Thirty-five
Austin
It’s Saturday morning, and I just got back from a run around the Embarcadero. I slept like shit last night after hanging out with the guys. My phone buzzes on the glass tabletop. It’s Mom. With a sigh, I pick up.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, already bracing for the conversation ahead.
“Austin, darling! I’ve just secured my reservations for the Alaskan cruise. You and Danica must join us. It will be divine!”
I take a deep breath, trying to quell my anger. “Actually, I haven’t seen Danica since the party,” I reply.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” she says immediately. “Between you and me, she was only after your money.”
I can’t help but snort. “That’s rich coming from you, Mom.”
Silence crackles over the line for a moment, but then she dismisses my jab with a breezy laugh. “Anyway, I know the perfect woman for you. Buffy’s daughter—”
“Mom, I’m not looking,” I cut in, knowing this conversation all too well.
“Listen, she’s a fashion designer in Los Angeles, very up-and-coming. She has her own line of lingerie.”
It’s like she doesn’t know me at all or doesn’t care what I want. Somehow, selling me on this woman’s credentials will make me forget the distance between LA and San Francisco, or my disinterest?
“LA isn’t exactly close, Mom. And I’m not interested in financing someone’s lingerie line,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Darling, you just haven’t met the right one yet.” Her voice is firm.
“Maybe I’m not looking for the right one right now,” I tell her. Or maybe I found her and you ruined it.
“Fine, fine, but when you change your mind…” She trails off, ever hopeful.
“Sure, Mom,” I reply. I won’t be asking for Buffy’s daughter’s number anytime soon. “Mom, what exactly did Danica do to get under your skin at the party?” I press the phone against my ear, bracing for the onslaught.
There’s a rustling sound on the other end, like papers being shuffled, a sure sign that Nancy is gearing up for something big. “Oh, Austin, it wasn’t just one thing. It was the way she carried herself, and that dress…” My mother’s voice takes on a tone of indignation. “That blue dress was utterly inappropriate, completely slutty if you ask me. And the way she was cozying up to all the wives, sniffing around like a gold-digger.”
My hand clenches around my phone. “Mom,” I interject, trying to keep the frustration from my voice, “I bought her that dress.”
“Really?” She sounds genuinely surprised, which only annoys me further.
“Yeah, and she looked beautiful, not slutty.” I take a breath. It’s time. I need to do this. “And about her mingling with Emerson and Caroline… They work together. Emerson is her boss, and Caroline is Emerson’s best friend. They’re professional colleagues.”
“Is that so?” There’s skepticism in her words.
“Yes, Mom. That’s so.” I sigh.
“Look, Austin…” Mom sounds a little desperate now. “You didn’t see the whole picture that night. Danica and her friend, they were all over the place, cozying up to every man in sight.” A pause hangs in the air as she gathers steam for her next salvo. “It was as if they were plotting something, the three of them.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose again, feeling the familiar tension of a headache starting to form. Her story shifts like sand beneath my feet, and I struggle to find a grain of truth in it. “Three of them?” I question, keeping my tone neutral.
“Yes,” she stammers. “Her, her friend, and…another man.” There’s uncertainty in her voice. “Like I told you before, they left together. What am I supposed to think? It’s not normal behavior, Austin. I wouldn’t be surprised if—”
“Stop.” I cut her off before she can finish the sentence. “Just stop, Mom. You’re making assumptions about someone you barely know. I’m not even sure you’re telling me the truth.”
There’s a momentary silence on the line, a sign I’ve pushed back enough to give her pause. But then she rebounds with a thinly veiled insinuation. “I’m just saying, she could be a hooker, for all we know.”
The words strike a nerve, and a wave of anger surges within me, hot and quick. But I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay calm. “She’s not,” I say firmly. “And even suggesting that is out of line.”
“Fine.” Nancy huffs, and I can almost see her rolling her eyes, dismissing my protest. “But mark my words, you’ll see I’m right.”
“Mom,” I begin, my voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “Danica is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” My declaration feels like a boulder lifted off my chest. “If you’re trying to make me choose between her and your—your matchmaking schemes—you might not like my decision.”
“Have you even heard from her since then?” Nancy’s voice takes on a softer, almost sly quality now.
My throat tightens, and I hate the silence that stretches between us, an admission in itself. She seizes the opportunity like a shark smelling blood in the water.
“Look, when you’re ready to move on,” she says, her tone shifting to something resembling sympathy, “Buffy’s daughter is single. Lovely girl, a fashion designer in LA. She’s successful. She doesn’t need you to buy her dresses or finance her line.”
“Mom, I’m not—” I start, but she barrels on, relentless.
“I have her number. Just say the word, Austin.”
“Thanks, but I need to go now,” I reply, ending the call before she can twist the knife any further. The last thing I need is a setup, especially one that comes by way of my mother.
Leaning back in my chair, I stare at nothing in particular, thoughts of Danica swirling like a relentless current. The memories are vivid—the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes when she laughs. It’s not just about the physical intimacy, although we’re way beyond the tentative explorations of new lovers. No, it’s more. It’s the late-night talks, the shared dreams, the comfort of her presence.
But life has thrown me into turbulent waters. Justin’s disappearing act has left EnergiFusion’s stability on the line. My days are consumed by damage control. Danica doesn’t need this mess. She deserves tranquility, happiness—things I fear I can’t give her, now or maybe ever. So am I holding on to her for me, or is letting go an act of love?
Before facing Grantham and the long list of legal strategies he emailed me last night, I lingered outside the building, looking up at Danica’s place. Through the front window, I could see a colossal bouquet of pink and white flowers against the soft interior light. Mischa perched on the sill, her gaze piercing with feline judgment. It felt like an omen, urging me to leave Danica be.
Yet here I am, thumb hovering over her contact. I tap out yet another message, each word heavy with longing.
Me: Can we meet? Drinks, dinner, coffee… I’ll take anything.
Delivered flashes beneath the text, followed swiftly by Read . Seconds stretch into agonizing minutes, and the silence from her end screams louder than any disagreement we’ve ever had. She’s gone silent, and that silence reverberates through the space where hope used to live.
The truth crashes into me like a wrecking ball. She’s moved on. And why wouldn’t she? A woman like Danica, with her gentle strength and hidden scars, deserves someone who isn’t a walking disaster, whose mother didn’t insult her terribly. Someone better than me, better than the mess I’m currently shackled to.
I pocket the phone with a bitter chuckle. To think all this started with a box of one hundred condoms. That journey certainly took me farther than I ever imagined. Yet in the end, we’re still parting ways. I think sometimes caring about someone means stepping aside, even if it shreds your heart to do so.