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I blink at him. “What?”
“I’m asking you,” he says. “What’s wrong with it? What haven’t I done for you? You don’t have to struggle like I did. I’ve kept you safe, and I’ve tried to make you happy. Rich is a nice, smart young man, and he’s on track to take over for me when I step down.”
“Because he’s good at what he does,” I say.
“No, Halston. Rich is a good kid. Hardworking. But he’s not a natural businessman. I can get him there, to a place where he’ll be the right man for my position. It’s an investment I’m willing to make. For you.”
He has it all figured out. I could walk out the door back to Rich, ask for a ring, stand by his side as he moves up in the company, raise his children. I have stability at my fingertips. And maybe with a little more effort, I could fall in love with him.
The room feels suddenly smaller. I close my eyes and think of Finn, of being comfortable in his white bedroom and his arms. “No.”
“No what?”
“You’re manipulating me. This is what you and Rich do.”
“If trying to give you a good life is wrong,” he raises his palms, “guilty.”
“A good life would be my life. Not the one you decide for me.”
“Do you know what I would’ve given to have all this handed to me?” he asks. “Or to even get my good life back?”
I hear what he doesn’t say: the good life I took from him. I’ve never stopped feeling guilty for my role in my mom’s death, but it’s especially sharp now, when the anniversary of it is around the corner. When my dad and I are on opposite sides. I see the pain in his face. Sometimes I forget it’s there until something makes him genuinely smile or laugh. To others, it looks like stress or anger. Dad doesn’t show weakness. Except to me, because we’ve seen each other at our worst.
What do I do? Give him the peace and reassurance he wants so he can rest a little easier? Or fight this battle for myself and for a man I just met?
“I can’t stay on these drugs,” I say. “I just can’t. It’s not fair to ask me to just because you don’t want to deal with me. You don’t even know what I’m like without them.”
His face darkens. “Yes I do.”
“That was ten years ago. Isn’t it possible I’ve changed? Matured? Are you the man you were ten years ago?”
“What do you fucking think?”
I sit back. My dad rarely curses at me. It makes me want to slink off to my room, especially because he’s right. Why would he be the same after losing the love of his life? “I’m sorry,” I say. “Of course you’re not.”
“If you stop your meds, then what? You’ll be fine? Do you honestly believe that?”
I open my mouth to argue. I’m tired of them doubting me and pointing out my shortcomings at every turn. Yes, I believe I’ll be fine.
Won’t I?
You’re troubled. You make bad decisions.
I’ve heard it since I was fifteen.
The truth is, I don’t know if it’s wrong. It could be right.
“I’ll worry about you more than I already do,” Dad says. “At least with Rich, I know someone else is looking out for you. With Christmas coming up, and—and the anniversary—if you’re off your treatment and alone . . . I don’t know that I can take it.”
My chest hurts. I can’t do this to him. His vulnerability is hard-earned, a privilege, and I can’t just turn a blind eye to it. But I can’t give myself up, either, or say goodbye to Finn knowing how good it is with him. “I’m stopping the drugs,” I say firmly. “It’s time.”
He sighs. “That alone is enough for you to handle. You don’t need a stressful breakup on top of that. Who knows? Maybe this will be the thing that changes your feelings about Rich.”
It’s the only option if I want to give my dad some relief during the hardest time of the year. Not just any year. The tenth year.
“Will you try to make it work with him one more time, Banana? For me?”
How can I say no?
14
After an unsettling conversation with my dad about resuscitating my dead relationship, Rich is the last person I want to see. But there he is when I leave Dad’s office, perched on the secretary’s desk, talking to her.
He looks up. “Should I go back in?”
I start for the elevator. “No.”
“What happened?” he asks, catching up with me as the doors open.
I wait until we’re alone to speak. “You and I are getting back together—”
“We are?” Rich raises his eyebrows. “Talk about finding the right approach. Your dad’s even smoother than I thought.”
“It’s only as far as my dad knows.”
“What?”
“We’re not really getting back together. This is an awful time of year for my dad and me. I don’t have to tell you that. My dad feels better when you’re looking after me, so we’re going to let him believe you are.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.”
The elevator stops on our floor. “It’s not up for negotiation.”
“Why can’t I just take care of you for real? Have I not done a good job of that?”
“You have,” I say, “but I—I want more. I want to . . .”
“What?” he asks.
Saying what I want aloud isn’t easy. It’s not only hurtful to Rich, but it’s embarrassing to admit, even though I doubt he’d mock me. The doors close. “I want to be in love.”
He frowns but takes my hand. “I know we don’t have the most affectionate relationship, but I thought that worked for us.”
“It does. It did.”
“I’ll try harder to show I care.”
I shake my head. “I want to feel more than just contentment about my life. This works out for both of us, Rich.” I hit the button for our floor to get the doors to open again. “I get to keep my dad happy through the holidays, and you remain in good standing with him. I suggest you use this time to make yourself indispensable—some other way than through me.”
“So that’s it?” The doors start to close, but he catches them. A few people in the office look up. Rich lowers his voice. “I don’t want to lie to him.”
“You will if you want all three of us to get through—” Pain shoots through my head. I grab the rail as sudden pressure weighs on the bridge of my nose.
“Are you okay?” Rich asks.
I swallow a few times, and the stabbing pain subsides, disappearing as quickly as it came on. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
I’d read that there’d be some physical side effects to lowering my dosage. I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off, though. Ten years is coming up soon, and I can’t be a person who’s been medicated an entire decade. At this rate, I can ring in the new year feeling like a new person.
I push past Rich and get off the damn elevator. My temples throb with the start of a headache, so I go to my office and shut the door. I turn out the glaring lights and open the blinds instead.
Once I’m in my desk chair, I close my eyes. My dad’s disappointment is tangible. He’s right to be upset. I’ve broken an unspoken agreement. He gives me money, a stable future, my choice of job, and in return, I’m a good daughter who doesn’t make waves. It’s a cycle I’m not sure should continue, but the thought of breaking it makes my scalp hot. It could be the best decision I’ve made in years—or the worst. I need something to calm myself dow
n. I go to buzz Benny, but a knock at my door comes first.
“Go away, Rich.”
“But I have coffee,” Benny says in a deep voice, a horrible attempt to impersonate Rich. She laughs. “Rich said I should bring you some.”
Damn it. He knew what I’d need. Why can’t he just get angry with me like a normal ex? Why does he have to be kind while I’m trying to abandon him? “Bring the whole pot. No—get the entire machine.”
My chin trembles. I don’t know why doing what’s best for myself means I need to be a bad daughter and ex-girlfriend. I don’t normally seek comfort in Rich when I’m upset, or anyone really since my mom. My dad’s too practical. He only wants to hear enough to fix the problem. In a way, my journals have been my confidantes, even when I only write a line or two. Now, someone else has read them. Someone else has seen me, stuck around, and wants to know me.
I get my phone from my handbag. I don’t need to spill my sorrows to Finn. We aren’t at that place yet. But just saying hi, just knowing I’ll see him tonight, will be enough for now. I press the Home button. I have five new texts from Finn in the last two hours, and I can’t help the grin that overtakes my face. I type in my passcode and start with the first message.
Haven’t stopped thinking about last night since . . . last night.
You coming here straight from work? Or wanna get dinner first?
We could also order in. I’ve taken all the necessary “precautions” for a night in.
I smile. He got the condoms. Oh, the delicious positions he had me in last night—against his studio wall, on my knees for him, spread out on his kitchen table. I bite my bottom lip against the assault of flashbacks. I’m not sure if I’m more aroused by the ways he made me come, or by watching him furiously get himself off in the shower this morning when he thought I was asleep.
I scroll down, hoping for more of what we’ll do when I walk through his door.
I have to cancel tonight. I’m sorry. Don’t come.
Halston? I need to know you saw my last message. Please don’t come by my place. K?
