14. Aaron
14
AARON
“ M arried life does not agree with you,” Grayson remarked when his assistant led me into the Richmond Electric conference room a couple of days later.
“He’s overthinking it,” Betty told Grayson when he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, because somehow he was worming his way into my life, just like Daisy. I would never have any peace.
“He’s been pining after the gal at the coffee cart for years. I kept telling him to ask her out. He’s cute. He’s got cash.”
“Betty.”
“She falls in his lap, and then he chokes!” My assistant threw up her arms.
“Betty…”
“I was down there getting a pumpkin spice latte. You know, Daisy’s a smart cookie. She’s got an extra stash at the coffee cart.”
“Does she?” Grayson took a sip of his tea.
“She’s like Aaron—planning for all the contingencies. Except dating.” Betty sighed dramatically. “I’ve set him up with a lot of broads, and they ghost him after the first date.”
“That sounds serious.” Grayson’s brows furrowed.
“I keep telling him not to be so intense, to just ease up. He scares women off.”
Grayson made concerned noises.
Fuck him.
“We have actual business to discuss.” I set Betty’s box of papers down at the conference table. She liked to go old-school.
But my assistant steamrolled ahead, pretending she couldn’t hear me.
“There were a lot of problems with the men of my generation,” the old woman said as Grayson pulled a chair out for her, “but not being able to seal the deal wasn’t one of them.”
“Thanks, Betty. We’ll just get you a talk show so you can dish out relationship advice,” I said dryly.
Betty loaded paper into her typewriter.
“I’ve had my regional teams in contact with the municipalities that have Coleman Mining under contract. Some of them my company had already been working with to release them from their contracts with Coleman, since their constituencies would like to transition away from coal,” Grayson updated us. “I have my legal department preparing the paperwork for the buyout.”
“Okay, fine, but you have to make it happen in twenty-nine days,” I reminded him.
“This isn’t magic, Aaron,” Grayson said in that annoying big-brother tone that he had no right to use with me. “The Feds have to sign off. Why would the marriage contract have a thirty-one day kill switch on your ownership of the company? Do you have to get her pregnant or something?”
“That’s when I have to divorce her. Am able to divorce her,” I amended.
Grayson made a gesture of indifference. “So? Stay married to her for an extra few weeks.”
“This is what I have to work with.” Betty threw down her pen. “I should have just found him a rescue hamster for him to adopt.”
“You might want to start him off with a Pet Rock.” Grayson’s mouth twitched.
“Yeah, should have.” Betty sighed. “In hindsight, jumping straight into having a wife is too much for him to handle.”
I tried to explain. “She’s in my room. It’s torture. There are crumbs in my sheets. Her hair is all over the bathroom. And she has the most infuriating way of eating peas with a fork.”
Grayson bit back a smile while Betty shook her head.
“It’s not just her. She has a cat.”
The only good thing about the wedding last weekend was being able to skip Friday night dinner.
Though I’d paid for it.
Daisy was exhausting. Mentally and literally.
After suffering through sleeping next to my new bride, who kicked and rolled around in her sleep, I’d finally asked the housekeeper for some fabric paint and drawn a line right down the sheets.
Not that it helped.
I woke up in the middle of the night when Daisy had thrown her arm and hit me in the face. She didn’t even wake up, just flopped over mumbling about pastry.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
“What’s wrong with this? This is what I’d wear to see my parents.” Daisy looked down at the halter top sundress, which barely contained the mound of her tits.
“The Ragnors are very conservative.”
There were about five minutes every afternoon when the house got direct sunlight, and now it lit up Daisy. I could make out the shape of her curvy legs through the sheer flower-print fabric. With her sun-bleached blond hair in messy waves around her head, her cinched waist, and the glossy cherry of her lips, she was, in a word, fuckable.
Friday night dinner was going to be bad enough without Daisy next to me in that dress.
“You need to cover your shoulders. And take off that fucking nose ring.”
She gave me the finger as she went back to rummage through all the boxes that, almost a week after bringing them in, she still had not unpacked.
“Twenty-six more days,” I chanted to myself as I waited in the hallway
“Better?” Daisy announced from the doorway.
Her white high-waisted ankle pants hugged her hips, making a heart shape of her ass. A wide belt was snug under her huge tits, the cleavage that I knew was there obscured by an oversized silk bow on the shirt, like a present waiting just for me. Her hair was up off her neck. I wanted to bury my face there, inhale the boardwalk scent of her.
So, better? No not really.
“It’s fine.” I turned on my heel. “Hurry up. We’re late.”
“A Friday night dinner. They should call us the Gilmore Girls,” Michelle Ragnor said when she opened the door of the stately Connecticut home. “Too bad you’re not a girl. Then we really would be like the Gilmore Girls.”
I managed a forced laugh.
She made the same joke every Friday night and had ever since I’d been a teenager. I hadn’t seen Gilmore Girls , but I was pretty sure no one in it was trapped in a basement for a decade.
When my mother had finally been mentally strong enough to move out of her parents’ house, I was both grateful and furious that she’d taken me with her. Sometimes I thought it might have been kinder if she’d done to me what Siobhan had done to Grayson. Just ghosted me. At least Grayson wasn’t expected to show up at his grandparents’ home—they saw only his father when they looked at him—and sit there and eat with people who were hiding their obvious disgust with him.
“Good to see you, Aaron,” Michelle said, air-kissing me. She didn’t mean it. A blue-blood hostess, she used that standard greeting for nosy neighbors and town gossips.
There had been a lot of those in the first year after my mother and I were rescued.
My arm ached. The one Grayson had broken, that had led to our rescue… so he claimed.
Phantom pain. Ignore it.
“And your new bride.”
“Hi!” Daisy gushed.
“Only for another twenty-six days,” I added hastily.
Wrong thing to say. Michelle gave me an odd look.
“I brought wine and flowers,” I told her, holding them out to Michelle.
She smiled at me. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“So thoughtful. I’ll put these in water.”
Daisy slipped into blue-blood guest mode.
“Your home is lovely. The garden is to die for. I’d love to whip Aaron’s garden into shape.”
“I admire your chutzpah. It’s difficult. That area doesn’t get much sun.”
We followed Michelle into the house.
“There are plants that thrive in the shade,” Daisy chattered. “My mother’s going to come over and take a look next week.”
Though I’d rather pull out a fingernail than admit it, I was almost glad Daisy was here so I didn’t have to be the one forcing the polite chitchat.
“That sounds like a wonderful mother-daughter afternoon,” Michelle said lightly. “I’ve always wanted a daughter to garden with. Natalie took after Bill, though, and Emily... Why don’t you open the wine, Aaron?” Michelle patted me awkwardly on the arm. “Natalie’s been in a state with that Coleman Mining buyout.”
My mom’s older sister stood in the living room, talking at the top of her voice, ranting really, to Bill.
“Ah, Aaron,” Bill said, standing up and twisting his hands on the sides of his slacks.
I didn’t bother extending my hand for a handshake. We weren’t in the office, so no need to keep up appearances. Natalie’s husband, Thomas, didn’t get up from the couch either. He just looked at me and nodded a greeting.
“Michelle asked me to open up the wine,” I said, holding up the bottle.
Natalie grabbed the bottle from me, took off her shoe, and beat it until the cork came off.
“Honestly, Natalie,” Michelle tsked.
“I’ve had a hard week.” My aunt slipped her shoe on. “Aaron’s brother is a shitheel. Those Richmond Electric guys are like roaches. They’re all over the office, in everyone’s shit.”
“Maybe if you all ran the company better—” the words shot out before I could stop them.
“Can’t make money without taking some risks,” she shot back.
“Great way to lose money too.”
“Let’s not talk business,” Michelle interrupted. “This is supposed to be a nice Friday night dinner.”
“And maybe I’d actually like to talk about, you know, my life over dinner,” Natalie retorted.
“We need to keep the conversation light,” Michelle said in a lowered voice, “so that we don’t upset Emily.”
Natalie’s kids raced into the room and ran to Michelle.
“Grandma!”
“My darlings!” she cried, giving them a real smile that lit up her whole face.
“I brought presents for the kids,” I said to my aunt, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. “If that’s okay.”
Natalie made a noncommittal noise.
“As long as it’s not stuffed animals,” Thomas joked. “We’re drowning in stuffies.”
I handed the kids the picture books I’d bought them, books I thought I might have liked if I was their age.
“They’re adorable,” Daisy cooed, kneeling down in front of my cousins as they flipped excitedly through the books. “What are your names?”
“Mya and Elijah!” the little kids chorused.
“And how old are you?”
“I’m in kindergarten,” the little boy declared.
I stood back, always afraid to interact with Natalie’s kids too much, lest it be misinterpreted.
Michelle gave me a wary look. “Did you have to buy them more books, Aaron?”
“You can never have too many books,” Daisy said to Mya solemnly.
“I love to read!” the little girl told Daisy proudly, holding her book upside down.
“Me too.”
“I can’t wait to go to kindergarten.”
“I wish I was still in kindergarten,” Daisy gushed. “I bet you have fun every day, Elijah.”
“They had a lot of fun today. He brought me this…” Natalie pulled out her phone and scrolled for a picture.
Michelle interrupted, “Emily, dear, are you hungry? Would you like a drink? Natalie, where is that wine? No, Daisy, you’re a guest. You don’t need to do it.”
My mother, nose in the air, slipped off her sunglasses as Natalie slowly found her a wineglass.
Even though my mother had been deemed mentally fit enough to live alone about a year and half after the rescue, I’d been more of a parent than she had been after we’d moved out—making sure she ate, seeing that she had what she needed, cleaning, standing there and taking it when she got caught up in the past and ranted and screamed at me. I’d been driven to be successful so I could take care of her, repay her, thank her for not abandoning me, even when everyone, including Michelle and Bill, pressured her to.
“Hi, Mom.” I patted her gingerly. Her shoulder blade was sharp under my hand. We never hugged, except for when she did the press tour for her book. They’d wanted some photos of us so that she could show how she’d triumphed over evil and was fine—stronger, even—for it.
“Hi, Emily.” Daisy leaned in for a hug. “So good to see you again.”
Emily ignored her.
Guess my mother was not in a good mood.
“I fired that chef you hired,” she snapped at me. “I don’t like her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You should have told me sooner you didn’t like her. I’ll find a new one.”
“Have some wine.” Michelle rushed to her younger daughter.
“Why did you bring that, Aaron? You know white turns my stomach.” Emily scowled.
She’d been insisting for weeks that red wine gave her a headache.
Tears formed in Emily’s eyes. “I just ask you for one thing. You’re always so busy, and you never do anything to make me happy. I tried so hard to give you a good life, Aaron, and I just feel like I can’t count on you for anything.”
Daisy seemed concerned. “I’m sure there’s a bottle of red here somewhere.”
“Just ignore her,” Natalie muttered to Daisy, giving Emily an ugly look. “This happens a lot.”
It did happen a lot, and Friday night dinners were a tightrope walk to avoid setting off my mother.
“Here, Emily. A red.” Bill rushed over to her with a bottle. “Aaron brought it a few weeks ago.”
“It’s not chilled. You need to chill that,” my mother whined.
“In college, we used to just chuck a few ice cubes in.” Natalie smirked.
Daisy laughed. “That brings back memories.”
“This is a two-thousand-dollar bottle of wine.” I reached for it.
“I never got to go to college,” Emily wailed.
I tensed. This was definitely one of the worst Friday night dinners in a while.
“You could have gone,” Natalie said sharply, “if you’d just tried.”
“ Natalie ,” Michelle yelled at her, “stop it now .”
Natalie glowered.
“Is it time for appetizers?” Bill asked anxiously as the chef waved us to the dining room.
Michelle wrapped her arm around her younger daughter and walked her into the next room. Daisy helped scoot the kids after them.
Shoulders tight, I walked through the sumptuous interior to the formal dining room.
Michelle and Bill sat at opposite ends of the table. My mother sat to my right, Daisy to my left. Natalie, her husband, and her kids sat on the other side of the table.
“We have oysters Rockefeller for appetizers,” Michelle announced as the chef carried out the trays.
“Do you need any help, Michelle?” I offered.
She pretended not to have heard me. She never needed help, but I still felt like I should offer.
The flowers I’d brought were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the table held two oversized bouquets.
Natalie, however, had the offending bottle of wine by her elbow.
“I don’t want an oyster monsoon,” her little boy whined.
“It’s not bad,” I told him. “It just tastes like cheese.”
He made a face at me like I’d grown a third head.
“I’ll have yours,” Daisy teased.
I wasn’t close to Natalie’s kids. My grandparents were careful to make sure that I was never left alone with them or even in the same room if it could be helped.
My back strained under the weight of the repressed emotions in the room.
Natalie’s little girl chucked an oyster in her water glass.
“I want a chicken nugget.” She dropped her head on her arms.
“Seriously, Mya?” Natalie snapped. “Thomas, I told you not to feed them that processed crap. Now that’s all they want.”
“Emily, why don’t you try some oysters?” Michelle coaxed. “Or a little bread?”
My mother took a small bite of the food.
“I think it’s tasty,” Bill said to her as he reached for a fourth oyster. “You’re missing out,” he joked to his grandchildren.
I tried to relax the vise grip I had on the little oyster fork. My hand was cramping.
“Mom, do you want some oysters? They’re very good,” I offered, passing her the tray. Emily visibly flinched when my hand and the tray entered her personal space.
I jerked my arm back, sending the oysters in their bath of buttery parmesan and breadcrumbs sloshing over the plate.
“She doesn’t want any, Aaron,” Michelle said sharply. “Emily, we have lobster bisque for the soup course.”
“You always serve her favorites,” Natalie complained.
“Natalie, hush,” Michelle said sharply.
“Do you want me to go ask them to bring out the soup now?” I offered, standing up with the empty oyster platter.
“I have it.” Michelle snatched the tray from me and hurried into the kitchen.
There were two hours and thirty-seven minutes until Daisy and I could reasonably leave, and I would feel every excruciating minute.
My mother did eat the lobster bisque when it was brought out.
It was the same soup that her mom had served when the FBI dropped us off at this beautiful house. I’d asked innocently if my mother was a princess because the house looked like a palace.
At the time, Michelle’s upper lip had curled slightly.
“No, this is a perfectly normal house, Aaron,” she’d told me.
Then we had gone inside, entered this very same dining room, and eaten food that I’d seen only on the television, and Michelle had corrected me on the proper way to eat soup, and we never talked about it . Just like we hadn’t talked about it in the hospital when Bill had shown up, looked down at me, let the corners of his mouth droop, and said, “Well that’s that.”
We never talked about it .
We sat in this exquisitely decorated dining room, eating expensive food while it sat in the middle of the table, flanked by freshly cut flowers, suffocating me, filling my lungs, drowning me slowly every Friday night, engorging itself on the silence that came from everyone’s attempts to ignore it as it grew bigger and bigger every passing week.
One Friday night, I was going to walk into the dining room, and it would be sitting there, fully formed and visible, and force us to confront it, if only to fight for our survival.
Daisy was gamely trying to make conversation as Natalie got drunker and drunker and Bill quickly ate seconds and thirds. He gave loud compliments to Michelle and the chef, saying that the food just tasted better than the restaurant at the top of the brown-tinged ’80s tower where Coleman Mining had their offices.
I would figure Daisy would be crushed under the tension; surely she felt the awkwardness. She knew about my family history. Hell, she’d turned that weapon on me more times than I could count.
But she was gamely chatting on, smoothing any awkward pauses.
I supposed girls of her social class were just naturally trained to do that.
“Are you going to the Magnolia Masquerade at the botanical gardens next weekend?” Daisy asked Michelle. “I think my mom and dad are planning on being there.”
“We were thinking about going,” Thomas said. “Right, Nat?”
“Were we?” My aunt scowled.
“Do you like gardening?” Daisy asked Natalie. “Or are you more of a fake-plant girlie?”
“Oh, uh…” My aunt seemed surprised by the direct question.
“I like looking at gardens,” Natalie said to Daisy with a small smile. “We have a few hanging pots on the balcony and a half-dead herb garden.”
“You have that sad little tomato plant,” Michelle teased gently.
Daisy laughed in delight. “You sound like me.”
“Daisy’s going to do something with Aaron’s yard,” Michelle told Natalie.
“ Try ,” Daisy corrected, “with lots of help from my mom. She’s been texting me plants, and I have no idea what most of them are. I don’t know how those poor horses manage in that overgrowth.”
“Horses?” Natalie sounded surprised. The Ragnors had never set foot in that house since I’d taken it over. When I’d tried to invite them, they pretended like they didn’t hear me.
“Aaron has horses. Did you all know that? I was just shocked when I saw them. Are you all a horse family?” Daisy asked brightly.
“Aaron’s an okay rider,” Natalie said, giving me maybe the first real smile I’d gotten from her in months.
The tension in my shoulders eased slightly.
“Quite the compliment, since she’s laughably better than me,” I told Daisy.
“Natalie qualified for the Olympics,” Bill said proudly.
“I didn’t medal or anything,” Natalie demurred.
“That’s still an amazing accomplishment. Oh my gosh, you have to tell me everything! I want all the tea,” Daisy insisted as the chef brought out the next course.
“Okay!” Natalie laughed. “So, there was this French rider who—”
“ Why did you let them serve butter beans? ” Emily screeched.
My stomach churned.
We’d eaten a lot of butter beans in the cellar, but I wasn’t going to say anything. The evening had started to become marginally tolerable. I wouldn’t give Daisy any credit, but she hadn’t been a disadvantage either.
“Oh, these are fresh ones. It looks like one of my mother’s recipes, Riviera salad,” Daisy said anxiously as Emily flipped out. “My mom always specifies fresh, so they’re not mushy.”
“You know I don’t like these. You know that I get triggered. Aaron, why did you let this happen? You all are doing this on purpose.”
“Mom, I—”
“I can’t do this.” Emily jumped up from the table.
I started to stand.
“Leave it, Aaron,” Michelle barked at me.
Natalie drained her wine as her parents ran after my sobbing mother.
The chef stood there, eyes wide with shock.
Daisy patted her mouth and took the platter before the young woman could drop it, making soothing noises.
“We can just box these beans up and plate the lamb separately. Natalie, I’ll bring some separate vegetables for the children. Maybe some baby carrots? Don’t worry.” She rubbed the chef’s back. “You know us rich people—so high-strung!” she joked to the shaken young woman.
“You must really hate her,” Natalie slurred, emptying the bottle in her wineglass and nodding to the door where Daisy had disappeared. “To force that poor girl to come to Friday night dinner. She’s going to be counting the days until she can get away from you, Aaron.”