“—in the fresh air. All that nature shit people are into up there. The hiking, the kayaking, the skiing. Whatever. It’s a good life for a boy. But you, Rochelle. You didn’t get Aspen, did you?”
I say nothing. He has no idea what he’s talking about and he’s certainly not going to be the first person in Denver who gets to hear my story. No way.
“Anyway,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “It took me a long time to figure you out. But I did figure you out. Can you guess when I figured you out, Rochelle?”
“Hmmm,” I say, putting a finger to my lips like I’m pretending to think. “When you stopped coming by the apartment on Fridays?”
So what if he sees through me? I don’t care. I don’t have to care about his opinion. I’m not even here for him.
“Yes,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “That’s exactly when I figured you out.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say more. But then reconsiders and stays silent. But as the moments tick off, his face changes. His whole expression, really.
Anger, I realize. He’s silent right now because he’s angry.
“What do you want?” I ask.
His jaw is clenching. And those eyes… they are filled with hate. He hates me. I have never understood that, but it’s always been there. What the fuck did I ever do to him? Nothing. I’ve done nothing to him. I don’t deserve this asshole’s scrutiny.
“I want you to listen, Rochelle Bastille. And I want you to listen good. I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to. I don’t know why you came back. But I will give you two million dollars, right now, in cash, if you pack that adorable baby up and get the fuck out of my town.”
“No,” I say firmly. “No. I’m not leaving. I’m here for Quin.”
“And Bric?”
“I’m not the one who wants the game, Smith. They are. They want it. I want Quin. I came back for Quin. I’m not leaving until we at least have a conversation about it. And he’s not ready for that yet so I’m going to stay and wait it out. So you can take that money and shove it up your ass. I don’t need your fucking money.”
He smiles at that. Lets out a breath of air… like he’s… relieved. “So you’re just gonna what, Rochelle?” Smith’s voice is lower now. Not as agitated. Maybe even sympathetic. That stupid offer might’ve just been another one of those fucked-up tests he’s so fond of. Let’s dangle money in front of desperate Rochelle and see if she takes it. Pathetic. “You’re just gonna let Quin pretend that child is his?”
I am so beyond exasperated. “This is not my fault,” I say, huffing out some air. “I keep telling him she might not be, OK?” I look at Smith and study his reaction. What is he thinking right now? Why is he here? “I do. I swear. But he won’t even consider it. He just says, ‘She’s mine,’ every time I bring it up.”
“I could end this any time I want. Just remember that, Rochelle,” he threatens again. “Quin trusts me. I can change his mind about you any time I want. I can make him love you again. I can also make him hate you. But you know what?”
I can barely meet his eyes as he waits for my attention. “What?” I whisper.
“I’m gonna let it ride for a little bit. To see what happens. But if you fuck anything up with me and my friends, I will ruin you.”
He gets up, kneels down in front of Adley, who smiles at him—again, the tiny traitor—and says, “See you later, Adley,” in a very sweet voice. His words come with this huge smile he must reserve for everyone else but me. I can only assume this is the side he shows Chella, and that’s why she likes him.
He walks back to the elevator, presses the button, and then straightens his tie in a small mirror hanging above it, like he didn’t just offer me two million dollars to break his best friend’s heart.
He looks at me. My eyes meet his in the mirror. “I hope you don’t think this is me giving up. Because that would be a serious mistake.”
I’m just about to reply, but the elevator doors open, he steps in, and then smiles at me as they close and take him away.
When we lived in Pagosa Springs, Adley and I spent our Saturdays lounging in the hot springs along the river on the resort property. There was little traffic noise from the main street and the rushing of the San Juan River drowned out the playful voices of families there for a weekend away.
It’s something I miss right now.
Our condo in LoDo is a place for young people. Mostly people interested in partying and not new mothers interested in… well, mothering. But I’d like some new clothes and Adley could use something too—shirts that don’t say Pagosa Springs on them—even though right now I’d really like to get in my car and drive us five hours south to our little tepid pool. So we brave the streets.
The 16th Street Mall intersects my new home on Wynkoop Street, but it’s blocks and blocks away from the trendy shops, so Adley and I take the mall bus down to the more populated section to get breakfast and spend money.
Saturday mornings are busy, it seems. I feel like my life in Denver was a lifetime ago. I feel like a stranger. An interloper. Adley is agitated. Not cranky. Yet. But it’s clear we are on the same page about the traffic, noise, and bustle of city life.
I’m having doubts right now. Lots and lots of doubts.
Things with Quin are not going the way I imagined. I had pictured a warm welcome. Which, I admit, was pretty naive on my part. I left him with no explanation. But I was, in my defense, upset. Hormonally upset. Everything that seemed so rational at the time just appears thoughtless and crazy right now.
And all I keep thinking about is Smith’s visit last night. Will he really try and mess things up with Quin?
Yes, I decide. That’s something he’d enjoy.
After I get a muffin at Starbucks, Adley and I claim a window table and stare out at the gray day as we absently eat. She is chewing on one of those baby cookies, the kind that come in a box in the baby aisle and have no taste whatsoever. I tried one. I try all her baby food. The organic peaches are my favorite. But her gums are sore from the threat of teeth and she gnaws on it until her mouth is lined with mush and I’m lost in thought as I drink my coffee and wonder how I can make things better.
I called Chella to invite her to come with us, but she’s working today. Something about her tea shop having a soft opening next weekend and problems with a pastry recipe.
OK, I sigh. I get it. I left and everyone else moved on. I’ve been alone for a year, I can manage a few more weeks as they try to figure out how I fit into their new lives.
Eventually I drag myself up out of the chair and we head out into the cold windy day to shop. I used to enjoy shopping, but that was then. Back when shopping meant thrift stores and whole afternoons wandering the long aisles of antique stores.