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“Fine, Charlotte. I’d be just fine, like I am now.” The audacity. “Gotta go. Got a meeting in five.”
“Oh, okay, Honey. Talk soon?”
I hate the hurt in her voice, but she’s the one responsible for the state of our tentative relationship. If she had been on my side just once, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad.
“Yep.” I hit end, happy to be done eating her sparkles-and-rainbows bullshit.
Can’t things just go smoothly for once? First the Pingman fiasco, then the nanny nonsense, and topping off this shit sundae is a sprinkle of Charlotte. I could do with less fanfare in every aspect of my life.
Chapter 4
Futz Around and You Will Find Out
Remi
Fucking idiot. What in the hell was I thinking?
I have no idea what Ms. Keller is up against at work. She’s superlatively self-aware with a majestic air about her. Who am I to decide what she needs? I should have consulted her first before usurping her day—she’s right to be upset.
Tugging at the roots of my hair, I berate myself. I’m not ignorant of corporate culture. Having a cutthroat businessman for a father taught me what to expect in competitive industries: squash the opponent, especially if they are female.
The first lesson he ever preached was that women don’t have the capacity to think rationally or for themselves, using my passive mother as an example. It’s up to the men to lead them through life. I was ten, and it was the first time in my life I felt rage. It was big, ugly, and barely restrained.
The bitter taste of contempt coats my mouth.
My father could be brutal when defied. But even at that tender age, I was smart enough to understand my parents’ dynamic was fucked-up. My mother was a strong, vivacious woman … until my father entered the room. Then she became as lively as a wallflower, an invisible ornament barely hanging on by a loose screw. Little by little as the years went by, she disappeared altogether.
Pushing Isabel’s empty stroller down the hall, my eye catches on the city bustle below outside the window.
Mom loved Chicago and would tell me stories about her old haunts, looking wistful and melancholic. As a kid, I wondered why she seemed sad when talking about her home. As an adult, I understand. This is the last place she was free to be herself.
Fuck, I miss her.
My father broke her spirit, then stole her soul. Her only crime was being brighter and more intelligent than he’d ever be. He couldn’t stand it.
I couldn’t stand him. So I got on a plane and flew across the country to live closer to my mother’s side of the family. To have a piece of her without his interference. To remember who she really was, not what he turned her into. And to keep true to myself, be aware of the world around me, and be a good samaritan to the people I meet. Exactly how my mother raised me. If I had stayed in California, there’s no telling who I would have become. But on the off chance that I would have turned into him…
I’d rather be dead.
Hurtling myself out of this brooding rabbit hole, I shake off the memories. I’m not a guy that dwells on the past. That’s done and gone. The present is the only moment that’s promised, so I focus on that. What can I do to make this moment count? Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I fail miserably.
As is the case right now, when I knock on Ms. Keller’s colleague’s opened door to pick up my charge with my tail tucked between my legs.
Jay whistles a doomsday tune when they find me shifting on my feet just outside their office. “Oh, she bit ya good, huh?”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I stammer, “U-uh…” Yeah, she did, but I deserved it. I should have gotten to know this family dynamic better before I decided on a whim what is best for them.
“Emmie, wook!” Isabel runs up to me with a paper waving wildly in her hand.
Jay and I both grin at the adorable toddler.
I squat down with arms open, showing her that she has my full attention. “What do you have here?”
When she hands me her drawing, she explains her masterpiece of two stick figures holding hands, one with red hair and the other brown. “Dis me and you.” She points with her tiny finger.
My nose stings. “I love it, Isabel. You draw beautifully.”
She gives me a toothy grin, and warmth fills my lungs.
