AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Right,” she said, throwing what was left of her hotdog into a nearby trash can. “Home, I can’t take this anymore. For the last two hours you have dangled every sexual object that museum has collected in front of me. Observation is one thing, but when you start giving a running commentary of phallic symbols and finding inuendo in every comment I make, it’s time we took this somewhere private.”
“Private? I can live with that,” I stated playfully. “Lead the way, Ms. Mattison. Transport? It’ll get us home quicker,” I suggested. Tricia’s hand flew in the air and within twenty seconds we were in the back of a big yellow cab speeding our way back to my apartment.
* * *
Two hours after an intense but fun session in bed, Tricia stood on the balcony of my apartment with a glass of red wine in her hand, looking every inch the woman I fell in love with. It felt like the perfect ending to a difficult day. We’d spent most of the day around one another with tension thick in the air and neither of us had been able to focus on work.
In contrast, seeing how she had looked at me during those last couple of hours in bed, when our chemistry had been on fire, had made me toy again with the idea of proposing to her. However, the timing couldn’t have been worse. There’s never been a good time. I even wondered if the antique teardrop diamond ring I had bought had been cursed.
Since I’d bought it, the damn thing hadn’t seen the light of day. Then, I told myself to be patient and figured that however long it took for Tricia’s world to feel right wouldn’t matter. The jeweler said the ring had sat around in his safe for years, waiting for the right woman to wear it.
As soon as I saw it, I had thought it perfect for Tricia, and I figured letting it sit a few weeks or months more in my sock drawer wouldn’t matter. I resigned myself to the thought of loving her had to be enough until her mess was figured out. Until my time was right, I vowed to delay my grand gesture and show her in all the little ways how much she meant to me.
The bottle of wine we drank between us, along with the respite from her worries, helped Tricia to sleep soundly that night, a bonus I hadn’t expected, since she had been due to confront her mom the following morning. Although she appeared nervous, I sensed she was anxious for the day to come.
At 7:00 a.m. the following morning she was eager to leave for the penthouse for her meeting with her mom. Betty wasn’t due until 9:00 a.m. but we still ended up at the apartment forty minutes early.
* * *
“Would you stay in the bedroom or something?” Tricia’s request stopped me from filling the breakfast bowls with cereal to look at her.
“You don’t want me to stay with you?” It hadn’t occurred to me I wouldn’t be there holding her hand while she faced her mom.
“No, she’d never tell me anything in front of someone else.” I thought it felt deceitful being there without her mom knowing, and to think that Betty might have come and gone and to have never known I’d heard their conversation.
A pause stretched between us as I stared at Tricia’s anxious, pleading eyes before I agreed. Considering their discussion could become very heated, I decided it was a safeguard to both women if someone was there to intervene should tempers flare or get out of hand.
Breakfast was tasteless as I tried to distract Tricia from the pending meeting, and when the time finally came she jumped nervously and stared toward the intercom when the security superintendent buzzed up to let us know Betty had arrived. I had left her details with the staff in the lobby downstairs, when we’d entered, for them to send her straight to the penthouse.
“You’ve got this,” I coaxed, giving her a hug, smoothing her hair, and brushing her lips with mine. I’ll be next door if you need me.” Taking my place in the bedroom nearest to the sitting room, I sat on the end of the bed, head down, legs apart, with my hands between my knees.
My heartbeat raced as blood pumped faster from an adrenaline rush at knowing what Tricia faced, so God alone knew how she must have felt as she faced the awful truth about her horrific experience and confronted her mother.
“What a beautiful building.” Betty’s shrill voice echoed through the apartment. “Places like this don’t come cheap, Patty. Your beau is a man of substance and wealth.”
“The apartment belongs to his parents, Mom. Do you want something to drink?”
“Coffee would be good. Decaf, you know caffeine makes my heart race,” she reminded Tricia, like it had been said many times before.
Betty went on to note the artwork and bronze figurines my parents had given one another as gifts for birthdays and anniversaries, commenting on the eminent artists and sculptors’ pieces while Tricia remained silent. I imagined her pouring coffee and composing her thoughts in her head.
“Sit down, Mom, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” My heart stopped for a beat at those words, my chest tight from the anguish I shared for Tricia’s plight. I drew in a breath and wished her strength to keep calm, thinking if Tricia stayed measured it may help her find some answers and take her a step nearer to peace from her traumatic past.
