Young Enough (The Age Between Us Book 2) Page 7

  “I want to apologize for how we first met, or rather for what happened when you first came over. Sam told me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I decide to risk it. “Brian told me what happened.”

  She takes a deep drag and crosses her arms. Smoke escapes from her nose when she speaks. “He did, did he?” She blows the rest of the smoke from the side of her mouth. “It’s not your business.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  “You seem like a nice person, Jane. I like you.”

  “Thanks. I like you, too.”

  “If you care about my son, you’ll stay away from him.”

  I do a double take. I expect this speech from many people. Why did I think Jasmine’s opinion would be any different?

  “He deserves a girl his own age,” she tips her ash again, “someone who can give him children. Someone he can marry and grow old with.”

  “What Brian seems to need right now is me,” I say as honestly and respectfully as I can, but there’s truth in her words, and that truth lodges like a splinter in my heart.

  I get to my feet. “It’s getting late. Thank you for the breakfast.” I head to the back porch, but her words stop me in the door.

  “I’m forty-one.”

  She doesn’t need to say more. I’m one year older than her. I don’t look back as I leave the house. I walk straight to the cellar. Brian sits on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees and books open in front of him on the coffee table.

  He gets up when I climb down.

  “How did it go?”

  “Great.” I walk over to him. “Sam’s really happy with her new dress. We got a denim jacket and shoes, too.”

  He cups my ass and drags my body against his, letting me feel the erection growing against my stomach.

  “I appreciate it, and I know Sam and my mom do, too.”

  Flattening my palms on his chest, I push away. “I came to say a quick goodbye. I have to fetch Abby.”

  “Hey.” He grabs my wrist, pulling me back to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know you. You’re upset.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Not until you’ve talked to me.”

  “Brian, please.”

  “We agreed to always talk to each other.”

  “It’s just something I haven’t considered.” No, that’s not true. It’s something I didn’t want to consider.

  “What?”

  He stares down at me, holding my wrist locked in his fingers. He’s not going to let go until I give him something.

  I wet my dry lips. “Do you want children?”

  “Not particularly. Do you? I mean you have Abby, but do you want more?”

  “What’s the point of bringing more children into this crazy world? What kind of future can we guarantee them with global warming and terrorist attacks happening everywhere?”

  He searches my face. “You brought Abby into this world.”

  I hesitate, but he deserves the truth. “Abby was an accident.”

  “Say it, Jane.”

  I frown. “Say what?”

  “Tell me the real reason why you don’t want to have kids, and don’t give me some bullshit excuse about global warming or terrorist attacks.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You can be honest with me. Always. I’m not going to judge you.”

  I look away from his intense gaze that seems to see right through me. The answer isn’t simple, and yet, it is. I just haven’t admitted it to myself. Despite what he said, fear of judgment makes me weak with the fear that he’ll like me less, the fear of losing him. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself. “I’m not the motherly kind.”

  His face softens with a smile. “I didn’t take you for motherly kind. You’re more the executive type.”

  I try to pull away again, but he holds fast.

  “All kinds of people are needed to make the world go round, Jane. It’s okay to not go gaga over a baby. It’s okay to want different things.”

  “It’s just…” I chew my lip, searching for the right words. “It makes me feel like a failure as a woman.”

  “Don’t. Being a woman doesn’t come with pre-programmed DNA that makes you broody at a certain age. Each person is unique. Why should women have a common trade?”

  “Sometimes, I’m not even sure I’m a good mother to Abby.”

  He cups my face and tilts my head up to meet his eyes. “Just because she wasn’t planned and you’re going through a rough patch because your family structure is being redefined doesn’t mean you’re a bad mother. You’re being too hard on yourself. You love her. You do everything you can for her. You’re doing your best.”

  It’s as if a stone rolls off my chest, and I can breathe again. The uncertainties I’ve guarded for myself feel smaller now that I’ve shared them with him. True to his word, he’s not judging me. He’s not like the men I grew up with who divide roles with clear-cut lines. Women in the kitchen and men around the barbecue. He’s not the norm in so many ways, and my heart beats clearer for it. I know with unmistakable clarity he’s The One.

  “Tell me about him,” he says, his hands, eyes, and voice tender.

  My body goes rigid. I can’t talk about Evan in this moment. I’m about to say so when he says, “Tell me about your ex.”

  The breath goes out of me. Relief flows back into my muscles. I let them go soft, one by one. “Francois is not a bad person.”

  “Do you love him?” He wipes a thumb under my eye. “It’s okay if you do.”

  I pinch my eyes shut for a moment before forcing out the horrible truth. “Not in the way a wife should love her husband.”

  “Why did you marry him?”

  Should I tell him? It feels unfair to Francois, but Brian told me about his mother, and if we’re going to be together, he needs to understand the dynamic of the relationship between Francois and me, between Abby and Francois and me, because it will always stand between us.

  “What happened?” he asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I wasn’t well when Evan died. My parents were still on their way from Cape Town after the news. I went back to the university dorm to wait for them. The doctor had pumped me full of drugs to calm me and help me sleep, and Francois came to my room that night.”

  His hands still. I didn’t realize he was stroking my back until now.

  His body tenses. “Did he rape you?”

  “No. I didn’t want to sleep with him, but I didn’t say no. It was soothing in a kind of way.”

  “You were drugged.” He sounds angry. “He took advantage of you.”

  “I allowed it.”

  “You weren’t thinking straight.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It happened, and neither of us can take it back.”

  “That’s why you married him? Because you fell pregnant?”

  “It seemed like the right thing to do. The only thing to do.”

  I was backed into a corner. Fragile. Scared. Weak. I could’ve said no when Francois gave me a ring. It’s not his fault. The guilt for our failed relationship is all mine. Maybe that’s why I’m not fighting him for the house or furniture. The only thing worth fighting for is Abby. I’ve always fought for her, especially when I said yes to a man I didn’t love.

  “I do love him,” I confess, “in my way. Like a friend. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve honored my promise.”

  “You would’ve settled for second best,” he says gently.

  There are many things I wish I could take back, but regret doesn’t allow for weakness. You need to be strong to survive regret. You need to be strong to move on.

  “I wish things were different,” I whisper. I wish I could go back to that night in Evan’s house and not have another drink. I wish I’d been strong enough to fight for Abby alone. “I wish I could give you the younger version of me.”

  “I don’t want the younger version of you. It won’t be who you
are now, because everything that happened to shape you into the person you are wouldn’t have happened.”

  “As much as I selfishly want to keep you, you deserve a young woman, someone who can grow old with you, not before you.”

  “That won’t be fair to her or any other woman, because I’ll always go to bed with thoughts about you, and my wet dreams will all be about you. Every woman deserves the over-the-top, I’ll-fucking-die-without-you feeling I have for you. I won’t degrade a young girl to second best simply because you reject me, so don’t even think about it. I’d prefer to be alone.”

  Leaning against him, I nestle deeper into his embrace. Just when I think there’s nothing more he can give, he surprises me again. He’s like a sky without a ceiling of clouds. The blue stretches into forever and deeper into my soul.

  Most of all, now I know I not only can trust him with my body, but also with my heart.

  4

  Jane

  A short while ago, I stood in a house that was mine, and Francois stood in the entrance, looking out of place. Now, the roles are reversed. My shoes are sinking into the Moroccan carpet I chose and paid for with hard-earned money not so long ago, but it feels as if I haven’t been living here in years. It feels weird. I’m a stranger. Here. To myself.

  Francois clears his throat. “Come through. The party is at the back.”

  “Thanks.” I remove my jacket and hand it to him to hang on the coat stand.

  We walk down the hallway and through the lounge. The furniture is the same. So are the paintings and ornaments. Through the open door, I see the kitchen. Everything is exactly where it used to be. Debbie hasn’t changed a thing.

  Voices and music filter through the sliding doors before the deck and backyard come into view.

  “Wow.” I stop dead.

  There’s a gazebo on the lawn with a stage and rows of chairs with white chair covers and pink ribbons. Cocktail tables and Chinese lanterns burning in the heat of the day take up the rest of the space. Waiters in tuxedos are carrying trays with what looks like Kir Royal, and staff in chef tunics are spinning candyfloss and flipping pancakes for a bunch of girls, Abby being in the center.

  Debbie is standing at one of the cocktail tables, surrounded by a group of women, probably her friends. They all turn their heads toward me as she leans into their circle and says something. She’s wearing a black cocktail dress–a brand with Loretta’s stamp on it that shows off her pregnant belly−as are all her friends. I guess she forgot to put the dress code on the invitation.

  I turn to Francois. “Isn’t this over the top? She’s thirteen, not twenty-one.”

  Francois and I have always agreed to material moderation where Abby is concerned. We want her to understand and appreciate the value of things.

  He looks uncomfortable. “It’s her first party.”

  Meaning, Debbie.

  Abby comes running when she sees me. “Mom!”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Francois says. “I have to attend to our guests. Make yourself at home.”

  He almost bites off the last word, as if he realizes too late what a stupid statement he’s made.

  “Isn’t this great?” Abby squeals when Francois walks off. “Wait until you see what’s coming.”

  Loretta waves at me from across the lawn. She and Ralph are conversing with a couple of men wearing suits and ties.

  I take Abby’s hand. She’s wearing a white, A-line dress with a black collar. “You look beautiful, honey. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Are you kidding? This is the best party of the year in the whole school.”

  “Happy birthday.” I hold out the gift box. A table near the stage is stacked with gifts. “Shall I leave it there?”

  “Can I open it now?”

  “Of course. It’s your gift. You can open it whenever you like.”

  She tears away the wrapping and lifts the lid. “Oh, Mom, it’s beautiful.” She hugs me. “Thank you. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

  “Would you like me to put it on for you?”

  She turns so I can fit the locket around her neck.

  “There.” I adjust the chain. “It suits you. Delicate and pretty.”

  Jordan comes running up. “Hello, Ms. Blake.”

  “It’s Logan now,” I remind her. I took back my maiden name after our divorce.

  She grabs Abby’s hand. “Come on. They’re making candy apples.”

  I watch the two girls skip off together. Still so young, yet not babies any longer.

  A voice echoes my thought. “Aren’t they growing up fast?”

  I turn. Loretta stands next to me with two glasses of Kir Royal.

  She hands me one. “Cheers.”

  I take a sip and glance at the women in black. “I didn’t know it was a bring-a-parent party.”

  “You’re being mean.”

  “Sorry.” I take a bigger sip. “I can’t help it.”

  “Before you say anything about the dress, I couldn’t say no. Debs wanted me to help her choose something for the party.”

  I absently watch the commotion of waiters and chefs on the lawn. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “You haven’t spoken to me since the episode in Mugg & Bean.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Look, what was I supposed to do? It was the day we went shopping for the dress. We stopped for a quick coffee.”

  I face her squarely. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I already told you, I don’t have exclusivity on your friendship.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why haven’t you called me?”

  “I said I’ve been busy. Why haven’t you called me?”

  “I was waiting for you to call first.”

  “Christ, Loretta, we’re not in first grade. What is our friendship worth if it can’t survive a divorce?”

  “You know what? You’re right.” Her gaze moves to Francois who has joined Debbie and her friends. “I guess this party breaks the ice. At least the wedding will be less complicated.”

  I frown at her.

  “You know?” she says. “Abby’s wedding. Divorced parents are always forced together at birthdays, graduations, and weddings. At least this way the ice is broken.”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  Francois and Debbie walk to the stage. He picks up a microphone.

  “Speech! Speech!” a few of the men call.

  Some of them are his colleagues from the office. The others I don’t know. Must be friends from Debbie’s side.

  “No, no, it’s not the speech, yet,” Francois says into the mike. “If you’d all please take a seat, we have a surprise for Abby.”

  Loretta takes my arm. “We’re having a barbecue by the pool next Saturday. Ralph invited Francois and Debbie. Since Abby and Jordan will be at the year-end class party, you should join us. Especially now that the first party with the three of you in the same room–or garden–is out of the way. It’ll be good for you. I promise.” She winks. “You can bring your date.”

  People start taking the seats in front of the stage.

  “The guy you disapprove of?”

  “Look, you were right about that, too. Whatever kink you’re up to is your private business. I just worry about you. I don’t want to see you go down a destructive road because of what happened between you and Francois.”

  Debbie and Francois take the front seats while Abby and her friends fill up the rest of the row.

  “Fine. I’ll come. Happy?”

  “Do I finally get to meet your mystery man?”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “Good. Great.”

  “We should probably take a seat.”

  I’m about to drag Loretta to the gazebo when a raucous noise breaks out under the girls. They’re screaming and clapping. It looks as if Jordan is going to faint. Their gazes are trained on us. Looking over my shoulder, I grasp the reason for their behavior. Tom de Lange,
the biggest local pop star of the moment, has just walked through the sliding doors. A few of the women are fanning themselves as he strides down the aisle between the chairs and hops onto the stage.

  “Good lord,” Loretta mumbles. “How the hell are we supposed to live up to this standard? Can you imagine the kind of party Jordan will demand for her next birthday?”

  I can see how a sleep-over with movies and popcorn waned compared to Tom de Lange. How much is Francois forking out for this party?

  Tom is good. I have to give him that. He puts up one hell of a performance, calling Abby onto the stage for the last song, which he dedicates to her. After the show, he hangs around long enough to have a drink and sign a few autographs. When it’s time for Abby to open her gifts, Debbie hands her a huge box with a red ribbon that Francois brings from the house. She kneels on the grass to tear away the paper. Opening the flaps, her mouth forms a big O before she slams a palm over it.

  “Oh, Daddy. Debs.” Abby lifts a Golden Retriever puppy from the box.

  It’s the cutest thing ever. Abby has always wanted a puppy, but we couldn’t get one because of Francois’ allergy.

  I go over and crouch down to pet him. “He’s gorgeous. What are you going to call him?”

  “Dusty,” Abby says, her eyes shining. She presses the bundle against her chest while her friends coo over the fluff ball.

  Straightening, I say to Francois, “That was a very thoughtful thing to do. What about your allergy?”

  “I’m taking medication.”

  “Actually,” Debbie says, “it was my idea. Abby told me how much she wanted a dog.”

  In all the years I’ve nagged, Francois refused to take the medicine because he didn’t want to risk the side-effects.

  “Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “I know how happy this makes Abby.”

  She looks at Francois with a smile. “I suppose I managed something your ex-wife hasn’t.”

  Then she looks straight at me, and her smile vanishes.

  Brian