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**k out of my office or I’ll call security.”
“Touchy today, are we?”
I picked up my phone and hit seven.