“HOW COME YOU’RE here every couple of weeks for lunch looking miserable? What’s going on, honey?’’ my mother asks me softly, sipping her coffee.
I shrug and look down at my cup and the dark liquid inside. I’m not mad at her anymore, she already apologized four times and made my favorite meal—pot roast—but I’m apathetic. I don’t feel like chatting or listening.
I hate it when I’m miserable, and I hate even more when someone witnesses it. For a woman like me who thrives on control and an appearance of strength, it’s quite the failure.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m not much company today.’’
She waves me off and puts down her coffee. The small cup made of the finest chine clanks in the quiet room. “Your father is at yet another golf tournament. You know how I dislike being alone in this big apartment.’’
I smile weakly and sip my coffee. “How much did the charity gather? And before you ask, yes I sent them a check.’’
“It was a success as far I know. Though, I’m sure you’re not soon to come back to one of these events.’’ She smiles sheepishly and covers my hand with hers. My eyes prickle suddenly, and I blink several times to chase away the burn of the tears. “Honey?’’
I let out a deep, wary breath and squeeze her hand. “I hurt Brock last night.’’
“What happened?’’
I shrug again and smile sadly, my cheeks aching at what feels like an unnatural movement. “Nothing. I just…’’ I trail off and clamp my mouth shut. I have nobody to confide in. Even my friends from back in college wouldn’t understand. And my mother? Either she’d take Brock’s side because he’s the one hurting or she’d tell me that we’re both made for each other. Two things I don’t want to hear.
“There is something different with the two of you, but I can’t place what it is. Is that the issue?’’
I shake my head and pull my hand away. I can’t do this and break down in front of her. The last thing I need is my mother knowing what is different. “I have to go, Mom. I have work to do.’’
“What? But it’s Sunday!’’
I stand up and bend to hug her. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t have contracts and projects to review, emails to answer.’’ I squeeze her thin shoulder and straighten, ready to go back home and allow myself to host my very own pity party.
“Did you sleep with Brock?’’
I stop dead in my tracks, one foot still mid-stride. I swivel around, and with eyes round as saucers, I splutter before I calm down enough to form a clear and understandable sentence. “What gave you that idea?’’
“The way you two were looking at each other the last few times I saw you together. It seems different. I didn’t want to say anything until you announced to all of us that you’re together, but with your bloodshot eyes and your forlorn look, I know something bad happened, and I can’t ignore it. I hate to see you hurting.’’
“Why are mothers always so attuned with their child?’’ I ask and cease all fight. “We weren’t together if that’s what you want to know.’’
“But something happened,’’ she presses me on, grabbing my hand and leading me back to the chair I just vacated.
“It’s too weird to talk about, but yes. It’s been three weeks now, and it was great. I mean, it’s Brock.’’
“So why did you say that you hurt him?’’
I blow out some air, but the pressure on my chest doesn’t vanish. It’s still there, unrelenting since that moment when Brock left my apartment the night before. “He told me that he’s always loved me and I don’t know that I feel the same way.’’
“Oh, honey. You didn’t know?’’
I shake my head, surprised. “You knew?’’
She shrugs and frowns, her thin lips puckering before she smiles softly. “We talked about it with his mother. We’ve always known, but we both thought that you were aware but afraid to be with him in case things didn’t work out.’’
I groan and bring a hand to my forehead. “How come he spent all his life in love with me, and I never saw it? Mom, you should have seen his face when he gave me that ultimatum.’’
“What ultimatum?’’ Her eyebrows shot upward.
“Either I ignore his words because I don’t feel the same or I can’t and we take a break away from each other, talking only for work.’’
“He’s trying to protect himself. Imagine what it’s doing to him.’’
“I get it! That’s why it hurts so much. I spent all my life hurting my best friend.’’
“It wasn’t intentional.’’
“And yet, here we are.’’ I wave the air around me, and I sigh heavily.
“Are you sure you don’t love him?’’
I nod and shrug. “I can’t love him. It’s Brock.’’
“What is it supposed to mean?’’
I shrug, stand up again, kiss her temple and walk out without uttering another word. I can’t find the beginning and the end of my train of thoughts. Everything is a mess, and I need distance, time alone.
My mother doesn’t stop me, but I already know that she’s going to call Mrs. Lowe as soon as possible and share everything she learned today. These women are always trying to worm themselves in Brock and my’s business, and it’s with the utmost good intentions. Doesn’t mean that it’s helpful.
Mindlessly, on autopilot, I drive back home and lock myself in the apartment. I don’t turn on the TV or the music. I need that silence, weighing on me, emphasizing the emptiness Brock left behind him. I go to my coffee table and open my laptop, ready to work and keep my mind off of things.
The first email I see in my inbox is from Mr. Zann. The very reason everything blew up in my face. I scowl at the screen and open the email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Your top client
Miss Cox,
As promised, I’m not letting one refusal deter me. I think as your top client now I deserve some of your time, and dinner seems appropriate.
Stanislas Zann, CEO at Zann Industries.
My scowl intensifies, and I quickly type a reply, hitting the keyboard hard and fast. Angrily.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Your top client
Mr. Zann,
Let me get this straight once and for all. I am not for sale. You can’t buy me just because you’re our primary account.
If you have questions regarding your account with us, I will make time to welcome you to our offices, but nothing else. Maybe you should remember that not everything can be bought.
Adeline Cox, Cox Company.
I hit send and turn off my computer and my iPhone to make sure I won’t receive any notification. Zann will answer with something highly inappropriate that he thinks will win me over, but it won’t. Before Brock, maybe, but not now that I’m scrambled. And I’m not used to men with such a dark intensity, so cold that I, in some ways, fear that man.
I glance at the front door.
I can’t believe that yesterday I could have gone out and walked a few feet to knock on Brock’s door just to hang out. I pull my legs closer to my chest and sigh, feeling the weight on my shoulders getting heavier. I don’t know if he’s at home. Maybe, he’s not. Maybe he’s with someone else, another woman to try and forget me.
A sudden pain hits me square in my chest, my heart squeezing tight and pumping more blood. I bring a hand to my mouth and run to the bathroom. I have barely enough time to kneel in front of the toilet before I empty my stomach of its content, retching hard. My eyes water and tears fall over the fringe of my eyelids. After long minutes, I fall to the floor and sob. My throat is painful as loud gasps escape me, shaking my whole body.
No men have ever made me ill before. None. I don’t try to get up and clean up. I don’t try to slow my breathing down. I don’t even wash my mouth. I stay there, laying on the cold tiles of the floor, my hair mostly sticking to my sweaty face, tears falling relentlessly.
I’m losing a big part of myself. I’m missing my other half, and it hurts so bad. It’s breaking me on the inside.