Good Girl : An Enemies-to-Lovers, Roommate Romance (Alphahole Roommates Book 2), page 35
“No,” his eyes flash with annoyance, “You’re right. It’s late. Tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Maybe you guys can share a cab back.”
“I don’t live in Central Park West, Jada,” Andrew says, smiling big, like it’s the biggest joke going. “I share a small basement apartment with one tiny window with two other guys. Oh hey… I wanted to ask if that check cleared for that deadbeat boss. I mean, the other one. Other boss, I mean.” He shoots Austin an apologetic look.
“Yeah. No problems,” I say.
“What?” Austin asks, shooting Andrew a death-glare.
I wave my hand. “My old boss from the coffee cart paid me. It’s a long story. Guys, I’m goin’ in. Thanks for checking in but my hands are full here, so…” I let that hang and grab the door handle.
“Goodnight, Jada,” Andrew says. “I got the Starbucks girl to write my number on your cup. Call me if you need anything.”
“Oh…” I examine the cup. It’s darkish out here but yep, there’s a phone number written in black marker down the side.
Austin’s doing something on his phone. “I got a rideshare coming for us. I’ll drop you off, Andrew.”
“That’s all right, buddy, like I said, I don’t live near you.”
“It’s all right. I’ll go out of my way,” Austin tells him, and Austin’s voice has taken on a slightly dangerous tone.
I think Austin has the wrong idea about Andrew and me and he wants Andrew leaving no later than he does.
“No need. I’ll just head out on foot now. Good night, guys.”
“Congrats on the part. Good night,” I say and without giving Austin time alone with me, I go inside and immediately lock the door.
A minute later, I’m peeking out from behind the broken set of blinds on the window beside the door.
He’s getting into a white car. He looks back and sees me standing there as he pulls away.
Why did he come here?
What would’ve happened if Andrew hadn’t been here?
I go into the living room and my father is sleeping in his chair.
I jiggle his shoulder.
“Dad?”
“Lindsay?” Dad grumbles and his face goes pained.
The look on his face is physically painful for me to witness.
Lindsay is my mother’s name.
“Dad?” I urge, jiggling him again.
Dad sits up straighter. “What?”
“You were sleeping. You wanna go to bed and get more comfortable?”
“I gotta catch my news.”
“Okay. I’m going to bed. Night.”
“Yep.”
I sigh and head up the stairs.
My phone dings in my pocket so I slide it out when I get into my old room.
Austin: What the fuck was the security guard doing there?
I blink in surprise.
Me: He’s my friend. He was checking to see if I’m ok and he came to share some good news.
Austin: Your friend?
Me: Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.
Austin: He wants into your pants.
“What and you don’t” I ask the screen instead of texting it.
I roll my eyes and flop onto the creaky old bed. I’m sleeping like garbage here. Not only because of the crap-tastic shit-storm that’s my life right now, but also because this bed has been in this room since I was twelve years old when Dad bought it for me because my old bed had a spring coming through. Dad bitched and complained about paying for this mattress, too, like it cost him the last two dimes he’d ever make.
It was a white-on-white silky floral pattern and I’d thought it was so beautiful when I first got it. Now it’s kind of a beigey color. And uncomfortable.
I lay down for a minute and Groucho texts again, giving me both dread and a thrill altogether.
I want you at the apartment at six tomorrow. Be there.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Why?
Austin: Because I said so.
Me: That’s not fair.
Austin: 6:00, Jada. I mean it.
48
Austin
What am I doing today at six o’clock? I’m making her dinner. That’s all I’ve got so far.
I went into the office at seven this morning to make sure I got all my shit done. I’ve interviewed three candidates to run the New York operation. And I’ve promoted Blake, a guy who interned at our San Diego office to general manager. It’s ruffling a few feathers, he’s just over a year out of college and just four or five months ago was an intern, but the guy is organized, numbers-oriented, and I trust him.
The way I’ve been working my ass off and lining up the reorg, I might even be able to get out of here after two months instead of three.
Though that presents other problems if that happens, so I’m not thinking too much about that yet. For a switch, I’m not dying to get out of New York and that’s because of Jada.
What I am thinking about is that I don’t know what happens beyond dinner tonight. Don’t know what I’m gonna say to her. I know I have to do something to stop the bleeding on this thing with her though, settle it, and I figure I’ll know when she’s here with me what that’s gonna take.
She walks in on time and her eyes land on me with surprise.
“Good timing. Dinner’s gonna be ready in twenty. Wine?” I ask.
She hangs her jacket and her purse up and takes in the space with surprise.
“Dinner?”
“I’m making you dinner. Take a load off.”
Frankly, Jada looks like something the cat dragged in. And I suspect that’s by design… that she doesn’t want me looking at her sexually. She’s in baggy sweats with a bleach stain on the knee and her hair is in a sloppy ponytail. Still, I know I’m heading in the right direction with this effort I’m making because I still want to fuck her. And do more than fuck her. I want her. Period.
“You don’t need to make me dinner, Austin.”
“Too bad because that’s what I’m doing.”
I’ve got Fleetwood Mac on the stereo, candles on the island, and flowers in a vase as well as placemats set with our dinner plates and cutlery out.
I pour her a glass of wine.
“Why’d you do this?” She looks around with suspicious eyes.
“You’ve been busy taking care of your father, taking care of me. Trying to take care of your brother. Tonight, I’m taking care of you.”
“I look like shit,” she whispers.
Her eyes are filling with tears.
And I’m having a different reaction than I usually do to a woman’s tears. Usually, they irritate me or make me wanna run the other way. The idea of Jada crying has me wanting to find a way to make her laugh, make her smile, make her feel the opposite of what she’s feeling.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. Sit down and let me look after you.”
Panic spreads across her face. “I’ll change,” she says and then she disappears down the hall, grabbing for her purse and nearly knocking the hall tree down.
Looking frazzled, she rights it and takes off into her room.
I’m relieved she hasn’t taken all her clothes to her father’s. I looked the other day to make sure when she took her computer she didn’t take everything else.
I’ve got the food served when she comes out, wearing jeans and a nice sweater. She’s got makeup on and her hair is tamed into a tidier ponytail. She looks like she made a bit of effort, put in a pair of earrings, but she’s playing it off as casual.
The next thing she says proves this point.
“I didn’t want to look like a slob since you went to some effort, but you should know I don’t wanna be here. I’m here because you told me to come and it felt like a boss-style order crossed with a Mr. Groucho the Third order and I’m telling you I’m here as your employee, not as your-”
“As my sweetheart?”
“Right.” Her face turns red and she grabs her wine and takes a healthy mouthful as she climbs up on the stool. Then she does a double take. “Um, wow.”
“Wow?”
“This food… did you make all this?”
“Yeah. I hope it tastes okay. I probably should’ve done a test run, first.”
“You’ve never made this before?” She’s blinking at her plate.
“Nope. I watched a video and followed a recipe. Dig in.”
I sit beside her and dig into mine. I made beef wellington, asparagus, and roasted Parisienne potatoes with fresh herbs. I’ve been at it since three o’clock getting it all prepped.
“I made dessert, too,” I tell her.
“You did?”
“Well, I mean, I’m gonna put pudding cups into fancy bowls and spray whipped cream on them and blend up some M & M candies for on top. Fancy, right?”
“Very fancy,” she smiles and looks like she’s fighting laughter, “but please don’t say the word pudding to me.” She raises her hand.
“Why?”
“You found all that pudding I put in the fridge obviously.”
“Obviously. Not to mention you’ve been putting them in my lunch, too.”
“Well, my father is a pudding junkie. He demands four varieties in the fridge at all times, goes through them like a crackhead probably goes through crack but he has brand preferences depending on the flavor. All the wrong ones are the ones in this apartment because I bought,” she holds up her fingers in air quotes, “shit brands.”
“I like shit-brand pudding,” I shrug. “And that’s what we’re having for dessert.”
She laughs.
And I want to make her laugh and smile some more. A lot more.
“Sooo… did you really make this? Or did you order it in and put it on plates and sprinkle this fancy parsley on it so you can pretend you made it?”
“I made it,” I say, fake-insulted. “Look at the mess of the oven and check the trash for raw ingredient refuse.” I slice into the pastry covered steak.
I’m impressed with how it looks. Let’s see how it tastes.
She slices into hers and pops a bite into her mouth.
She slumps in her stool and moans.
And the sound goes straight to my dick.
“Oh, wow, that’s good,” Jada says and then forks up an asparagus spear.
She’s right. It’s good. I did all right.
“Like I said, it’s hit or miss when I cook. Today’s a hit.”
“Yay,” she says with a smile.
“How’s your father?” I ask her. “Other than fascinated with pudding.”
She rolls her eyes. “Worst patient ever.”
“Really? Vent away.”
“It’s okay. It’s fine.” She waves her hand.
“No, seriously. Talk to me.”
She eats a bite of asparagus and looks down at her plate.
I take a bite of potato and wait.
Damn good potatoes, too.
She immediately forks into her potato and takes a bite instead of talking to me. She stares at the remaining potato on her fork to avoid eye contact.
I try again. “And how’s your brother? What’s happening there?”
She looks at me with suspicion.
“He doing okay?” I ask. “Carly said he was in the hospital.”
“No. He’s not okay. He’s suicidal. And his doctor is useless. His lawyer is lazy.”
“Lazy lawyer? Fire him.”
“It’s the public defender. Not like we have a choice in that matter. I’ve tried to get a new one.”
I frown.
“Everybody’s too busy to give a shit,” she continues, “And I’m so frustrated. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Damn.”
She saws off another bite of wellington and chews and swallows it quickly, like she’s rushing so she can talk again.
“It’s just… he’s gonna fall through the cracks, you know? He’s not gonna get the medicine he needs and if he doesn’t get the right care he’s never gonna get better. If his lawyer doesn’t do the right things, he will end up in jail for a long time and he’s going to wilt and die like a neglected houseplant in there. My brother needs sunshine and encouragement and professional help and the right doctor who will take time to find him the right medication mix, not just throw something at him that turns him into a zombie to be ignored. His doctor prescribed a new set of meds and they made Shane feel worse and no one was on top of it or gauging his moods, so he tried to hurt himself. And they’re still not listening. He doesn’t need to be strapped to a bed and just left there so that he won’t hurt himself, he needs someone to listen to him, to help him find the right medicine, to put him on a path to health and emotional wellness. He had this one doctor at the clinic he used to go to that was using a great approach that seemed like it might be helping but he went off it too soon and… anyway, it’s frustrating. No one’s taking it seriously enough because they think he’s just looking for attention, I think. But I know he’s deeply depressed. I know it, and I worry he’s really going to hurt himself in a way that can’t be undone. My father thinks it’s bull-puckey, like he just takes after our mom.”
She gives her head a shake and then takes another big sip of her wine.
“What’s the deal with your mom?”
My phone rings.
I don’t even look at it.
“You can get that if you need to,” she says.
“No. I’m spending time here with you. What’s the deal with your mom?”
Nothing feels more important than this right now. She’s saying she doesn’t want to talk, but she keeps talking. Maybe if she does, she’ll feel better. And maybe I’ll find words to say some things to her that need to be said.
“I don’t know,” she says. “She walked out the door when I was nine and that’s the last I saw of her. I think that really fucked Shane up, too – growing up without a mom. Especially when our father was such a… an unemotional old-fashioned man who thought his job was to go to work and leave the family stuff to the woman he married. Spare the rod and spoil the child attitude. You know? Not that Mom was super-nurturing, but at least she was around.”
There’s a knock on the apartment door. We both look that way. Weird, there was no buzzer from the front desk.
I get up and go answer it. Sienna is standing there.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand.
“We have to talk.” She walks past me into the apartment before I get a chance to stop her.
“Isn’t this cozy?” she snaps. “A date? Really?” She looks at Jada in a way that has my teeth on edge.
“It’s not a-” Jada starts.
“Yes, it fucking is,” I correct.
Jada jerks back, wide-eyed.
“You need to go. Now,” I tell Sienna and open the door wider, signaling for her to leave.
“I need to speak to you.”
“Then phone me.”
“I’ve been phoning. You don’t answer.”
“Wait, better yet, do it through lawyers,” I grit out.
“You don’t want to play it this way, Austin.”
She puts her hand on her flat stomach.
I roll my eyes.
“I have to go,” Jada hops down off her stool.
“Don’t move a muscle,” I warn, pointing at her. “Sienna, leave.”
“We need to sit down and talk stuff over, Austin. You know this.”
“Not right now we don’t. You don’t get to come here and demand I drop what I’m doing.”
Jada grabs her coat and shrugs it on, looping her backpack bag over both her shoulders. “I’m going. Talk to you later.” She tries to pass me, so I grab her hand and hold on.
“No. She’s leaving; you’re not.”
“Austin, for real.” Jada jerks her chin at Sienna. “It’s fine. You can talk to me whenever.” She waves her free hand.
I squat, put my shoulder to Jada’s belly, and haul her up over my shoulder. She gasps and calls out my name, but I ignore it. I turn around and storm to the end of the hall, shove the door to the master bedroom open, and deposit Jada on the bed. “Stay here. Don’t move,” I point.
“Aust-”
“I mean it. Stay here.” I turn around and close the door.
Sienna stands in the same place, arms folded across her chest.
“Just wanna say, that caveman shit is hot.” She smirks. “Feel free to carry me to your bed any time. Or, I mean, soon because in a couple months, that might prove a little tricky as I start to get fat.”
“You need to go. Shouldn’t you be in the state of California? Or… you want the state of California to revoke?”
“I took my father’s plane. It’s fine; no one has to know. It’s your fault for not coming to see me. You can make all this go away, too, and then I don’t have to worry about it. Here.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a zippered bag and hands it to me. “See?”
It’s a pregnancy test inside and there’s a plus sign on the side.
I hand it back to her.
“This is the truth, Austin. I’m telling you. I’m showing you. Please, let’s just make this end.” She puts the test down on the island.
“How do I know it’s yours?”
She rolls her eyes. “Go get another test and I’ll pee on it.”
“How do I know it’s mine?”
“Actually, you don’t. But I told you I know my cycles, and…”
“In another month, we can do a paternity test,” I say. “Until then…” I let that hang. I fold my arms over my chest and jerk my chin toward the door.
“I want this dealt with, Austin. Can you understand that? We don’t need to go to court for this. That court date looming won’t be good for me or the baby. All that stress…”
“Of course you don’t want to face consequences for your actions, Sienna. You’re a spoiled little rich bitch used to getting her own way. Imagine having that go sideways? You can’t.”
“Austin, I’m sorry for what I did to you,” she says, looking me dead in the eye. “I was fucked up over your brother and all kinds of other crap going on in my life and I was drunk and pissed off, and made a kneejerk decision. A bad one. What I did was stupid and wrong. And I’m sorry that you’re so mad. I never expected this reaction from you. Never in a million years.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Maybe you guys can share a cab back.”
“I don’t live in Central Park West, Jada,” Andrew says, smiling big, like it’s the biggest joke going. “I share a small basement apartment with one tiny window with two other guys. Oh hey… I wanted to ask if that check cleared for that deadbeat boss. I mean, the other one. Other boss, I mean.” He shoots Austin an apologetic look.
“Yeah. No problems,” I say.
“What?” Austin asks, shooting Andrew a death-glare.
I wave my hand. “My old boss from the coffee cart paid me. It’s a long story. Guys, I’m goin’ in. Thanks for checking in but my hands are full here, so…” I let that hang and grab the door handle.
“Goodnight, Jada,” Andrew says. “I got the Starbucks girl to write my number on your cup. Call me if you need anything.”
“Oh…” I examine the cup. It’s darkish out here but yep, there’s a phone number written in black marker down the side.
Austin’s doing something on his phone. “I got a rideshare coming for us. I’ll drop you off, Andrew.”
“That’s all right, buddy, like I said, I don’t live near you.”
“It’s all right. I’ll go out of my way,” Austin tells him, and Austin’s voice has taken on a slightly dangerous tone.
I think Austin has the wrong idea about Andrew and me and he wants Andrew leaving no later than he does.
“No need. I’ll just head out on foot now. Good night, guys.”
“Congrats on the part. Good night,” I say and without giving Austin time alone with me, I go inside and immediately lock the door.
A minute later, I’m peeking out from behind the broken set of blinds on the window beside the door.
He’s getting into a white car. He looks back and sees me standing there as he pulls away.
Why did he come here?
What would’ve happened if Andrew hadn’t been here?
I go into the living room and my father is sleeping in his chair.
I jiggle his shoulder.
“Dad?”
“Lindsay?” Dad grumbles and his face goes pained.
The look on his face is physically painful for me to witness.
Lindsay is my mother’s name.
“Dad?” I urge, jiggling him again.
Dad sits up straighter. “What?”
“You were sleeping. You wanna go to bed and get more comfortable?”
“I gotta catch my news.”
“Okay. I’m going to bed. Night.”
“Yep.”
I sigh and head up the stairs.
My phone dings in my pocket so I slide it out when I get into my old room.
Austin: What the fuck was the security guard doing there?
I blink in surprise.
Me: He’s my friend. He was checking to see if I’m ok and he came to share some good news.
Austin: Your friend?
Me: Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.
Austin: He wants into your pants.
“What and you don’t” I ask the screen instead of texting it.
I roll my eyes and flop onto the creaky old bed. I’m sleeping like garbage here. Not only because of the crap-tastic shit-storm that’s my life right now, but also because this bed has been in this room since I was twelve years old when Dad bought it for me because my old bed had a spring coming through. Dad bitched and complained about paying for this mattress, too, like it cost him the last two dimes he’d ever make.
It was a white-on-white silky floral pattern and I’d thought it was so beautiful when I first got it. Now it’s kind of a beigey color. And uncomfortable.
I lay down for a minute and Groucho texts again, giving me both dread and a thrill altogether.
I want you at the apartment at six tomorrow. Be there.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Why?
Austin: Because I said so.
Me: That’s not fair.
Austin: 6:00, Jada. I mean it.
48
Austin
What am I doing today at six o’clock? I’m making her dinner. That’s all I’ve got so far.
I went into the office at seven this morning to make sure I got all my shit done. I’ve interviewed three candidates to run the New York operation. And I’ve promoted Blake, a guy who interned at our San Diego office to general manager. It’s ruffling a few feathers, he’s just over a year out of college and just four or five months ago was an intern, but the guy is organized, numbers-oriented, and I trust him.
The way I’ve been working my ass off and lining up the reorg, I might even be able to get out of here after two months instead of three.
Though that presents other problems if that happens, so I’m not thinking too much about that yet. For a switch, I’m not dying to get out of New York and that’s because of Jada.
What I am thinking about is that I don’t know what happens beyond dinner tonight. Don’t know what I’m gonna say to her. I know I have to do something to stop the bleeding on this thing with her though, settle it, and I figure I’ll know when she’s here with me what that’s gonna take.
She walks in on time and her eyes land on me with surprise.
“Good timing. Dinner’s gonna be ready in twenty. Wine?” I ask.
She hangs her jacket and her purse up and takes in the space with surprise.
“Dinner?”
“I’m making you dinner. Take a load off.”
Frankly, Jada looks like something the cat dragged in. And I suspect that’s by design… that she doesn’t want me looking at her sexually. She’s in baggy sweats with a bleach stain on the knee and her hair is in a sloppy ponytail. Still, I know I’m heading in the right direction with this effort I’m making because I still want to fuck her. And do more than fuck her. I want her. Period.
“You don’t need to make me dinner, Austin.”
“Too bad because that’s what I’m doing.”
I’ve got Fleetwood Mac on the stereo, candles on the island, and flowers in a vase as well as placemats set with our dinner plates and cutlery out.
I pour her a glass of wine.
“Why’d you do this?” She looks around with suspicious eyes.
“You’ve been busy taking care of your father, taking care of me. Trying to take care of your brother. Tonight, I’m taking care of you.”
“I look like shit,” she whispers.
Her eyes are filling with tears.
And I’m having a different reaction than I usually do to a woman’s tears. Usually, they irritate me or make me wanna run the other way. The idea of Jada crying has me wanting to find a way to make her laugh, make her smile, make her feel the opposite of what she’s feeling.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. Sit down and let me look after you.”
Panic spreads across her face. “I’ll change,” she says and then she disappears down the hall, grabbing for her purse and nearly knocking the hall tree down.
Looking frazzled, she rights it and takes off into her room.
I’m relieved she hasn’t taken all her clothes to her father’s. I looked the other day to make sure when she took her computer she didn’t take everything else.
I’ve got the food served when she comes out, wearing jeans and a nice sweater. She’s got makeup on and her hair is tamed into a tidier ponytail. She looks like she made a bit of effort, put in a pair of earrings, but she’s playing it off as casual.
The next thing she says proves this point.
“I didn’t want to look like a slob since you went to some effort, but you should know I don’t wanna be here. I’m here because you told me to come and it felt like a boss-style order crossed with a Mr. Groucho the Third order and I’m telling you I’m here as your employee, not as your-”
“As my sweetheart?”
“Right.” Her face turns red and she grabs her wine and takes a healthy mouthful as she climbs up on the stool. Then she does a double take. “Um, wow.”
“Wow?”
“This food… did you make all this?”
“Yeah. I hope it tastes okay. I probably should’ve done a test run, first.”
“You’ve never made this before?” She’s blinking at her plate.
“Nope. I watched a video and followed a recipe. Dig in.”
I sit beside her and dig into mine. I made beef wellington, asparagus, and roasted Parisienne potatoes with fresh herbs. I’ve been at it since three o’clock getting it all prepped.
“I made dessert, too,” I tell her.
“You did?”
“Well, I mean, I’m gonna put pudding cups into fancy bowls and spray whipped cream on them and blend up some M & M candies for on top. Fancy, right?”
“Very fancy,” she smiles and looks like she’s fighting laughter, “but please don’t say the word pudding to me.” She raises her hand.
“Why?”
“You found all that pudding I put in the fridge obviously.”
“Obviously. Not to mention you’ve been putting them in my lunch, too.”
“Well, my father is a pudding junkie. He demands four varieties in the fridge at all times, goes through them like a crackhead probably goes through crack but he has brand preferences depending on the flavor. All the wrong ones are the ones in this apartment because I bought,” she holds up her fingers in air quotes, “shit brands.”
“I like shit-brand pudding,” I shrug. “And that’s what we’re having for dessert.”
She laughs.
And I want to make her laugh and smile some more. A lot more.
“Sooo… did you really make this? Or did you order it in and put it on plates and sprinkle this fancy parsley on it so you can pretend you made it?”
“I made it,” I say, fake-insulted. “Look at the mess of the oven and check the trash for raw ingredient refuse.” I slice into the pastry covered steak.
I’m impressed with how it looks. Let’s see how it tastes.
She slices into hers and pops a bite into her mouth.
She slumps in her stool and moans.
And the sound goes straight to my dick.
“Oh, wow, that’s good,” Jada says and then forks up an asparagus spear.
She’s right. It’s good. I did all right.
“Like I said, it’s hit or miss when I cook. Today’s a hit.”
“Yay,” she says with a smile.
“How’s your father?” I ask her. “Other than fascinated with pudding.”
She rolls her eyes. “Worst patient ever.”
“Really? Vent away.”
“It’s okay. It’s fine.” She waves her hand.
“No, seriously. Talk to me.”
She eats a bite of asparagus and looks down at her plate.
I take a bite of potato and wait.
Damn good potatoes, too.
She immediately forks into her potato and takes a bite instead of talking to me. She stares at the remaining potato on her fork to avoid eye contact.
I try again. “And how’s your brother? What’s happening there?”
She looks at me with suspicion.
“He doing okay?” I ask. “Carly said he was in the hospital.”
“No. He’s not okay. He’s suicidal. And his doctor is useless. His lawyer is lazy.”
“Lazy lawyer? Fire him.”
“It’s the public defender. Not like we have a choice in that matter. I’ve tried to get a new one.”
I frown.
“Everybody’s too busy to give a shit,” she continues, “And I’m so frustrated. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Damn.”
She saws off another bite of wellington and chews and swallows it quickly, like she’s rushing so she can talk again.
“It’s just… he’s gonna fall through the cracks, you know? He’s not gonna get the medicine he needs and if he doesn’t get the right care he’s never gonna get better. If his lawyer doesn’t do the right things, he will end up in jail for a long time and he’s going to wilt and die like a neglected houseplant in there. My brother needs sunshine and encouragement and professional help and the right doctor who will take time to find him the right medication mix, not just throw something at him that turns him into a zombie to be ignored. His doctor prescribed a new set of meds and they made Shane feel worse and no one was on top of it or gauging his moods, so he tried to hurt himself. And they’re still not listening. He doesn’t need to be strapped to a bed and just left there so that he won’t hurt himself, he needs someone to listen to him, to help him find the right medicine, to put him on a path to health and emotional wellness. He had this one doctor at the clinic he used to go to that was using a great approach that seemed like it might be helping but he went off it too soon and… anyway, it’s frustrating. No one’s taking it seriously enough because they think he’s just looking for attention, I think. But I know he’s deeply depressed. I know it, and I worry he’s really going to hurt himself in a way that can’t be undone. My father thinks it’s bull-puckey, like he just takes after our mom.”
She gives her head a shake and then takes another big sip of her wine.
“What’s the deal with your mom?”
My phone rings.
I don’t even look at it.
“You can get that if you need to,” she says.
“No. I’m spending time here with you. What’s the deal with your mom?”
Nothing feels more important than this right now. She’s saying she doesn’t want to talk, but she keeps talking. Maybe if she does, she’ll feel better. And maybe I’ll find words to say some things to her that need to be said.
“I don’t know,” she says. “She walked out the door when I was nine and that’s the last I saw of her. I think that really fucked Shane up, too – growing up without a mom. Especially when our father was such a… an unemotional old-fashioned man who thought his job was to go to work and leave the family stuff to the woman he married. Spare the rod and spoil the child attitude. You know? Not that Mom was super-nurturing, but at least she was around.”
There’s a knock on the apartment door. We both look that way. Weird, there was no buzzer from the front desk.
I get up and go answer it. Sienna is standing there.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand.
“We have to talk.” She walks past me into the apartment before I get a chance to stop her.
“Isn’t this cozy?” she snaps. “A date? Really?” She looks at Jada in a way that has my teeth on edge.
“It’s not a-” Jada starts.
“Yes, it fucking is,” I correct.
Jada jerks back, wide-eyed.
“You need to go. Now,” I tell Sienna and open the door wider, signaling for her to leave.
“I need to speak to you.”
“Then phone me.”
“I’ve been phoning. You don’t answer.”
“Wait, better yet, do it through lawyers,” I grit out.
“You don’t want to play it this way, Austin.”
She puts her hand on her flat stomach.
I roll my eyes.
“I have to go,” Jada hops down off her stool.
“Don’t move a muscle,” I warn, pointing at her. “Sienna, leave.”
“We need to sit down and talk stuff over, Austin. You know this.”
“Not right now we don’t. You don’t get to come here and demand I drop what I’m doing.”
Jada grabs her coat and shrugs it on, looping her backpack bag over both her shoulders. “I’m going. Talk to you later.” She tries to pass me, so I grab her hand and hold on.
“No. She’s leaving; you’re not.”
“Austin, for real.” Jada jerks her chin at Sienna. “It’s fine. You can talk to me whenever.” She waves her free hand.
I squat, put my shoulder to Jada’s belly, and haul her up over my shoulder. She gasps and calls out my name, but I ignore it. I turn around and storm to the end of the hall, shove the door to the master bedroom open, and deposit Jada on the bed. “Stay here. Don’t move,” I point.
“Aust-”
“I mean it. Stay here.” I turn around and close the door.
Sienna stands in the same place, arms folded across her chest.
“Just wanna say, that caveman shit is hot.” She smirks. “Feel free to carry me to your bed any time. Or, I mean, soon because in a couple months, that might prove a little tricky as I start to get fat.”
“You need to go. Shouldn’t you be in the state of California? Or… you want the state of California to revoke?”
“I took my father’s plane. It’s fine; no one has to know. It’s your fault for not coming to see me. You can make all this go away, too, and then I don’t have to worry about it. Here.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a zippered bag and hands it to me. “See?”
It’s a pregnancy test inside and there’s a plus sign on the side.
I hand it back to her.
“This is the truth, Austin. I’m telling you. I’m showing you. Please, let’s just make this end.” She puts the test down on the island.
“How do I know it’s yours?”
She rolls her eyes. “Go get another test and I’ll pee on it.”
“How do I know it’s mine?”
“Actually, you don’t. But I told you I know my cycles, and…”
“In another month, we can do a paternity test,” I say. “Until then…” I let that hang. I fold my arms over my chest and jerk my chin toward the door.
“I want this dealt with, Austin. Can you understand that? We don’t need to go to court for this. That court date looming won’t be good for me or the baby. All that stress…”
“Of course you don’t want to face consequences for your actions, Sienna. You’re a spoiled little rich bitch used to getting her own way. Imagine having that go sideways? You can’t.”
“Austin, I’m sorry for what I did to you,” she says, looking me dead in the eye. “I was fucked up over your brother and all kinds of other crap going on in my life and I was drunk and pissed off, and made a kneejerk decision. A bad one. What I did was stupid and wrong. And I’m sorry that you’re so mad. I never expected this reaction from you. Never in a million years.”
