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“The question is not when, but how often,” he says, and I’m struck by the warmth in his voice. If anyone had told me Jameson had that in him, I wouldn’t have believed them.
“So, you do all these things with her?” Surely not. I just can’t imagine it. I feel like this really might be the dumbest question I’ve asked him to date.
“Yes.”
I stare at him. “Really? You’re not bullshitting me?”
“No, Adeline, I’m not bullshitting you. I do many things for my mother that may surprise you.”
He’s right about that.
The Jameson I know doesn’t do anything for anyone that he doesn’t want to do.
* * *
The week flies by.Besides work, we attend Taco Tuesday at his mom’s, a film premiere on Wednesday night, and a dinner party on Thursday night.
I only think about the coffin I need for him three times this week.
I think about his lap a whole lot more than I want to.
He doesn’t invade me daily with kisses; he doesn’t order me around; he only treats me like a child twice; and he only tries to force one social function on me before recalling the red rule we now have. Since I already had a function highlighted in red the day of his event, he declines the invitation. It seems Jameson Fox can compromise when he wants to.
Friday arrives, along with an exhausting list of tasks for the day. At the top of that list sits my sister who I’ve been going back and forth with for days while she’s tried to get money from me. Today’s texts begin arriving just after 7:00 a.m.
I’m tired after arriving home close to midnight last night. Jameson’s dinner party ran late while he talked property with the men there. I sat through hours of mindless gossip with the wives. It’s one of my least favorite things to do, but I did it for Jameson because I knew last night was important for him. He thanked me on the drive home, which was a welcome surprise.
Texting with Sabrina while tired doesn’t go in my favor. Feeling so used doesn’t help either. I wish I didn’t feel this way. After living my entire adult life being used by her for money, I’m unsure why I ever hope for change. But I do. I still live with that hope and desire. She and I don’t have a mother who will ever be there for us; I want us to be there for each other.
She finally wears me down me while we text during my drive to work.
Sabrina: Why are you being such a bitch about this? It’s not like you don’t have the money. Mom needs the cash. Just give it to her.
I stare out the car window while swallowing my hurt.
There’s only one person on this earth who has the power to make me question myself the way I am now. My sister.
I don’t believe I’m being a bitch, but she makes me doubt that every time she accuses me of it.
She’s right; I do have the money. However, is that the point? I don’t think so, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I am being awful to her by thinking she’s lying to me.
“Adeline.”
I turn at the sound of Jameson’s voice and find him watching me with a frown. “Yes?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been on your phone all morning looking upset. Don’t tell me there’s nothing wrong when there clearly is.”
If my brain wasn’t so focused on Sabrina, it would zero in on the fact he’s paying attention to someone other than himself.
I don’t zero in on that. I’m far too upset at the moment to do that. And since I am this upset and could cry, and since the last person I want to cry in front of is Jameson, I say, “I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind today.”
His impatience flares. “Fine means anything but that. Talk to me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not in the mood this morning.”
