placed a three layer cupcake in the center of the table and struck a match that made the starry sparklers dance in lively flames.
“Happy Birthday, Jonathan.” I smiled.
“Are you going to blow out the candles or are you going to wait until your cake catches fire?” Hayley shook his shoulder. “Hello!”
“What?” He took his eyes off me and looked down at the cupcake in awe. He blew out the candles in one breath and looked at me again. “I didn’t know they served cupcakes here...”
“They don’t...But when you tell them your date is Jonathan Statham they’ll make whatever you want.”
“Is that so?” He smiled even wider.
I felt my phone vibrating on my lap and looked at the screen: Ashley.
“Would you two please excuse me for a minute?” I looked back and forth between the two of them. “I need to take this call.”
“Of course.” Jonathan helped me out of my chair and kissed my cheek before I headed to the bathroom.
“Yes, Ashley?” I shut the door. “Is something wrong?”
“Caroline has the car tonight. She’s going to be out until ten with the junior varsity squad...”
“And?”
“I want to get some pizza.”
“Have it delivered.”
“With my friends! Can I please use your car tonight? I promise I won’t wreck it or do anything—”
“No, Ashley. We’ve been through this over and over. It’s up to you two to work out how to share that car. Mine is off limits. Forever.”
“Ugh! Fine!” She hung up.
My phone rang again and I knew it was Ashley. She always hung up in my face and called right back to apologize—and beg to use my car again.
“I accept your apology, Ashley.” I held the phone up to my ear. “The answer is still no. And just in case you’re wondering, I did give Jonathan that card that you and Caroline—”
“Oh, that’s right.” Denise’s raspy voice made me stop talking. “You have daughters...”
“What do you want, Mrs. Statham?”
“I’ve told you about formalities. They’re not necessary. Is there a reason why you didn’t invite me to my son’s birthday dinner tonight?”
Because you’re a bitch... “No, but he doesn’t seem to be missing your presence.”
“Let me speak to him.”
“Call him yourself.” I hung up.
My phone rang again and I saw her number on my screen. I knew that I shouldn’t answer it, that I should send her straight to voicemail like I’d been doing for the past few days, but I picked up anyway.
“Yes?” I answered.
“It’s rude to hang up on your boyfriend’s mother. Someone your age should know that. Did you get my package yesterday? I never received a ‘thank you’ note.” I didn’t answer. I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from saying the filthiest words my mouth could manage.
I’d received her “package” at my house yesterday afternoon. It was a beautiful silky red box with pink and purple hearts sewn onto the fabric, with my name etched in glittery black cursive on all four sides.
I’d sat down on my couch with it, smiling at how detailed it was—thinking that it was another well-thought gift from Jonathan. But as soon as I opened it, I realized that wasn’t the case.
Inside was a sheet of paper: a record of a canceled consultation appointment from a Dr. Tate Robinson I’d made four years ago. He specialized in vaginal rejuvenation surgery, and at the time, I thought that was what I needed to feel young again, but I canceled it once I started going to Sandra’s practice for therapy.
Underneath that paper were more papers—more canceled consultations from a Botox specialist, a face lift specialist, and a skin toning specialist. They were all things I thought I needed when I first moved to San Fran to start over, things I thought I needed because my self-esteem was at an all-time low.
“You definitely made the right choice in canceling those appointments.” She laughed. “You don’t need any of that stuff—not now anyway. But a few years down the line...Well, it’ll be a different story, and I have a doctor that I can recommend. He does it all—he’s even managed to come up with a process that will delay gray hair from coming in for another ten years. Would you like me to—”
“I would like for you to stop playing these childish ass games with me, Denise. They’re not working.”
“They’re not? Should I start focusing on your past then? Should I mention your twin sister Caroline? How she might’ve made it if you hadn’t been so stupid, like you’re being right now.”
“What did you just say?” My blood began to boil.
“I never stutter, Claire. It was very smart of your family to cover up the fact that you switched your flight at the last minute. I can’t imagine what type of sob story the media would have concocted out of that one. I almost missed it when I was looking over all those old articles. It’s like the airline practically buried everything about that crash. I guess it’s a good thing that newspapers weren’t digital in 1991. It makes it harder to find certain things...Of course, the private investigator found it anyway and put everything together for me.”
She’s investigating me?
“Mrs. Statham, I’m going to say this one time as politely as I can: Leave me the f*ck alone. I haven’t done anything to—”
“I won’t stop until you stop—until you realize that what you’re doing is wrong—taking advantage of someone younger than you to boost what shredded sense of self you have. You got married at what?
Twenty one? Right after you graduated college? And unfortunately your marriage failed. Miserably.
So now you want to suck up someone else’s youth knowing damn well that you don’t expect to be there for the long run, that as soon as someone your age or older comes along and seems more secure, you’ll be leaving my son in the cold with wasted time and a scheme to take his money. How fair is that?”
“Don’t call my phone anymore. I’m not going to—”
“How would you feel if your sixteen year old daughters were dating someone eleven years older than them? Would you stand by and say nothing? Let them continue doing it because they’re too f*cking gullible to realize a pedophile when they see one? Or would you be telling the pitiful excuse for a man to move the f*ck on like I’m telling you to right now?”
“That’s not the same and I’d appreciate it if you just—”
“Ha! Yes it is!” She snorted. “Tell me something. Do you use that mail-ordered anti-wrinkle cream every day? It’s called Age-Away, right? Is it working well for you?” I hung up and powered my phone off.
I sat down on the vanity’s stool and took several deep breaths. I hadn’t told Jonathan about my sister Caroline—hadn’t even planned to, but hearing her name come out of Denise’s mouth made me sick to my stomach.
I knew that I shouldn’t mention this latest conversation to Jonathan since it was his birthday, but as soon as the right time came, we were going to have to talk. Regardless of what she had on me, I knew he was way more powerful than she was; he’d definitely put an immediate stop to it, especially since their last few therapy sessions hadn’t ended well.
I took another deep breath and exhaled, standing up to glance at myself. I forced myself to smile and silently repeated my mantra.
You don’t look your age...You don’t look your age...
I stepped outside the bathroom and saw Jonathan heading my way, looking as if he knew something was wrong.
I looked over at the table and realized his sister wasn’t there. “Where’s Hayley?”
“She was sick of us staring at each other apparently. Are you okay?”
“Yeah...It’s just...” It’s his birthday...Lie, Claire. Lie... “Ashley and Caroline are driving me crazy about their shared car again...They called me on three-way to ask about letting them drive my car tonight.”
“You said no?”
“Of course I said no. They need to stick together and share what they have.”
“Okay... Are you ready to go?”
“After you open your presents. Let’s do that first and then—”
“I want to open them at home.” He signaled to the waiter that we were leaving and picked up his gifts. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded and placed my hand in his as we walked to the town car. I slipped inside and saw Hayley sitting on the side seats.
“I thought you left!” I leaned over the seat and hugged her. “He said we ran you away.”
“Without telling you goodbye? How rude would that be?” She laughed. “I just needed to have a few minutes away from you two. Your lovebird gazes are quite sickening. Could you please hold off on the PDA until Greg drops me off? I want to keep my food down.” I blushed. “I’m sorry...”
“Sure you are. I had a great time, but don’t invite me to anything else unless I have someone to talk to.”
“She’ll invite our mother next time.” Jonathan slid in and shut the door.
“Please don’t.” Hayley snarled. “I want to enjoy dinner.” Jonathan kissed my cheek and pulled me into his lap. “I think she really is crazy...She made need some one-on-one professional help. I’ve been seeing a different side of her in our latest therapy sessions. It’s like something’s really bothering her.”
If only you knew...
Four weeks ago
I looked over Denise’s latest email and rolled my eyes.
She’d created another fake account to send me news articles about cougars. This most recent article was about a Hollywood couple who was going through a tumultuous divorce: The actress was fifty and the actor was thirty five. All the critics were saying “Of course it wouldn’t last,” “It was destined to fail,” and “That’s what she gets for trying to land a younger man.” In the subject line, she’d typed, “If she was famous, rich, and beautiful and couldn’t make it work, what makes you think it’ll work for you?”
“Rita, could you please have IT block another email address for me?” I buzzed her. “I’m forwarding it to you now.”
“Yes ma’am. Oh, and there was another delivery for you today. Would you like me to bring it in now?”
“Is it a box?”
“No, it’s wine and two more vases of flowers from your over the top secret admirer.” She laughed. “Do you know if he has any friends?”
“I’ll ask him. You can bring it in.”
As soon as I hung up the phone, she walked in with a large bottle of wine and two beautiful vases of pink flowers. The wine was one of my favorite reds—a vintage merlot that was over thirty years old. And like always, my name was etched onto the flowers’ crystal container with the words
“Someone very special to me” right underneath.
I pulled the small white envelope from the stems and opened it: Claire,
I’m looking forward to spending time with you, Caroline, and Ashley this afternoon. Make sure you tell them that there’s a pool onboard.
Jonathan
PS—Come to my office after your next meeting.
PSS—Leave your panties.
I laughed and opened the other envelope that was attached to the wine bottle: Claire,
Wine is one of few things in life that age well over time. Some would even argue that the longer they age, the better they taste. Some of the best wines can last for decades if they’re stored properly and kept in a chill, dark place. However, even the best aged wines don’t last longer than a day once they’re uncorked and exposed to the air. It’s their Kryptonite; it’s what makes them realize how old they really are.
This Merlot was bottled in your birth year—forty years ago.
I uncorked it for you yesterday, so it doesn’t have much time left.
Enjoy!
Of course she didn’t sign it...
I ripped the notecard into pieces and tossed them into the trash. I completely regretted encouraging Jonathan to give her a second chance now; she was clearly replacing her normal “relapse drug time” with ways to hurt me. And to be honest, with each passing day it was working more and more.
No matter how many times Jonathan told me I was beautiful, no matter how many times he made love to me and told me I was perfect, one mean text, nasty voicemail, or email from Denise made me succumb to my stubborn insecurities.
Two weeks ago
The waves of the ocean slapped up against the windows of his bedroom, and the yacht slowly rocked back and forth.
He’d just made love to me for the second time that morning, and I was trying to pull myself back down to reality, trying to put the images of our amazing sex in the back of my mind and tell him about his mother; her antics were getting out of hand.
“What are you thinking about now?” He pulled me into his arms so we were face to face.
“Nothing...”
He traced my lips with his fingertips and smiled. “Your eyes give you away all the time. That’s how I know when you’re lying to me.”
“I can talk to you about anything, right?”
“Of course you can.” He kissed me. “I don’t want any boundaries between us.” How do I say, “Your mother is a bitch and I want you to keep her the hell away from me?” Do I say it outright? Is there a lead in sentence—What can I—
“That wasn’t a question that led into another question?” He raised his eyebrow.
“Not really...I just wanted to know.” I closed the small gap between us and ran my fingers through his thick hair, smiling at him as he smiled back at me.
From the look in his eyes I could tell that he wasn’t buying my “I just wanted to know” excuse; he knew something was off.
I sighed. It’s now or never, Claire. Just tell him...One...Two...Thr—
“Would you mind going to dinner with me and my mom next weekend?” he asked.
WHAT! “You two are on good terms now?” I tried to keep the shock out of my voice.
“I don’t know...I walked out on our last therapy session, so I wouldn’t necessarily say good terms...”
“You don’t think you can have dinner without arguing with her?” Please don’t ask me do this...
“I would just feel more comfortable if you came with me.” He gazed into my eyes, giving me a look that screamed “Please say yes” and kissed me again. “That’s all.”
“Okay. I’ll come.”
Last Friday
I scrolled through another one of Denise’s four page text-rants and vowed to have my number changed. She’d been texting me nonsense all day: old pictures of Jonathan with his ex-supermodel girlfriends, photo-shopped pictures of me with gray hair—sitting in a wheelchair as he pushed me, and links to articles about “How Not to Deal with a Mid-Life Crisis.” The last thing I wanted to do tonight was sit at a table with her, putting on a show like she and I hadn’t been speaking over the past few weeks. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t going to be fake at all; I was going to let Jonathan to see her for exactly who she was.
I shut down my computer and started putting my things away, wishing that I could fast forward to two weeks from now. I’d been debating whether Jonathan and I should take a break, whether we should end our affair now before the cold reality set in months later.
“Miss Gracen?” Rita called me over the intercom. “Your four o’ clock appointment is here. I’m letting her in now. Mr. Barnes wants me to help him with the intern meeting upstairs.” I don’t have a four o’ clock... “I told you I was going home early today. Remember? I don’t have a—”
Denise walked into my office and shut the door. She sat down in front of my desk and smiled, sliding a bright yellow box towards me.
I didn’t say anything. I kept putting my things away. I figured I’d let her sit there all day if she wanted to. I even considered running out of my office and locking her inside for the night.
“Are you going to address me?” she asked. “Hello?”
Beta team’s files in the red folder...The notes for Mr. Barnes in the yellow folder...I need to re-organize last Thursday’s markups for the art department...Where are my—
“Claire?” She cleared her throat. “I want you to know that none of what I’ve said to you over the past few weeks is personal. It’s simply me trying to be the best mother I can be.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think? He needed you when he was nine—not twenty nine.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the monster he makes me out to be. And you don’t know a damn thing about what was happening when he was nine—except the fact that you were twenty years old back then so—”
“Get the f*ck out of my office or I’ll call security.”
“Touchy today, are we?”
I picked up my phone and hit seven.
She stood up and stepped back towards the door. “I was just coming by to drop off that gift. You can think of it as an early dinner present. I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight... This should be fun.” She gave me an evil smile and it took everything I had not to jump over my desk and beat her into the ground.
The door slammed shut and I sank down in my chair. I didn’t even bother opening the box. I tossed it into the trash and hit nine to cancel the security call.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually talked Jonathan out of canceling dinner tonight. I’d told him that he and his mom needed to keep trying to work things out, that I would be there for him the entire time.
What the hell was I thinking?
“Claire?” Jonathan burst into my office with two security guards. “What’s the problem?”
“Huh?”
“You called security...”
“Oh, right...” I watched as his guards walked around my office, opening and closing the connecting doors and closets. “It was a mistake...I’m sorry. I hit nine to cancel.”
“Thank you very much, gentlemen. False alarm.” He waited for them to leave the room. “You look pale. You sure you’re alright?”
No... “I’m fine. Are you tracking my phone calls?”
“I get notifications about all emergency calls—text messages for regular employees, a phone call if it’s coming from you.”
“Oh...” I leaned back. “Are any of my coworkers out there? Did they see you come up?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes and walked over to me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What are you talking about?”
He cupped my face in his hands. “You’ve been on edge lately...” Your mother’s been harassing me. Say it. Say it! “I’m just overwhelmed with a lot of assignments. That’s all.”
“Hmmm. I’m sure I can fix that for you. Do you want to cancel dinner tonight? We don’t have to go.”
“But your therapist said that—”
“My mom is still acting like she doesn’t remember any of the things she did when I was younger...She was just here for a session and I walked out. I don’t think our relationship is reparable.”
I sighed. I thought about saying, “It’s not. And you know what? I hate her too. Let’s cancel dinner and I’ll tell you all about it,” but my motherly instincts won out. The two of them could fix this, they needed to fix this.
“It just takes time. Don’t cancel...She may have a strange way of showing it, but I think she’s willing to do whatever it takes to be a mainstay in your life now.”
“Based on what I just told you?”
Based on what she’s been doing... “Just trust me. Keep the dinner reservation... I’ll be there.” Last Friday night
I stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows of the ocean view restaurant and watched the waves hit the bay rocks over and over. I was dreading this dinner so much that I was tempted to run out on the patio and dive into the sea.
When Jonathan dropped me off at home hours ago, I’d found another “gift” from Denise. I tossed it towards the trashcan, but it fell short a few feet and the contents of the box tumbled out onto the floor: They were pictures, and not just any pictures. Recent pictures of Ryan and Amanda enjoying their amazing life together—walking along the river with their two young children, kissing one another as they strolled through the park hand in hand, laughing at nothing at all. They were sitting on a rock at me and Ryan’s old spot—our favorite downtown park. They were running down a cobblestoned street at Disneyworld, with Ashley and Caroline not too far behind them.
How did she get these?
I stopped looking through the pictures and felt myself shaking, feeling angry and hurt all over again. I told myself that I wasn’t going to cry, that I wasn’t going to read the little notes she’d written on the back of every picture, but I slumped down to the floor and read them all.
I read every single word as tears fell down my face: “Fourteen years down the drain...” “You think Ashley and Caroline will actually respect a stepfather that’s only thirteen years older than them?” “You don’t think he’ll ever want kids of his own? Really? Ryan clearly did, and Jonathan will too...Maybe not until he’s in his thirties, but he will. You know that.” “Look at how Amanda and Ryan are aging together. She has a streak of gray and so does he...Are you going to be able to dye your hair every week? Isn’t the Age-Away regimen time consuming enough?” “I’m only trying to help you...I can help you find someone more suitable in no time...”
My phone started vibrating and I snapped out of my memory. It was a text from Jonathan: “On my way. Can’t wait until dinner’s over :-).”
I smiled and noticed another text. From Denise: “I know you have no reason to believe me right now, but I am so very sorry about the way I’ve treated you over the past few weeks...Jonathan and I are on our way to the restaurant now and I...I didn’t realize how much you meant to him. I thought you were a cougar that was after his money—I’m sorry for ever thinking that and calling you out of your name. Can we please be civil with one another at dinner tonight? I really am sorry.”
I didn’t respond. It was too late for an apology—much too late.
My phone vibrated again, and I saw another text from her. “I know you don’t owe me anything and you have every right to be angry with me, but can we PLEASE get through this dinner without incident? He won’t talk to me anymore if you tell him what’s been going on or make a scene...I’ll do whatever it takes to repair what I’ve messed up. I take everything I said back...Can we please start over? I think we could be good friends if we tried.” No response.
I kept watching the waves roll over one another, trying to prepare myself for this terrible dinner.
By the time Jonathan and his mother finally arrived, I’d had enough time to think things through, to make up my mind about this impossible relationship: I decided that I would get through dinner without incident. I would be polite to Denise and make sure that Jonathan never left my side, but after tonight, he and I would be over.
August 15, 2013
Dear Journal,
There are two ways to write a Two Weeks’ Notice.
If you want the traditional going away party with stale cake, cheap punch, and terribly recited poetry, you need to include the following lines in your letter: “I’ve learned so much from working with this company and I hope to apply my knowledge to my new position. Thank you for having me on your team throughout the years and I hope my contributions have been as meaningful to you as yours have been to me.”
If you don’t give a damn about the company you’re leaving and the thought of a going away party with your co-workers makes you want to jump out the window before you can officially quit, you can simply sum up your letter in two short sentences: “As of [insert date] I will no longer be working for this company. Effective immediately.”
Last week, I received a call from Signature Advertising—the premier advertising agency on the West Coast. They’d saved my application from four years ago, keeping it in an “Over Budget” folder since they thought my salary request would be too high. But now, they were “willing to spend whatever [they] needed to,” so they offered me the job over the phone—no interview necessary.
I was thrilled, but I told them I needed forty eight hours to think about it.
I was actually going to turn it down. I was going to tell them that I was enjoying my work at Statham Industries and would keep their offer in mind for the future. Yet, but right before I could make that phone call, one of my associates brought the top idea for the s Phone red into my office: “First it was blue, like the skies above your head...Now it’s full of love that will never go dead...Coming soon, the new s Phone red.”
I’m done with this shit,
Claire