Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Hit and run. Somebody ran him over. He’s at the hospital.”
Jordan
My mother’s eyes do a full-length sweep of me as soon as I open the front door. “Why are you dressed like that?”
I look down at my shorts and T-shirt, unsure what she’s referring to.
“I just got done working out,” I tell her bitterly, drying my face with the towel around my neck. Bitterly because I’m pissed I have to answer any questions right now. “Better question is what are you doing here?” I step aside and she walks into the apartment.
True to my word, I changed all the passcodes. No more surprise visits from family. The only code I left unchanged was Riley’s…I don’t know what stopped me––hers probably should have been first––but I couldn’t do it.
Riley…
Everyday I wake up angry. Everyday I reach for her, expecting to feel her next to me, and everyday I’m reminded of what happened. Deceived again. I’ve loved two women my entire life and I was betrayed by both of them. Lied to by both.
Then again, I’m still having a hard time believing the girl who wouldn’t charge a swimsuit to my account would steal ten thousand dollars in cash, money that had been in that drawer for months untouched.
The drawer is still filled with Post-Its. Every time she took cash out to pay for groceries or takeout, she left a receipt. A receipt…Something isn’t right. Taking the money is way out of character for her––I’ve always thought that. But then why lie? Why not come clean? Why not tell me why she took it if it wasn’t for something illegal or something I wouldn’t approve of.
Lainey lied to spare me heartache and made a bad situation worse. Riley lied for reasons unknown––and even if she didn’t lie, it’s guilt by omission.
So then why do I feel like the one in the wrong here? Why do I feel like such a worthless piece of shit? Why am I having nightmares of her crying face and wake up in a cold sweat every other night?
I’ve been carrying this sense of oppressive guilt for three weeks with no relief in sight. I can’t sleep, I can’t work, I can’t function.
Worst of all I miss her. I miss her so much I’m crippled by it. It feels like a limb’s been cut off. And I’m living in a state of near paralyzing fear that something is really wrong. That something is wrong and I won’t get there in time to save her…or myself.
“Sanjay said you haven’t gone into work all week.”
I’m on a hair trigger and she’s pushing my buttons. My mother seems to think that pressuring my business partner will help her cause. She doesn’t know that Sanjay has ceded power to negotiate to me. “Shouldn’t you be in DC harassing other elected officials?” I’ll never understand why anyone would want a political career.
I leave her standing in the entrance and walk back to the couch, turn the volume down on the game.
“I’m flying back this afternoon.”
“Get to it…whatever it is.”
Her shoulders drop. She looks off. This is what she does when she needs something from me––she look contrite. She pretends to be. It doesn’t work for her. Joan West has never been sorry for anything a day in her life and it shows.
“What’s happening with Winstar? Leventhal said you haven’t gotten back to him with a counteroffer and he’s anxious to close the deal.”
Ironically, as she’s speaking, it all starts to come together in perfect clarity. “I’m going to decline his offer. We’re not selling exclusive rights––and definitely not to a military contractor.”
“Jordan, you know what this deal means to me.”
“Yeah, I do. Leventhal wants it badly. In the wrong hands, it can be manipulated and weaponized. Tell him the answer is no. Negotiations are over.”
I raise the volume on the Giants game.
She watches me for a beat, no doubt strategizing her next move. “What has happened to you? It’s that ridiculous girl, isn’t it?”
Cold rage. That’s all I feel right now. It pushes everything else by the wayside.
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer because it won’t be pretty and you are my mother. But that girl has been supporting herself since she was sixteen. She built her own business from nothing, with no help from anyone. Calling her ridiculous will only piss me off so tread easy.”
“Honey…” She sighs, her expression softening. “You’re being irrational. There are millions of women out there, better women than a glorified babysitter…this isn’t like you to take it so personally.”
This is how little she truly knows me. Better women…something about that sticks, stays with me. And then I realize why. It took my mother’s insane appetite for control to make me see the light.
There are millions of women out there. I’ve met quite a few of them. And not a single one can hold candle to her.