One Day His (The Someday Series Book 2) Page 7

  Oh. Okay. Maybe I’d jumped the gun on the whole ‘intervention’ thread. Maybe this could actually be constructive. What he was saying, at face value, at least sounded good. I could definitely get behind that.

  I sat patiently, waiting for him to continue or Mother to jump in and say something. After all, although that was some nice background information, I hadn’t yet heard how it might apply to me in any way. But, rather than saying anything, they simply continued with their radio-silence tactic.

  Awkward.

  As that same feeling that the other shoe was about to drop and the rug was going to be pulled out from under me began to creep up inside me, I tried to keep my posture relaxed and my demeanor calm. Then I decided that, instead of trying not to let this interaction affect me, I should face it. Maybe the direct approach would work. After all, Dr. Newsom was a man of science, and I imagined that he would probably appreciate me asking a direct question rather than dancing around the topic.

  “Is there something going on here that I’m not understanding? I feel like there’s a predetermined expectation that I am just not catching on to.” I took a slightly shaky breath after the words left my lips. When I folded my hands in my lap and noticed that they were shaking, I was still proud of myself for how far I had come. At least I had put a voice to the questions running through my mind like a toddler on a sugar high.

  Three months ago, I would’ve just sat there on the couch, feeling judged and getting more and more nervous. I would’ve made myself sick guessing and second-guessing every look, every exchange, just praying for the Earth to open up and swallow me. Now, I had grown to the point that I could calmly ask what was expected of me and then wait for the response. For some people, that might seem insignificant, but it was a huge growth moment for me.

  Like it had been choreographed, Dr. Newsom and my mother once again exchanged knowing looks, and that little shtick was quickly getting on my nerves. The leather seat squeaked loudly as Dr. Newsom leaned forward in his chair and extended his hands in mock surrender, an overly exaggerated ‘nonthreatening’ gesture.

  “This is a safe space, Catherine. Say anything you’d like.”

  Okay. That did not help one little bit. I had been through other ‘therapy’ sessions with my mom and I’d never been able to get a word in edgewise. Not that I’d wanted to, but even if I had, there was no way it would have even been an option.

  Questions were filling my head faster than a teenage boy downloads porn.

  Why was my mother sitting there quietly?

  What could this doctor possibly want me to talk about?

  Had something happened that I didn’t know about?

  Trying to stay the course and not get thrown off by his vague response, I tried to quiet all of the questions screaming around my brain like cars on the track of the Indy 500.

  Even though my newfound confidence was being chipped away with an industrial strength ice pick, I pressed on. “Well, I guess I just don’t understand why I’m here. Is there some way I can help with these new goals? Is that why I’m here?”

  At this, Dr. Newsom finally looked pleased. “Well, Cat, that is certainly the right question to be asking. Yes, you are in a unique position to be able to help your mother express some of the things that have been festering inside for quite some time.” He turned towards my mother and patted her hand encouragingly. “Be brave, Angelica. You can do this.”

  My brow wrinkled in puzzlement as my gaze shot to my mother. Angelica seemed…nervous. She took a deep breath as if she were trying to fortify herself to do something courageous and her eyes welled with tears.

  Oh boy. Tears. That was never a good sign.

  “Dr. Newsom is right, Cat. If we are going to have a healthy relationship, I really need to be honest with you. I have to be able to voice my frustrations and resentments without fear of repercussions.”

  The muscles in my neck began working and I felt myself automatically nodding my head.

  Wait a minute…? Was she talking about her frustrations with me? Her resentment of me? That made no sense. She expressed those. All. The. Time.

  Besides, what possible repercussions could I bring down on her?

  I didn’t even live here. And when I had, I’d barely left my room for fear that I would do something that would embarrass her, like let the public see my face.

  She steeled her eyes as if gearing up for battle, and I felt my gut clench. Uh oh. Every alert in my body was at code red. This was about to go sideways. Fast.

  “Cat, I just feel like you never try to see my point of view. I feel like you’re very selfish in many ways. When you’re around, sometimes I feel like, even though I’m”—she motioned her hands down her body Vanna White style as her eyes grew large—“me, that somehow you manipulate situations so that you are the one getting all the attention. I just…” She sniffed. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

  I was flabbergasted. She felt like I got more attention than her? “What?” I asked in a whisper, not sure what else to say. Never in a million-trillion-gazillion years would I have ever thought that those words would come out of my mother’s mouth. I felt like I should see if pigs were flying or check The Weather Channel to find out if Hell had, in fact, frozen over.

  Dr. Newsom gestured for me to continue, but what the hell else was there to say?

  I shook my head as I heard myself stammer, “I…don’t…understand?”

  Dr. Newsom scowled disapprovingly, his posture straightening, as he spoke in measured tones, “Well, Catherine, that is the core of the problem right there. This isn’t about you. Perhaps you could focus more on how you could help your mother by modifying your behaviors rather than focusing on yourself and what you understand. I think, actually, that a statement about yourself is what you chose to follow up with immediately after your mother made that difficult admission is very telling. Very telling, indeed.”

  When he started writing in his notebook, I began to feel anxiety bubble up in my chest like soda fizz exploding after you shake a can before opening it. I was losing control of this encounter. And just moments ago, I had felt so proud of my newfound maturity.

  Between the looming panic, the realization of the absolute and total ludicrousness that my mother had actually convinced someone that I was the manipulator that wanted all the attention, and my lack of sleep, you had an equation that equaled disaster. Before I could help it, I burst out laughing.

  When Dr. Newsom looked up, I could see that he had moved beyond mere disapproval to full-blown annoyance. “Is this a joke to you? Do you think your mother and I are funny? Are we here for your entertainment? I assure you, little girl, this is no laughing matter.”

  I stopped laughing, and before I knew it, tears were falling down my cheeks against my will. No! Why? Why now? I had just gone from laughing hysterically to crying in under five seconds in front of a therapist who has been brought here to address my issues.

  This was bad. Really bad. The harder I fought to bring myself under control, the more tears fell down my face.

  My mother rolled her eyes. “You see? This is what she always does. She puts on the ‘poor, poor pitiful me’ act so everyone will feel sorry for her. I remember once, at a party, she started bawling her head off so that all the guests would make a big deal about her. She always wants to be the center of attention.”

  Me? The center of attention? I could take a lot of things, even lie about a lot of things if I thought it would help my mother keep the career and image that she’d worked so hard to maintain. Name-calling didn’t bother me.

  Ugly. Stupid. Weird. Nerd. Hideous. Freak of nature. Mistake.

  All of those labels had been flung at me for as long as I could remember. Maybe they were true, maybe not. It didn’t really matter to me anymore. But ‘self-centered attention seeker’ was where I drew the line. Something inside of me snapped like a rubber-band.

  Wiping my eyes, I sat up straight and inhaled deeply. “I was six. It was after midnight. I was ove
rtired,” I explained to Dr. Newsome.

  “Do you see?” my mother cried in an injured tone. “Do you see how she always has an excuse for hurting me? How she’s never just sorry?”

  Dr. Newsom soothingly patted her arm and nodded sympathetically. When his gaze snapped to mine he spoke sternly, “Catherine, you need to very seriously modify your behavior, and quickly. Your selfishness is driving your mother to distraction. She nearly died yesterday because of you. Is that what you want? Do you want your mother to die?!”

  His words hit me like a slap in the face and my stomach twisted up in a knot that would easily earn a Boy Scout a badge.

  “Of course not…” I barely recognized the small mouse voice that came out of my mouth. “Well, then you need to work to make sure that it doesn’t.”

  My heart beat rapidly as my gaze shot to my mother. Her face was hidden behind her hands, but she peeked out at me just a tiny bit from between her fingers to see my reaction, and I recognized the expression on her face. It was triumph.

  Of course. Why had I fallen for this? I knew better.

  The same numb feeling that had protected me, allowed me to spend day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year in this house, washed over me now. I had never been so grateful for its sudden appearance.

  With a clarity that I hadn’t honestly known I possessed, I directed my response towards the doctor, “Dr. Newsom, I highly doubt that you, a medical professional, are honestly trying to tell me that my mother’s car accident was my fault, even though I haven’t even seen her for three months? That it can be traced back to me crying at some party when I was only six years old? Because, frankly, that’s ridiculous.

  “I understand the impulse to treat my mother differently than you would your other patients. She’s a celebrity. She’s stunning. And so are the checks she writes you. It’s tempting to see things from only her perspective. Trust me. I’ve seen it happen to a lot of people she’s paid over the years. But that doesn’t make even one word that comes of out of her mouth true.”

  Without waiting for their responses, I walked out the door and headed down the hall to the kitchen. I could hear my mother and the “doctor” talking about my nerve and how disrespectful my behavior was, but I didn’t stop because, honestly, I didn’t care what they said.

  I was proud of myself.

  Did I think that what I had said in there had made any difference whatsoever? No. I knew they were sitting in front of the fire right now, commiserating about what a miserable and ungrateful child I was, and talking about how I was the cause of all my mother’s problems and how that self-centered speech I’d just given had proven it. But so what?

  I was going to find Jace. He was my sanity. My security. My safe place.

  *

  Was this dinner ever going to end?

  Looking around the large, ornate table, I didn’t think I was the only one who was asking themselves that question.

  My mother was sulking after I had “ruined” her sham family-therapy session. I was quiet because I was afraid that, if I started talking, I would set off something less appealing to deal with than her sulking. The doctor sat at her side, apparently not wanting to stir the pot any more than I did. Jace sat beside me, quiet as a church mouse. Thankfully, not trying to make small talk or any talk at all. But as much as I appreciated his picking up on my silent film impersonation and his strong presence beside me, it was driving me crazy not being able to communicate with him normally.

  This was definitely one of the longest meals of my life.

  Making the situation worse was the fact that, when my mother was home, we had a formal dinner, which consisted of all the proper courses. That meant that we didn’t just get to suffer silently through one plate of food. Oh, no—we had to painfully plow our way through appetizer, soup, entrée, salad, dessert, and coffee courses’ worth of strained silence.

  When the meal was finally, blessedly finished, my mother stood and left the dining room without a single backward glance. The doctor’s bumbled movements sent a fork crashing to the hardwood floor as he pushed back his chair, wiping his mouth with a frantic energy and following behind Angelica like a lovesick teenager. I heard a rush of air and realized that it was my own breath—I had been holding it, without even realizing it.

  “Wow.” Jace turned to me, his eyes wide. “That was just about the single tensest hour and a half I have ever sat through. I mean, that was almost physically painful.”

  I nodded. “Believe me. Awkward is better than what it could have been. She’s in a mood, but she’ll get over it sooner or later. At least no plates were thrown, no one was fired, and insults weren’t pouring out of her like water over Niagara Falls.”

  Something dark flashed in Jace’s eyes and he pulled me into his arms, I went willingly—of course—but I had no idea why he seemed so…intense.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered against the crown of my head.

  “For what?” I drew back and asked in confusion. Hadn’t I just explained that the dinner had gone fairly well.

  “For not being here to protect you.” Jace shook his head disbelievingly. “Damn, Cat. How do you live like this?”

  Oh. That.

  Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? It was the one that I had never dared ask myself, but now, I was being faced with it. I was going to have to do some serious thinking on that topic—but not tonight. Tonight, I needed to escape. I needed to get away from here.

  “Come on, Jace. I need to get out of here.”

  He stood up, probably just as ready as I was, if not more, to break free from the stifling atmosphere of the house, if only for a little while. “Where do you want to go?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. As long as it’s away from here, I’m good.”

  Jace nodded. “Sounds good to me. I just need to run upstairs to your room and grab the keys.”

  Chapter 8

  Jace

  We were already in the car and pulling out of the driveway before it hit me that I had no clue where we were going. When I asked Cat, she merely shrugged and instructed, “Just drive!”

  I nodded and randomly decided to take a right. Hell, whichever way we drove along the magnificent Pacific Coast Highway was bound to be amazing. There was nothing but beauty all around us.

  When we got to a stoplight, Cat indicated that I should turn left, and we began climbing up the steep and winding streets that crisscrossed the hills above Los Angeles. We continued higher and higher until I felt like we were driving in the sky. The sense of freedom was amazing after being in that mansion.

  After about an hour of driving around aimlessly I saw a turnoff for a scenic view and pulled into it. Cat and I sat silent for a moment, just taking in the stunning view of city lights laid out below us like a sparkling blanket of multicolored stars.

  “Gorgeous,” Cat breathed finally.

  I agreed. “You must have seen this so many times before though,” I said as I leaned back against the seat and rested my hand on her knee, my thumb making lazy circles on her inner thigh, “but, I bet it never gets old.”

  “Actually, I’ve never seen this view.” A sigh escaped her mouth as she snuggled closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder before continuing. “I mean, when I said I pretty much lived in my bedroom and the kitchen of my house with occasional sojourns out to the beach in the back, I wasn’t kidding.”

  My heart ached for her. After spending just a day in that house, I knew how confining and claustrophobic the walls were. At a loss of what else say, I kissed the crown of her head and said, “I’m so sorry, Cat. I didn’t realize that.”

  Cat lifted her head from my shoulder and her big brown eyes lifted to meet mine. “It’s fine. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t some kind of Flowers in the Attic situation or something. I wasn’t being held prisoner. I could’ve left. I had a car. Don taught me to drive. I had a credit card, and I could have had cash anytime I thought to ask for i
t. It was just that I knew if I did, my mother would not like it. Keeping her happy and balanced was basically my only goal from the moment my eyes opened in the morning until I closed them at night. Even when she was away filming, I knew that, if I went out, it would get back to her. Not from Rachel and Don—they were constantly encouraging me to get involved in things, venture out. But my mother’s voice was always louder in my head.

  “Honestly, until I met you and the girls, I never really thought that I was capable of interacting in normal society. I would just hear over and over the things my mother had said to me and I was convinced that I actually was too socially awkward and too shy to be able to meet new people much less engage in conversations. It was kind of paralyzing.”

  As I sat beside this beautiful, amazing, incredible girl who was like an angel—my angel—I had no idea what to say to that. My chest hurt in the way that it only did when I saw that look in Cat’s eyes. The look that told me she had no idea how special she was. How sexy. How smart. How sweet.

  I knew that just saying those words to her would not have the effect I wanted. She wouldn’t feel them down to depths of her soul. I wished I could express to her how deep my feelings were and how amazing I thought she was in a way that would really get at the heart of it, that would make her feel it, that would break down all the barriers and honestly transmit what was in my heart to hers. The problem was that I wasn’t as good with words as Cat was. She might have been stuttering and awkward when she was stressed, but when she was relaxed and had space to be thoughtful, she phrased things in the most beautiful ways I’d ever heard. Many times, with just a few words, she perfectly expressed a feeling I had not known how to explain—one I could have talked for days about and not been able to really nail down. With just one sentence, she would be able to capture it exactly.