Rex (35 page)

She bends down, picking up my briefcase, then escorts me to my office. “Well, I’m going to run down and grab you a bagel with cream cheese. You need something in your stomach. I’ll be right back.”

“That would be great, Tillie, thanks.”

I don’t argue with her because I don’t think food will hurt. In fact, I’ll probably be eating more than my share today to prepare myself for having to deal with my father. Maybe I should have her get me a box of candy bars, too.

Part of me wants to take Rex up on his offer to be by my side when my father shows up. He has the uncanny ability to calm me, but I don’t want to use him as a crutch for my fear. I have to face this head on. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old woman and I need to grow up and start acting like one.

Taking a seat behind my desk, I stow my purse in the bottom drawer and boot up my computer. There’s a lot I need to accomplish today and I refuse to let negative thoughts drag me down.

My phone chimes and I slide it over, smiling as always when I see who the text is from. I expel a contented sigh before I unlock the screen, reading the words four times before I respond.

Morning, baby. I WISHED you hadn’t left this morning.

Me too.

I feel the smile slipping from my lips. What I wish is that I didn’t have such a long memory. My stomach swirls with nausea as it comes rushing back.

When I woke up, the house was quiet, just like it was last year on my birthday. There were no balloons or fun, colored signs. I shuffled into the living room and sighed. All of my presents were wrapped but they weren’t home. Same as last year. They were at work, where they always were.

Mommy promised when she left that morning that she would be home early. I didn’t understand it at all. It was a Saturday so they should have been home anyway. I sighed, sending my bubble gum breath into the air. “This sucks,” I said out loud. I’m not even sure if that was a word I was supposed to say or not. But I didn’t care, because it did.

Stella called me over. “Happy seventh birthday! Don’t you want to open your presents?” she asked with a big smile on her face. But it looked fake to me, like she was trying too hard. Maybe because she was here last year on my birthday, too.

I lifted my shoulders and looked at all the presents, way too many to count. Other kids would probably be jumping for joy, but not me. I’d have given all the presents away if Mommy and Daddy would have just come home to take me out for ice cream or cupcakes, or something.

I plopped down on our perfect green leather chair, swinging my feet underneath me. It felt like someone was pulling down hard on my lips and it was starting to hurt. Then my belly began to get sore, too. It was spreading everywhere because pretty soon my eyes felt like they were wet and I quickly wiped them with the sleeve of my shirt. Because I couldn’t cry. Mommy told me over and over that it was bad to cry and that no one wanted to be around a weak, little cry baby. So I held the drops back and instead my belly felt worse. But at least no one would call me a baby.

Stella came over and kneeled down in front of me. She took both my hands, and with a smile, said, “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go into the kitchen. I have a surprise for you.”

I didn’t move so she helped me down off the chair, still holding my fingers in hers, and we went into the kitchen. There was a single chocolate cupcake on the table with a lighted candle in the shape of a green army man on top. We both plopped down and I sat in front of the cupcake, staring at it.

“Make a wish,” Stella said excitedly, her face glowing behind the candle.

I closed my eyes, but wished for nothing. Because every year I made the same wish and it never came true. I wished I had parents who loved me.

So eventually I just stopped making them.

The smell of coffee yanks me into the present and I blink a few times before I notice Tillie standing in front of my desk.

“Boy, you seemed a million miles away.” She blows a bubble that nearly pops all over her face. “All they had left were garlic bagels so I got you one toasted, with cream cheese. But,” she winks, “I did get you the grande coffee.”

“Thanks, Tillie. I appreciate it.” I close my eyes and take a sip of the latte, the warmth serving to help ease the chill of my past. “So sit.” I flap my hand toward the chair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Well…,” she begins with a twinkle in her eyes, curling her red strands around her finger. “You’ll never guess who posted an ad for a receptionist on all the internet job sites?”

My finger thumps steadily against my lip. “Hmph. I give up,” I tease.

She points her thumb against her chest. “This girl did. And once we find a replacement, guess who’ll be getting an office? Well, it’ll be more like a shoebox,” she giggles, “but who’s complaining.”

“That’s fantastic, Tillie. I’m so happy for you. And it’s about freaking time. By the way,” I pick at a small square of white paper, holding it up. “What is this cryptic message from Ryder you left me?”

“What?” She squints to get a better look. “Oh!” She snatches it out of my hand, sticking her gum in the paper and folding it. “That wasn’t meant for you. It was meant for
me
.”

“Oh?” My voice rises in curiosity and she grins.

“Yeah, he kind of asked me out but I haven’t said yes yet.” There’s a dramatic shift in her expression as she breaks off a piece of croissant. She pops it in her mouth but isn’t forthcoming with any other information.

“Because….”

“He’s very sweet, don’t get me wrong. But….” Tears border her green eyes and she frowns. “Well, my last boyfriend seemed sweet, too, and then he ended up being a jerk, in more ways than one. So, I’m wary.”

“Listen, Tillie,” I assure her with a warm smile, “I know Ryder really well. And what you see is what get. He is as sweet as they come.”

Light makes its way back to her face and her lips soften. “Thanks, Vanessa,” she says with a hint of that cute little southern accent she still retains. “Okay, I’m going to get back to work.” She stands and straightens her shirt, brushing the remainder of crumbs onto the floor.

After she leaves, I plow through several e-mails and return a few phone calls before my mind strays to the visit with my father. I don’t know why I even call it a visit. It will be more like a defensive confrontation.

Without thinking, I pick up the phone, wanting to hear the only voice that will calm me. I dial Rex’s number and he answers on the first ring.

“Hey, baby,” he says in that rough, sexy rumble that makes me want to give myself over to him in a hundred different ways, yet it also makes me sigh. “You okay?”

I pick at the chipped wood on the corner of my desk. “I’m… nervous about seeing my father. I’m trying not to be, but it’s not working.”

“I know. But it’s gonna be okay. And my offer still stands. If you—” he starts to say, but stops. “Hang on, baby.” Then he places the phone down. “Zeek, tell him to hold the fuck up. I’ll be there in a few.” He comes back on the line. “Okay, I’m here.”

“Do you have to go?” I ask, silently hoping the answer is no.

“No. It’s fine. So I was saying that if you want me to be there, my offer still stands.”

“I know, Rex, and I appreciate it. But I’ll be okay. I just might be a raving bitch when you see me later.” And even though I’m trying to be funny, it’s inevitable.

“Baby, I won’t turn you away, so just come as you are,” he says, and I can almost see his lips forming a smile. The realization of what he means, that he accepts me no matter what, sends a sudden flash of awareness through me. My nerve endings respond with a tingle of happiness. Something I never saw coming. That I didn’t think was obtainable.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Okay, so I guess I’ll see you later.” I heave out a disgruntled sigh, not really wanting to hang up just yet.

“You will, indeed.” And I hear Zeek call to him again so I know I need to let him go.

“I-I can’t wait,” I manage to squeak out before he hangs up, as if that was the hardest thing in the world for me to admit. If he only knew everything my heart was holding back, he’d probably run in the other direction. And that’s the last thing I want.

“Me too. Bye, baby.”

“Bye.” I try to keep my voice upbeat even though I’m drowning inside. Because there’s so much more I want to say. I’m just afraid he won’t want to hear it.

Once we hang up, I begin typing a text to Liv when something occurs to me—I called Rex first. Olivia is always the one I run to… but not this time. After the surprise of that soaks in, I finish the message, letting her know I’m seeing my father. Of course, not more than a minute later, my phone rings.

“Hey, Liv. That was fast.”

“What’s going on? You okay? Why is your dad coming?” She’s already overloading me with questions that I can barely handle.

“I have no idea why he’s coming. I’m sure it can’t be good. You know I haven’t heard from him in months, and seen him in even more time. Ugh. You know how I get, Liv. I already feel myself shutting down. I hate that.”

“I know you do.” There’s nothing but empathy in her voice. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” I let out another of a long string of sighs. “Thanks though. I just want to get this over with.” And then I can wash my hands of him for another two years.

“How’s Rex?” she asks in the same moment I look out the window, seeing the sun burst from a gray cloud. It makes me smile.

“He’s great. Fantastic, if I’m honest. Swoonworthy, amazing… shall I go on?”

“Nah. I think I get the picture. I have one of those myself.” She giggles, and I hear voices in the background.

“Someone over for lunch?” I’m wondering if it’s Hunter.

“No, I ordered Chinese food. I’ve got a ton of writing to do to make my deadline so I don’t have time to go out. Plus, I didn’t like my choices here.” The bag crinkles in my ear, cueing me that it’s time to hang up.

“All right, I’ll let you go eat,” I tell her. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Good luck with your dad. I’ll be thinking about you. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will.”

Except I already know it’s going to go like shit.

I’ve checked my watch six times in the last five minutes and pretty much worn down the fairly new carpet in my apartment. He said he’d be here at six and it’s six twenty. I wonder if he changed his mind about seeing his only daughter. It wouldn’t surprise me.

I trudge to the kitchen to get a glass of water, gulping it down fast before filling it up again. I feel completely dehydrated. My throat is dry and it’s almost as though I’ve been stranded in the desert, deprived of water for months. Meanwhile, my body is wound so tight, I could snap any minute.

My shoulders are burdened, my stomach churning. I do so much better when I don’t hear from either him or my mother. Why did he have to contact me? Why can’t they just let me live my life? They certainly had no issue with it when I was younger.

A firm knock tells me that my time is up. Inhaling a deep breath, I walk over to the door, finally letting it out when my fingers reach the handle. I turn the knob slowly attempting to prolong the impending agony.

When I open it, I come face to face with a man I don’t recognize. Time has not been kind to my father. Skin bunches around his eyes and mouth, dark circles line the area underneath his lashes. Wrinkles are engraved on his cheeks and his hair is thinner and more gray than I remember. It’s obvious that work is still his life.

“Vanessa. It’s so good to see you.” He comes forward to try to hug me and I stagger back as if I could get burned. My father and affection don’t even belong in the same sentence. I can count on maybe one hand the number of times we’ve hugged in my twenty-seven years and it’s always been awkward. Plus, I’m not going to pretend we are something we’re not. And I’m certainly not going to make it easy for him.

“Come in,” I say when he continues to stand in the doorway. The air is thick with tension and already my persona is changing. A discomfort settles in my bones, a clear signal that this person is not good for me—even if he is my father.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” He says it as though he’s a business associate I’ve made time for. And he might as well be, because for all intents and purposes, we’re strangers. “I needed to see you. There are some things I need to say and I’m hoping you’ll be open to hearing them.” He gestures to the couch. “May I sit down?” he asks, and I nod, but take a seat across from him on the other sofa, wanting to keep my distance.

He sits forward on the couch, his elbows on his thighs, fingers steepled against his lips. “Your mother is getting remarried. I’m sure you must know that by now.”

“Yes. She called and told me.” But I’m unwilling to offer up anything else. I don’t have much to say on the subject of my mother.

“Your mother, Vanessa. I’m not going to lie to you,” he begins, staring at a spot on the coffee table. “Your mother…,” he lets out a wry laugh, “I don’t think she ever loved me.”

His words don’t surprise me, yet still they punch me in the stomach when I already had a gaping wound. I don’t know what to say to that. So I say nothing.