Chapter 4
Chapter Four
A n hour.
That’s how long I laid in the same spot on the couch, trying to gather myself and attempting to process what just happened.
I wanted to call Janna and scream for her to come help me, but I knew she would only insist I call the police, and when I inevitably refused, she would do it herself. I couldn’t call Ross because… Well, I just flat-out didn’t want to. He wouldn’t believe anything about what happened, would chalk it up to me wanting his attention.
After telling myself I’m okay, I jump off the couch, lock the door, and set the alarm. My pulse speeds up when my memory snaps into place. I realize that the alarm was on when I came home, and he was still sitting here.
I press my forehead against the coolness of the door and then shoot upstairs to get ready for the dinner I’m now hesitant to even attend. Regardless of how the night goes, I know I need to address the issues in mine and Ross' relationship.
After throwing my thick curls into a bun, applying minimal makeup —because Ross likes a more natural look— and donning a little black dress that shows a bit more thigh than I’m used to, I realize I’ll need to walk to my car alone. Thankfully, I remember this is Chicago, and I can get an Uber in less than ten minutes. At least that way, I’ll have a witness if anything happens to me.
The Uber drops me off on the corner of Dearborn Street at La Grande Boucherie. Excitement had finally bloomed in my chest on the ride over as I’ve begged Ross to take me here for over a year. I texted him updates the entire way here but haven’t received a reply, so him meeting me in the lobby would be too much to hope for. I’m approaching the host desk when I hear a voice, one I’ve loathed from the first day I heard it, carrying over the loud classical music playing.
Ross' mother.
Ross waves me over to their table without standing to greet me, continuing a conversation with his mother instead. When my fiancé finally decides to speak to me, I’m met with a condescending tone. “Hello, Darling. How was your day? Mother and I were just discussing your position at work,” he says before setting his lips in a thin line. My eyes flash over to his mother as she sips her glass of wine and looks at me disapprovingly, as per usual.
“Hello, Margaret. How are you doing?” I ask with a slight smile, trying to be courteous. After ten seconds of no reply and her acting like she’s reviewing the menu, I try to answer my fiancé’s question. “Today was great. I?—”
Ross cuts me off before I can explain my day. “Who were the flowers from?” he asks with inquisitive eyes.
I swallow my panic down before taking a sip of water from the glass in front of me. “The new girl I trained sent them to me as a thank you. She transferred to our New York location last week after her training was complete.”
The lie rolls off my tongue so effortlessly that my smile afterwards is genuine because I’m so proud of myself. Still, I want to move on from the conversation before either of them can interrogate me any further on the subject.
“Anyway, I did my final presentation for Stark Financial, and I feel like the Chief Financial Officer position will be mine sooner rather than later,” I say, slightly too enthusiastically. Ross murmurs a congratulations before his mother speaks, cutting our interaction short.
“Oh, sorry dear, I’m just confused. Didn’t you say this last year as well?” she inquires with her nose turned up. I shrink into my chair instead of telling her to mind her own fucking business. The frustration of not only my parents constantly ridiculing me, but Ross' parents as well, makes my skin crawl.
After ordering myself a diet coke with extra ice, I finally brave speaking. “Well…yes, but I?—”
She laughs, holding up her hand. “I’m no good at listening to excuses. I just don’t want to keep seeing my son fund your lifestyle.”
“Excuse me?” I question, a little louder than I should.
“Ross informed me and his father about the heathen you cared for years ago when you two met in college. Heard you blew a good chunk of your time and money on him. Just how does a twenty-eight-year-old woman in your position afford a million-dollar home in Chicago with such an insignificant job?” she inquires with her nose turned so far up in the air, I’m shocked she doesn’t flip out of her seat.
“Mother, that’s enough,” Ross admonishes her from across the table. His mother gives a sly smirk before shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.
I wait for Ross to say more in my defense, but he just stares at me as if he doesn’t know how to defend me in front of his mother.
“Throwing one’s life savings away for the hopes and dreams of someone who didn’t even stay with you is quite embarrassing, is it not?” she croons from beside me.
Vertigo crashes into me; I don’t feel balanced in my chair with the anger bubbling over. Neither she, nor anyone else in my family know what happened while I was away at school. And it’s none of their business. I stare at the plate in front of me, trying to ground myself, but she just restarts her verbal assault. “More importantly, how is Mallory doing these days?”
Did she just ask him about his fucking secretary while I’m sitting right here?
“Where’s your ring?” Ross asks suddenly, his brow furrowed as the two of them stare at my hand wrapped around the glass of diet coke I’m clutching for moral support.
“I-I must have left it on the counter when I was doing my hair.”
He lifts the corner of his lip in a grimace at my answer. Meanwhile, his mother’s eyes raise from my hand to my hair. “That’s what you doing your hair looks like? Would a straightener kill you?” she asks with a shake of her head. Such an insult from anyone would hurt, but an insult of that caliber coming from another black woman has me seeing red.
Don’t be as stupid as he makes you out to be.
“Ross, you used to date women of such high calibre. Hopefully the children this one breeds for the family come with?—”
Without a word, I violently stand from the table and throw my napkin in front of me. “Enjoy your date with your mother,” I hiss at Ross before turning in Margaret’s direction. “Always a pleasure, Margaret.” I plaster the fakest smile I can manage on my face before grabbing my purse and phone, darting out of the double glass doors of the beautiful restaurant I had waited so long to visit.
I’m standing on the curb doing my best to flag down a taxi because an Uber would take too long, when someone wraps a hand around my arm and yanks me back onto the sidewalk.
“What the fuck was that, Mavis?” Ross asks with fire in his eyes.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I scream, making pedestrians glance in our direction, though none of them stop. Typical Chicago nature at its finest. “Your mother can’t talk to me like that, Ross! I’m an adult. Not an animal to be bred at someone’s fucking expense! She used the word breed. What is this? The 1700s?” My words are coming out like rapid fire in a warzone. “I’m a woman with her own job, her own finances, and where the fuck does she get the idea that you give me money?” I whisper-scream, licking my lips like a crazed woman.
He looks me up and down. “I gave you money for your nails two weeks ago.”
My stalker’s words play in my head for the second time tonight. You’re worth more than that asshole could ever give you.
I grind my teeth so hard at his words, I feel a muscle in my jaw pulse. “My fucking credit card was locked because I had a fraudulent charge, and I paid you back the same fucking day in cash when I got home!”
I wander back over to the curb as I spot a bright yellow taxicab at the light.
Please God, if you love me, change the light.
The light turns green and my arm flails so ridiculously that the cab driver looks like he doesn’t want to stop, until I twist my face into a pleading look. He pulls over to the curb, and I swiftly grip the door handle.
“If you get in that car, don’t expect me to come after you,” Ross warns from behind me.
You deserve better.
That’s three times my stalker has intervened in my relationship within an hour.
Without turning around, I open the door and sit down. Before closing it, I stare into the deep brown eyes I had fallen in love with. “I expect nothing less from someone who can’t get off their mother’s tit at the age of thirty-three.”
His mouth falls open at my words, and his eyes look like a deer in headlights. The sight of him is making me sick to my stomach. Part of me wants to pound my fists into his face until I see puddles of red.
Snapping out of the vision playing in my head, I vaguely question my sanity before focusing on the man I agreed to marry in a few short months. “Fuck you, and your ego. I deserve better than this,” I spit, before I slam the door shut, apologizing to the driver, and giving him my address as he pulls out into the heavy Friday night traffic.