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20 - ADDISON
So, what’s this about? I don’t have all day, you know,” Stacy said, tapping her kitten heel on the tiled floor of Sweeter Things and staring at me like I was pond-scum. Not that I could blame her, but I figured this was the least I could do after what happened.
Though this bitch had held a grudge for years and dragged my name through the mud so many times, dirt was still between my toes. She could have married the cheating bastard and should be thankful she found out before they tied the knot. I rolled my eyes and scraped the coffee cream from a puff pastry before cutting off a bite and chewing the flaky goodness. She raised one perfectly drawn-on eyebrow and crossed her arms before taking a sip of her green tea.
Her diet green tea.
“Right. So I have a source, a friend, who’s on the receiving end of some unwanted male attention from her professor. This isn’t the first time he’s taken advantage of a student, and the school, or at least one board member, is sweeping it under the rug. I want to take him down.”
“Personal vendetta much?” she scoffed, tapping a pink manicured nail on the table like she received leads like this every day.
“Stacy, this petty shit with us needs to stop. Grow the fuck up, will you? Here.” I opened my phone and pushed it across the table, amazed my email records even went back that far to capture the conversations between her fiancé and me. “We met on a dating app. Be grateful you never married him. But what you did afterward was spiteful and vindictive, so leave if you’re never going to let it go.”
I stabbed the pastry and glared at her, waiting for her to leave, but she didn’t. Her eyes got glassy, and I took a monogrammed handkerchief from my purse, unashamed to admit Simon left it at my house and I’d been reluctant to return it, and handed it to her. She dabbed her cheeks and passed it back, nodding and wrapping her hands around her mug.
“I was the laughingstock of the paper. I had to quit and freelance until I got a job where I am now.”
“Yes, well, we don’t have to talk about my reputation. Will you help me bring this bastard down now?” The last of my coffee swirled at the bottom of my mug as I waited for her answer, not a clue what I’d do if she said no. At last she nodded.
“Fantastic. Now, I thought the best time would be at the Fall Ball. Open bar, beautiful dresses. But I need to know what fancy spy equipment you can get your hands on.”
“Easy there, Double-O-Seven. Where do you think I work, exactly? We have some basic recording devices, but I need to pitch this to my boss and talk to your source.” She waved her hands like I expected her to hand over some high-tech instrument you could attach to your back molar.
I snorted and pushed the pastry plate aside, steepling my fingers on the table. “Listen, it’s not like I’m going to wear a wire or have contact lenses that will record his every shady move. I get it, Stacy. I’m looking to vilify a predator and this story might help you get some credit back as a journalist. But you can’t talk to my source—that’s not my call to make. If this plan falls through, I won’t compromise her.”
“Okay, I respect that. And you,” she added under her breath.
I leaned forward and raised my eyebrows. “What was that?” I asked, cupping my hand around my ear.
“You, Addison. I respect you and what you’re doing. You in general, okay? You want me to grovel, apologize?” She leaned back in the chair and jiggled her foot on the floor.
“No, just move the hell on and quit with the articles. Stop living in the past. We both need to stop living in the past.”
I stared at the chipped polish on my fingers, then upward as Olivia waddled over with a refill for both of us, bending down as best she could to squeeze my hand. “Thanks, love,” I said, returning the gesture and lifting the latte to my lips. She winked and toddled off, the circles under her eyes rivaling my own. I was thankful she had finally cut her hours, though I wanted to run after her and make a throne of milk crates and cardboard boxes for her to prop her feet on.
“Yeah, okay. Time for both of us to stop living in the past.” She lifted her cup, and I did the same, clinking the ceramic and letting the liquid scorch my insides, burning away all the hate and anger I carried for her for far too long.
Less than two hours later, we’d devised a plan, and I was back at the office with an orange scone for my mother. Her back faced the door as I knocked, but she waved me in, finishing her phone call while I laid the scone on her desk and sat on the white suede couch. The material felt buttery soft under my fingers, and I ran my hand along the cushion, the feel reminding me of the downy hairs on Simon’s neck.
The cold, blank expression he left me with after the Boobie party cracked something inside me I hadn’t known existed. The ridiculous part of me hoped he’d look at me the same way Nana had, but his slate-gray eyes were filled with disgust. He saw a cheater—nothing more than a good lay.
You know that’s not true,my conscience whispered, peering over wing-tipped glasses and tapping her foot, knowing I was in the wrong.
It doesn’t matter, I fired back, tempted to flick her off my shoulder and crush her wings under my Roger Vivier heels. The priority was getting through the ball and this nonsense with Brad. Everything else had to stay downwind until he was dealt with. It was horrible timing that Simon would be at the ball, but knowing he was attending with a family friend eased my jealousy.
If he was still attending with her,the catty bitch squeaked. I cringed and rolled my shoulders, pushing her snide comments out of my head and focusing on the crepe myrtle trees outside. They bloomed late this year, and the pink and purple blossoms were all but gone. But the white ones were still vibrant, holding steady against the cooler weather like they weren’t giving up on those last warm days before the fall weather took over the South.
Mom gave a dismissive wave of her hand, cutting off whoever was speaking and dominating the conversation. I couldn’t imagine her and my dad wanting to give this all up, but I could see the appeal in slowing down and stopping to smell the crepe myrtles. A flash of red darted in my peripheral vision, perfectly matching the suit I wore. A cardinal landed on a branch of the tree with the white flowers, and I paused, wondering if it was the same one that visited me at Nana’s house. The same one that visited the day mom broke the news about the article.
Did cardinals have some special meaning? Or was I grasping at straws, trying to make connections and see signs because my life was—
“Sorry about that, sweetheart. Thank you for the scone.”
“Oh. Of course,” I said, standing to embrace my mom. Her arms were welcoming, and her scent enveloped me, taking me back to my childhood when she could make everything better with a simple hug. I clutched her shoulders, holding on for dear life, and she rubbed my back like she used to, the gesture as calming as I remember.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, pulling back to grip my arms, her eyes darting over my face with worry. “I picked up your dress, along with mine, from the tailor yesterday. The deep purple is going to look stunning on you. Come Saturday, you won’t be able to hide your beau from your father and me any longer.”
And this is why I never intended to introduce you.
