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Chantelle nodded, snuggling on the couch. Despite her best judgment, she checked the comments on her most publicized article she’d written. She’d profiled a famous NFL player and his wife, but they divorced after one year of marriage. Though she wasn’t at fault, some readers criticized her ability to capture the truth in her story. Some accused her of putting their relationship on a pedestal. Chantelle rolled her eyes. They couldn’t be serious. How did her article affect their marriage?
Grunting, she closed out her article. Was she cut out for this? It wasn’t as if she were a relationship expert. Even her last relationship failed.
Assuming she and Bryce were a perfect match, Chantelle tried to be the supportive girlfriend, but things changed from when they first started dating. It wasn’t fun anymore. Chantelle had to look her best at all times to appeal to his corporate colleagues. Her beauty captivated the room when she walked in, and her social skills proved promising when at a party.
Yet, she couldn’t take it anymore. Bryce broke up with her, claiming she didn’t understand “his world.” Whatever that meant. She didn’t want any part of it. Though he was a good man overall, they weren’t suitable.
Wrapping herself in the blanket, Chantelle walked back to her room. Sitting on her bed, she charged her phone. Then a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said.
Her stepfather walked inside with a food tray. “Your mother insists that you eat this.”
“I’m not sick.”
He placed it at the foot of her bed. “Her words, not mine.”
Chantelle leaned over to see her mother’s homemade chicken soup. The steam heated her face, and the aroma tickled her nose. “I’ll eat it later.”
Douglas nodded. “I hope you feel better.” He didn’t say another word, but turned to leave.
Chantelle blew out her cheeks, taking an opportunity with him. “I hope so too. I can’t afford to get sick.”
Douglas stopped in his tracks. He faced her. “Are you excited about your article? Have you… written anything yet?”
Chantelle appreciated his interest. “Overall, yes. Nothing written yet. There is pressure though.”
“To...?”
“Deliver. This is an important piece of work.”
Douglas nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do well.” He gestured at the bowl of soup. “Eat some so I can tell your mother.”
Chantelle raised her hand as if taking an oath in a courtroom. Douglas smiled and left this time, closing the door behind him. Despite the friendship she wanted to build with her stepfather, her own father’s face invaded her thoughts.
She shut her eyes. Standing over her father’s grave wouldn’t get any easier. She could still hear his laugh as he would tickle her as a girl. The cheers he would yell at her during volleyball games. He was the best father a daughter could ask for. Licking her lips, she willed the tears to stay at bay.
Scooting closer to the edge, she sat the food tray in her lap. It warmed her from the inside out as she ate, loving the taste of her mother’s food. Chicken, celery, carrots, and tender noodles with her mother’s special chicken broth. Chantelle needed to visit more often. No one cooked like her mother, though she tried to imitate her skills in the kitchen.
A-CHOO! Her eyes widened. She would take a cold pill before bed, but first, she finished the rest of her soup. After returning her tray to the kitchen, she cleaned her bowl. Warm water rushed over her skin as slipperiness of the soap suds increased.
Drying her hands, she leaned against the counter. While a feeling of weightlessness took over the moment she arrived home, it didn’t deny the widespread numbness. Then she touched a hand to her stomach. It would never get easier. One year. Three years. In her case, ten years. Chantelle released a heavy sigh. She wasn’t angry. She’d healed, but that didn’t change the past.
No point in keeping herself up about it. Chantelle turned in early for the night. She needed a good night’s sleep. She would need all her energy for her interview with Lance.
***
Lance dabbed the sweat from his forehead as he finished his last push up. An evening with his parents should have exhausted him, but only adrenaline raced through his blood.
The exercise helped release the stress. They weren’t a family anymore. He was only existing with them.
He gulped his water bottle. He and Andrea were starting their own family together. Marriage wouldn’t cure his relationship with his parents, but it would give him something else to focus on besides his family’s dysfunction. The cycle couldn’t continue. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Though his parents weren’t his favorite people, they stayed together despite the hard times. However, his father did better handling business as opposed to their family life. Lance’s mother understood. Like tonight, she came to his defense.
Despite everything, Lance wanted that. He wanted someone to stick by him. He wanted to come home to a family. A loving wife. Kids with smiles on their faces. He had the house. The job. The reputation of a celebrity but his house was not a home.
Did he find that in Andrea? The model beauty went against all the stereotypes he had heard about most models. Pompous. Unsympathetic. Not Andrea. She was one of the sweetest women he’d ever met in a long time. No denying the chemistry. Lance recalled touching her cheek for the first time when they kissed. Her beautiful dark brown skin glowed.
