Six months later …
Six months without Mason in my life was forever.
I couldn’t lie to myself about it. I missed him. A lot.
My heart hurt. A hole ached in my soul each night, alternately making me cry and scream. He’d made me feel things I’d never dreamed of, anguished emotions churning in my stomach. And it wouldn’t stop. Every night, I twisted and turned in my lonely single bed, crying out, his name hoarse on my lips.
Suddenly a beep interrupted my thoughts. Lifelessly, I stared at my cell screen.
Hey, kiddo, the text read. Just got here. See you in a few!
George and Lynne were supposed to be meeting me at the Figaro Café, but they were already half an hour late. Figures. Frankly, I was shocked he was showing at all, George can be pretty flaky. But now, here was confirmation, so there was no point in taking off.
A shadow dropped over my head, and I craned my neck, squinting upwards.
“Would you like something else, Miss?” asked the waiter politely. His face betrayed no emotion, but I could read his heart. What a sad girl. Sitting here, all alone, clearly waiting for someone who’s not coming. Just another plump pumpkin, stood up for the umpteenth time.
I swallowed hard.
No need to take it out on him.
No need to tear my hair in a fury and scream, to protest the judgment.
Because I was pathetic in a way. Really tragic, dreaming endlessly about a man who didn’t want me. Who didn’t even respect me.
So I just smiled wanly.
“Another Coke please.”
The waiter nodded, turning silently, disappearing into the back.
And blinking hard, I stared at my empty glass, eyes blurring.
Because I did feel pathetic. The Figaro was packed today, lots of families milling around, waiting for spots. Most of the other tables had groups of people, extra chairs pulled up as parties laughed and talked. But here I was, one person taking up an entire table to myself, with nothing but an empty glass in front of me.
Just go, I imagined the other patrons sneering. Go and let us sit down.
But it wasn’t my idea to meet here. So I looked down at my phone again, pretending not to see even as people furtively eyed my table. I’m sorry, apologized the voice in my head. It’s my dad doing this. He was supposed to be here ages ago, and I’ve been waiting.
Suddenly, the reverie was broken.
“Bethy!”
I looked up, squinting, and surveyed the crowd. Nope, didn’t see them. But then across the street at the red light, a skinny guy waved. A woman who was just as skinny waved to me too. She smiled big and friendly, like we were buddies. Finally, they were here.
Tentatively, I waved back. George was here. He was actually here, and with his new wife too. When the traffic light for pedestrians changed, he grabbed Lynne’s hand and marched across the street, a big smile on his narrow, bearded face. He looked like an elderly rocker with colorful tattoos down both arms and silver rings on most fingers.
Oh my god. My dad was embarrassing, but at least this was the East Village, known for its boho charm. At least George didn’t stand out, people are used to anything down here.
“Hey, girlie!” Of course, he didn’t come into the restaurant the regular way. Instead, he jumped the short iron fence and Lynne quickly followed. They both looked like kids, teenagers almost, instead of people in their fifties. It’s really weird how some folks never grow up.
But finally, Dad stood in front of me, grinning like hell.
“This place is nice, right?” He smelled like incense and patchouli. “The Figaro is nice.”
Lynne smiled too and gave me a hug. She smelled just like my dad, with a handful of cinnamon and cardamom thrown in.
So strange. I looked from one to the other, barely able to believe my eyes. Usually, George and Lynne are traipsing through India, following the spirit of the Ganges, or at least living in a yurt in the New Mexico desert doing all sorts of chants with their guru.
But I guess the spiritual stuff works because my parents looked great, really healthy and refreshed, years younger than their biological ages.
“You look shocked,” said my dad with a grin.
“I am... I don’t…um…,” I stammered at him. What to say to a guy who took off to “find himself”? It’s one thing when you’re an adolescent to take a gap year before college. But George was into his fifth decade, and he’d been wandering the globe for years now.
So I just smiled weakly.
“Welcome back stateside, Dad.”
“Ha!” he barked a laugh. “With the way things are lately? Maybe we should have stayed in Guayabara, don’t you think Lynne? This country is going to the pits. Absolutely going down the toilet.”
I cringed. Because yes, this is the boho part of town, but still, I didn’t want my dad busting out with some long diatribe on the state of American politics, or worse, the wars overseas. Oh god, no. Please no, not now. So I spoke quickly.
“Dad, all I meant was welcome back. That’s all,” came my firm voice. “Wanna order lunch?”
And Lynne leaned over, giving his hand a squeeze.
“George, let’s get some sandwiches. That’ll be good, right?” She turned to me. “After six months of eating rice and beans, I’m looking forward to avocado toast. I hear it’s the latest craze. Green stuff from the earth filled with nutrients and good vibes, yum!”
I smiled again. Even more than the zany talk about avocados was Lynne’s adept way at diverting George’s attention. Because I could tell that she too, didn’t want some loud outburst on politics right here in the café.
So I nodded in agreement, grateful. Lynne is Lynne, and she was practically part of the scenery now. Although what exactly happened still isn’t clear, I think the blonde was part of the reason George decided to wander. But I’m not putting that on her. My father made his bed and he can sleep in it, he’s a grown man.
But she proceeded with a firm squeeze to my dad’s hand. He actually looked embarrassed for once.
“Sweetheart,” he began, still looking at the older lady.
I gazed between the two of them. What was going on? Was this some kind of weird husband/wife telepathy thing?
“Come on, honey,” my dad began, embarrassed.
“Come on nothing,” Lynne admonished sternly, squeezing his hand again. “You know why we’re here.”
I stared at them. This was beyond strange. “Why are you guys here?” I asked hesitantly. “What’s going on?”
Of course, I wasn’t so silly as to think they were here to see me. But at that moment, the waiter came back, notepad out.
“What can I get for you folks today? Drinks? Appetizers?”
“Uh....” George looked at the menu for about five seconds, and then ordered some random stuff for him and Lynne. Actually, it wasn’t random at all. It was a mish-mash of all the healthiest things, from the prune sandwich to the arugula panini. After he finished, George turned my way.
“Order whatever you want, Bethy. This lunch is on me,” he proclaimed with a grandiose wave of his hand.
“Um, okay,” I murmured, staring at the menu. Because in truth, the Figaro was really expensive. I’d lost my job at Carlton Corp., or more accurately, never shown up again. And without the gig, it was back to eating ramen by candlelight, scrimping here and there, saving quarters for the laundromat. There were a couple times I’d babysat in the last month, but otherwise, my savings were disappearing.
So I took advantage of the opportunity, shameless to the max.
“Can I get the Philly cheese steak and fries please?” I asked the waiter. “And the cherry pie with whipped cream on top? Everything together is fine, thank you.”
The dude was too professional to show his surprise at my mongo order, but he flicked his pen, jotting quickly on the notepad.
“Of course, Miss,” were his words. “Right away.”
I turned back to the stunned eyes of my parents. But Lynne recovered quick.
“I love it. That’s one thing I’ve always adored about you, Beth,” she smiled. “You eat whatever you want and keep that sexy goddess shape.” She gentle pinched my arm with a smile. “I always thought George could use a bit of your hungry energy, he’s so thin these days.”
“Not that thin,” interrupted George proudly, curling his arm so it bulged. “These biceps got us through that trek in the Himalayas. So it’s all muscle, baby, not fat.”
Uck. It’s gross seeing old people flirt, but hey. It’s easier just to go with it sometimes.
But Lynne continued.
“George your daughter just eats life up. Why aren’t you more like Beth?” she asked playfully.
My dad looked at his wife with a scowl, but when she only stared back with challenge and sass, he grinned and turned to me. “I know I haven’t been so great with you, Bethy. Lynne here tried to make me see that for a lot of years, but now is when I’m finally understanding it.”
“Better late than never,” Lynne added and patted my arm.
I shrugged. Whatever was going on with George now didn’t have anything to do with me, I was sure.
“Okay,” I mumbled. “Sounds good.”
That should make them happy right? Get them off my back?
But George and Lynne were on a mission.
“Not okay, Beth,” George said with a shake of that floppy graying rocker hair. “I know I hurt you. A shitty New York lunch won’t make up for it, but I want to try.”
Wow. Was this my father? The same one who’d basically ignored me for the last couple years? Crikey! What was going on?
I looked at Lynne and she just shrugged, smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. “I’ve been working hard on him, honey,” she explained. “And finally, that hard shell cracked a couple weeks ago. We wanted to see you to make up for the years of absence.
I goggled, so surprised at the turn of events. Really? Was this really happening? Why now of all times? All that bullshit about George’s shell finally “cracking” was a little strange, right? I mean, the dude’s almost sixty and appears just as self-centered as ever. So what was the real reason behind this gesture?
I shook my head.
“Oh, okay. Um, thanks. I’m just shocked is all.”
“I know,” George said with apology. “Sorry it took so long for me to get it, Bethy. You didn’t deserve to take the fall for all my shit.”
I shook my head, unsure what to say. But fortunately, the waiter arrived with our orders then, making it unnecessary to speak. So I dug in, my appetite back for the first time in months. The food was tasty and it was nice to talk with George and Lynne.
They told me about their plans to move back to the city and open some sort of a tantric sex education club. They didn’t want me to be part of it, thank God, but they wanted to stay in touch, stay in my life and help fix the bad things that happened between me and George.
It didn’t make everything better just like that, but I was happy to see them and have real conversation.
“We mean it,” said Lynne seriously, taking my hand in hers and squeezing softly. “We want to be here for you from now on.”
“Better late than never!” exclaimed George, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. “You can drop in on us all you like.”
Okay. That was something, although I prayed that my parents wouldn’t be in some weird position if I happened to pop by their place. So smiling once more, I made my excuses.
“I gotta head to school,” was my murmur. “See you later?”
“You know it!” crowed George. “NYC baby, here’s where it’s at.”
And with that, I took off. It was nice, looking over my shoulder to see George and Lynne drinking wine, lazing in the sun. They were good together and happy as lovebirds.
I tried not to be jealous.
Because who gets jealous of their dad?
Especially an old rocker dude of fifty-five, with an old hippie wife who wears her hair in cornrows.
But as soon as I hit campus, sadness crashed over my frame again, like a wave beating the shores.
Snap out of it, a voice inside my head hissed. Mason isn’t moping over you. He could have contacted you, but he didn’t. So stop this now.
And it was true, the realization bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Because after our incident at his apartment, I haven’t heard anything. No texts, no calls, no emails from the billionaire. I was as good as dead. Worse. I was alive, walking around like a zombie with leaden feet and a heavy heart. I might as well be dead.
So I was here to speak with a school counselor again. Doctor Carrie Mableton’s been a part of my life for the past couple months now, and I hoped she’d help me get over Mason, or at least stop me from crying so much.
But reality always intrudes.
“That kegger last night was the shit!” came a hoot over my shoulder.
A guy in a fraternity shirt bumped into my curvy frame and pushed past. He was yammering into a phone and didn’t notice that I’d practically been knocked off my feet.
“Yeah, a lot of bitches came through,” he continued. “I fucked one of them last night. And then guess what? Yeah, her fugly ass friend tried to get on my dick afterwards. I had to say no, the girl was fucking disgusting, a total ho-bag.”
The guy was walking pretty fast but I heard every vile word as it was uttered.
But he was lost in his own world.
“Shit no, you nasty fucker. Though maybe I should have. Next time. Yeah, I’ll get a bag ready and put it over her head, jamming that puss from the back. Hell yeah, next time.”
The guy ran up the steps to a frat house, fist bumping another dude on the way in.
I literally stopped in my tracks.
God! Was that how all guys talked about girls with each other?
So disrespectful.
Like women were just vaginas with legs, no brains, no hearts, no nothing.
But it seemed true. There were frat houses everywhere on this street, and they were probably all full of dudes being gross. The Gamma Phi Omega fraternity. The Alpha Kappa Kappa frat. The men’s varsity crew team. I guess guys never outgrew the need to talk smack about women. It was so disgusting, they needed sensitivity training stat.
But realization ran over me then. No wonder Mason and his friends were so vile. They were just like this guy here, except twenty years older, lameass Peter Pans still living their charmed lives. They’d never grow up. They’d never mature and become upstanding citizens, someone you’d be proud to know.
Ugh. The realization made me shudder, and I hurried on my way. Hopefully, these dudes would never have daughters because the girls would be screwed from the get-go, taught that they didn’t deserve to be respected and cherished.
Almost running now, I burst into the Student Health Center, a blocky building off to the side of campus, shaded by trees with a small patch of lawn in front. The building was innocuous enough, just a nondescript rectangle in the middle of nowhere.
But I was revealing my secrets inside.
The crushing doubts.
The wreck my soul had become.
Letting myself into the cool, air-conditioned office, I signed my name onto a sheet. A quick look at my watch assured me I was right on time for our appointment. And soon enough, a middle-aged woman poked her head out.
“Good afternoon, Beth. Come on in.”
Dr. Mableton was a pretty woman with kind eyes behind her heavy-framed glasses. She gestured for me to sit down on the chair across the way, and I made myself comfortable, arranging pillows just so.
Finally, I was ready.
“You look better today,” she began warmly, notepad already in hand. “Much, much better.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled and settled into the chair again. “I just had a nice lunch with my father and his wife.”
“Oh good!” The psychologist actually looked happy for me. “I was hoping they would show up and meet you like promised. How do you feel about it?”
I liked that Dr. Mableton jumped right into the session instead of making a bunch of silly small talk. The professional was there to help me, not to bleed minutes from the clock. I smiled back and breathed in thoughtfully. Dr. Mableton was the best shrink I ever had. Well, she was the only one, but still.
“It was really good, Doc. Really good. George and Lynne are going to move back to New York.”
I bit my lip, uncertain.
“But that’s not all.” She shot me a probing look, pen poised over a notebook. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
And as terrible as it sounds, the truth came rushing out then.
“I was jealous,” were the blurted words, the admission hanging in the air. “I was jealous of my dad because he has someone who loves him. And I have no one.”
Expression agonized, I stared at the fingers twisted in my lap. Did that make me a selfish jerk? Someone who couldn’t be happy for others, not even her closest kin? Did the doctor think I was totally self-centered, caring about no one but myself? But no, her job was to help, not judge. I cleared my throat and met her eyes tentatively.
“I was jealous of the relationship they have,” came my words more slowly this time. “They looked so happy together. Totally in sync like a real couple.”
Dr. Mableton waited for me to finish. She was good. She always knew there was more when I couldn’t say it. But her silence and patience forced me to face my own demons and fears.
“They reminded me of what I had with Mason for a while,” came my slow words. “Witnessing them made me miss him.”
“Ah ha.” She scribbled on her notepad then looked at me with a professional but warm expression. “If you want that, you can have it, Beth. You told me Mason said he wants you in his life.”
I bit my lip again, uncertain. Talking about Mason always confuses me, putting me on edge while making my heart jump unsteadily.
“But how can I be with a man who treated me so bad?”
The doctor eyed me carefully.
“People make mistakes all the time,” she said, resting her hands on top of crossed knees. Gentle understanding radiated from that solid form. “If you want to be with him, be with him. Follow your heart if that’s what it wants. Be smart and love yourself just as much as you love him.”
I shook my head furiously. Was Dr. Mableton crazy? Had she forgotten what I’d said during our past sessions?
“It’s not that easy,” were my quick words. “I told you about the book, the pictures, all his pervert friends. It was so bad, he betrayed me, and you know ….”
The words went on and on as I re-hashed everything, words falling from my lips in painful torrents. Dr. Mableton waited patiently, listening to me rant and rave, the rush of emotion just as fresh and raw as before.
“I know, Beth,” she said comfortingly. “I know, and we’ve been over this before. But there’s hope for the future. There’s definitely hope.”
I stared at her.
“How is there hope? I don’t get it. I don’t even get what we’re talking about,” were my flat words.
“Beth, you’ve come here twice a week now for half a year. All you can talk about is Mason. And I understand what he did to you. But the man also sounded genuinely apologetic, like he’d re-do everything if he could. Have you taken that into account?”
My hackles raised.
“Of course I’ve taken that into account! But it doesn’t matter! He doesn’t get to hurt me like that, it’s not fair. It’s not right, no woman deserves to be treated that way.”
Dr. Mableton raised her arms, palms out to calm me down.
“I’m not saying that what he did was right. But from a professional perspective, I want you to look into yourself. What do you want? What would make you happy?”
The truth was, I had no idea. Be with Mason? Not be with him? Both options sounded terrible.
“I don’t know,” came my mumbled words. “I don’t know.”
Dr. Mableton tried again.
“It’s okay,” she comforted. “A lot of this is the process, putting things into words and evaluating your internal responses. But let me ask you again. What do you feel you’ve gotten from our sessions so far?”
I was puzzled.
“I guess … I guess it’s been good to talk,” came my small words. “It’s been good to tell someone the terrible things that happened to me.”
“To share your pain,” Dr. Mableton encouraged, nodding. “Victims often feel better if their stories are out in the open, instead of buried within. But let me ask you this. Now that it’s out in the open, do you feel better?”
I nodded furiously.
“Absolutely yes. But it doesn’t change what Mason’s done to me.”
The good doctor nodded again.
“That’s true. And it’s for you to decide whether you can make peace with it.”
“I can’t!” was my immediate protest. “I can’t, what happened was absolutely wrong,” I said vehemently.
The older lady was quiet for a moment.
“What if I told you that there are victims who marry their rapists? People who get acid thrown in their faces, only to fall in love with their attacker later on? Would you think it’s crazy?”
I could see where she was going with this.
“I’m not that,” were my quick words. “Those women aren’t me. They’re pathetic, and I deserve better.”
She nodded.
“I agree. Those women aren’t you, absolutely not. But I’m just putting it out there so that you can see the expansiveness of the human spirit. I’m not saying that what happened to you was right, or okay in any way. Only you can decide that for yourself. But I’d encourage you to look beyond the boundaries of any pre-conceived notions. Are you the type of person to forgive? What if everything Mason said was true? Would you be able to forgive him then?”
I sat back, flummoxed. Because straight off the bat, I assumed that the billionaire had lied. No one takes pictures like that only to keep them hidden. In his pocket all night? Yeah, right.
But there was a part that didn’t make sense. Why had Jonas called me Liz the night of the attack, and not Beth? Had Mason actually tried to protect me in some way? Maybe he’d referred to me as Liz to shield my identity. And if so, maybe he’d done even more. Maybe he hadn’t shown the guys my naked pics. Maybe Jonas had figured out who I was because he’s a billionaire with endless resources, and not because Mason had outright identified me.
I was even more mixed up than before.
“I don’t know what to think,” I murmured, head whirling. “It’s too confusing.”
Dr. Mableton sat back, eyes calm.
“Take your time,” she said. “There’s no reason to rush into things. Why don’t you take some time off to reflect, and then talk to him? Even if you don’t resolve the issues, at least get some clarity as to what happened that night. There are loose threads, and answers might help you make a decision.”
My body shuddered. Because on the one hand, I desperately wanted to see my lover again. But on the other, was I walking into a lion’s den, throwing myself into his jaws? Was I going to come out of this alive?
My lip trembled.
“I guess so,” came my words. “I guess I could give it a try.”
Dr. Mableton nodded.
“You don’t have to, Beth. Remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Nobody can force you to do anything, and after that assault, I understand your need for safety and security. But it’s a path worth considering. I’m not saying you have to march to Mason’s apartment today and demand answers. But just think about it.”
I nodded slowly then.
Would talking to Mr. Carlton help?
Would seeing him again, listening to his explanation one more time, give me clarity?
Why had Jonas called me Liz?
And suddenly, the need was insistent. There were details that were murky, brackish and brown, obscured by mud. But I was determined to pick them out, rinse them off, and see for myself with clear eyes. The full truth might hurt, but better to rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. And if this didn’t work, then Mason and I were done forever.
My heart throbbed painfully for a moment.
Forever?
The thought made me go limp for a moment.
I couldn’t live without the alpha male. The billionaire was a part of me. His soul permeated my being, his name flowing through my lips with every breath.
So what was I doing?
And like a devilish whisper, the voice came again. Forever? it asked. Are you ready for that?
Because if I didn’t get answers this time, I would turn away, the door slamming shut. I’d leave Mason, forced to turn a new page even if it broke my heart. And squaring my shoulders, grief welled up from deep inside. Because future or no future … the moment for confrontation was now.