Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
ENFIELD
I drive around Sun Haven and Glensdale until I’m sure my mother is gone. More than anything, I’d love to go somewhere and cause havoc. Until recent years, I’ve never understood the urge for violence when you’re angry. It always seemed ridiculous.
It’s not about violence, though. It’s about expending angry energy, which ultimately wants to explode out with a violent force. I don’t need the expenditure to be violent. I somehow just need to get it out. Loudly. Destructively. I need a break from the constant hostility I’m feeling.
I have enough composure to call Nash and report that my mother showed up unannounced, just as we both knew she would. He makes note of the date and time. I also mention that Xavi’s mother did the same yesterday. I didn’t ask Xavi, but I can infer from the greeting that he hadn’t invited her over.
That means both parents are in breach of contract.
However, I don’t find satisfaction in that right now. I’m still too angry.
Glensdale is a cute town with a ton of Pride flags and people walking around.
It’s admittedly very welcoming. And pretty.
There are parks all over. All the intersections have flowers.
Shop windows are decorated with happy little suns and balloons and shit.
Under any other circumstances, I would probably enjoy wandering around this place.
I’m not feeling anything but hostility today, and that’s not the impression anyone needs of me.
It’s close to noon when I head back to the house. My mother’s car is gone. I wonder where she’s staying. Did she drive back down to Napa Valley? Has she booked a hotel room in town? I don’t care, and yet I want to know what I’m dealing with. I want to know what to expect.
I park in front of the garage and get out. There are three bays. I wonder what’s in the garage. Xavi’s car, probably. But that only takes up one bay. What’s behind the other doors? More cars? Maybe outdoor toys like four-wheelers, bikes, and shit?
Maybe not a four-wheeler. There’s nowhere to ride it except the giant expanse of field beyond the wall.
Curiously, I follow the garage until I step off the paved driveway into the grass and reach the closest section of wall.
I follow along into the backyard where I find a pool, a patio, mature trees, and inviting swings.
There are gardens and paths and a stone fountain.
I bypass it all as I follow the path. Sure enough, in the far corner is a door in the wall that leads to the field. It’s locked. Unsurprising, really. I wonder if the field is state-owned. Privately owned? Does Xavi’s family own some of it?
Sighing, I drop to the grass and lean against the wall. The house looks imposing from here. Tall, empty, maybe intimidating. I hate everything about this. I want it to be over.
Yet I know it’s only just begun. It’s been two days. I’m counting the day I got here as Day One, which makes today Day Three. This is hotel counting. Check in might be at four in the evening, but that still counts as a day. But time-wise, I’ve not been here forty-eight hours yet.
I let my head fall back against the tall stone wall and close my eyes. I hate this.
Two days go by and I don’t hear from my mother. Actually, maybe she tries to call, but I’ve blocked every number that I don’t recognize. My phone is blessedly quiet unless it’s Nash or one of my kids’ mothers texting me.
She doesn’t drop in again. I’m not na?ve enough to think she’ll actually stay away. My mother is nothing if not fucking stubborn in her stupidity, and she’s stupidly going to think this will pass. It hasn’t passed since I was a teenager. It’s not going to pass now.
She likely views my signing a contract as her being right. She wins. I’m so damn angry that there’s nothing more I’m looking forward to in life than having Nash tear apart this contract in front of her and shoving it down her fucking throat. Then walking away and never seeing her again.
By never, I mean only on Christmas. I love the holidays with my family.
I will happily tell her off and make sure everyone knows how shitty she is if she insists on talking to me while there.
There are usually about forty people, and it’s a damn castle.
It’s very easy to keep a distance. If she chooses not to, the ensuing scene is on her.
I will never play nice. That ship has sailed.
I’m sitting outside on the steps as I wait for my food delivery.
It’s a stupid waste of money, and I know that.
Not that I truly care about dropping twenty dollars per meal every day.
I’m not frugal by any means, and I don’t actually know what it’s like to count my pennies out of necessity.
But I’ve never been a fan of spending needlessly.
I can cook. I’m a decent cook. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen with an extensive butler’s pantry that I only took a bare-minimum look at.
I’m trying to make my footprint small. Not live in the house.
There are three rooms that I’ve been spending my time in—the room I sleep in, an entertainment room, and a home gym.
I can’t recall a time in my entire life that I’ve stepped foot into a gym, but I’m finding the days long and tedious between talking to my kids.
There’s only so much television one can watch, and I’m simply not into gaming.
That means messing around in the gym. At the very least, it’s a challenge. I have no idea how to use any of the machines properly or lift weights effectively.
Whatever.
An unfamiliar car pulls up. A man climbs out with a food bag in hand. I get to my feet and meet him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Nice neighborhood, man,” he says as he eyes the house, handing me the bag.
I nod in answer.
“Have a good day.”
“You too,” I return as he jogs back to his car.
I retake my seat on the steps and open the bag to pull out a fry and watch him drive away. It is a nice neighborhood. It’s not my neighborhood, but it’s not bad.
The fries are decent. Not the best. I didn’t eat breakfast, and it’s several hours past lunch, and I’m hungry this afternoon, so I bought more food than necessary.
When you’re starving, everything sounds good.
As I stick another fry into my mouth, I think about the first time I brought fries to Lissander. He was absolutely hypnotized by them.
Amelia isn’t exactly a health freak, but she doesn’t feed him potato fries.
He’s eaten carrot fries, though, and admittedly, they’re pretty good.
However, they’re not potato fries. Lissander was even more enamored of sweet potato fries.
The mixture of salty and sweet is one of my favorite things about them, too.
It’s nice out. There’s a light breeze that’s whipping around the side of the house.
By the time it reaches me, it’s lost most of its momentum, so it’s gentle and soothing.
With it comes the smell of water and flowers.
It’s treated water. You can always tell when you’re breathing in natural spring or chemically clean water.
It’s either from the pool or the fountain. Either way, it’s soothing. I don’t hate it.
After another handful of fries to take the hangry edge off, I gather the bag and get to my feet to head back inside. Since it’s between meals, I head to the kitchen to eat.
I’ve been avoiding Xavi like I’m a child. Not because I’m being a stubborn asshole, but I’m conscious of him not deserving my ire. Seeing him is a reminder of this stupid situation, so I immediately get angry, which isn’t his fault. Between the two of us, this is my fault. Not his.
I sit at the booth and dig out all the food. I bought three entrées and a large fry. Also dessert. I won’t finish even a little bit of this, but whatever. That means leftovers for a late dinner.
As I’m digging in, the door begins swinging gently, like a breeze on the other end is trying to shove it open. I watch it as I chew, allowing it to entertain me. After a few attempts at being pushed inward, the door opens, and the orange cat rushes into the kitchen.
He looks at me as if he’d known exactly where I was this entire time. Like I called him. We stare at each other as I take another bite. If he were a dog, he’d lick his jowls. But he’s a cat, so he pretends he’s not salivating at the smell.
What’s his name again? Shapri? Hmm. Maybe without the R. Shapi. I can’t decide if that sounds better.
Shapi struts toward me. I smirk because, yeah, he fucking struts. We don’t break eye contact as he jumps onto the bench opposite me, settles in, and watches me eat.
“You’re kind of a creep,” I tell him after several minutes have gone by. “Staring at people is creepy. It’s rude to do so when they’re eating.”
The damn cat yawns as if I’m boring him. I chuckle and shake my head. Fucking animal.
I’m just cracking into my dessert when the door swings open. Xavi steps in and freezes when he sees me at the table. He stares at me for a second before his gaze drops to the several take-out containers of food in front of me. His eyebrows knit together, and then he smiles with amusement.
He turns away and takes the mug in his hand to the sink. “Shapi is trying to make friends. Usually, that involves you bribing him to like you by giving him food. You can or not, whatever your preference.”
“I’m not looking to make friends,” I tell the cat.
Xavi must hear that statement directed at himself. I open my mouth to tell him I was talking to the cat, but stick another bite of cobbler into my mouth instead. That goes for him, too.
He moves around the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and getting out a tea bag. I watch him from the corner of my eye while I continue to eat, my attention more focused on the cat who will not be getting scraps. I don’t want to be his friend either.
“My mom said yours called her yesterday. I told her to leave, and she took that as being rude, even though you had already told her to.”
I nod. “You can call the police next time she shows up. Have her arrested. Charge her with trespassing. Whatever.”
“I don’t know your mother, but I imagine how horrified she’d be. I can hear her saying with indignation, ‘But my son lives there. I’m allowed to be there.’”
I snort. “You’ve captured her entitlement well after one short visit.”
Xavi grins. “I can only imagine what it was like growing up with her.”
It wasn’t bad. Not until I started expressing that I didn’t want the contract. I didn’t want to get married. I just wanted my trusts and to work for the family company. That’s when I started viewing my mother differently.
Silence fills the room as I finish my dessert. The kettle whistles, and Xavi removes it from the stove. I hear him pour, and then the clink of the spoon in the mug.
“There’s plenty of hot water if you want some,” Xavi says.
I nod, debating whether thanking him will somehow begin to form a bridge into him thinking that we can be friendly, or if he’ll simply interpret it as me being polite. Because I am polite, I say, “Thank you.”
So I’m not inviting more conversation, I get up and start closing my food containers to stuff them in the fridge. Hmm. I think half of last night’s dinner is still in there. I should eat that tonight.
I stop at the sink to wash my hands. Somehow, I’m always sticky after takeout. As if the containers are constantly dripping or dragged through juices or something before being put into the paper bag.
“You can eat whatever you want in the kitchen,” Xavi says.
I nod, drying my hands on the towel.
“You’re also welcome in any room in the house.”
Sighing, I nod. I drape the towel over the faucet and head for the door.
“Enfield?”
I pause. He waits until I turn to face him. Halfway through the kitchen. I almost made it.
“Can we talk?”
“About what?”
Xavi frowns. “This… situation.”
“I’ve said all I need to. You’re welcome to have an affair. I don’t care.”
“I don’t want to have an affair,” he says, frustrated. “But I do want to live in peace.”
“Then live in peace. I won’t be in your way.”
“That’s not—”
“We’re not friends, Xavi,” I interrupt. “We’re not going to be friends. Not now. Not next year. Not anytime in the future. Do you understand? Do what you want with your life—I don’t care.”
I’m a little startled when Xavi bursts into tears. He covers his face, says something through the tears that I don’t understand, and rushes out of the room, leaving his tea on the counter. I’m surprised when a knot forms in my throat.
Shapi drops from the bench where he’d been silently observing this entire time. He glares at me, and I think I just made an enemy of the cat.
“We’re not friends either,” I say quietly.
The cat turns toward the door, tail high in the air. I swear, he’s just giving me his butthole as a very loud statement of what he thinks of me. I watch as he pushes against the door with his paw three times. Each time, the door sways a little more on its hinges until he can get out.
I close my eyes. That was uncalled for. I didn’t need to be a dick. I could have just said… What? I could have said what? Already, I feel a kind of sympathy toward him I wasn’t expecting to. The kind that has only ever sparked to life concerning women.
I get it. He’s been dealt a shitty situation, and I’m making it worse. I do have a conscience, and I’m being an outright asshole to protect myself with no regard for how it’s affecting him. I wish I could tell him it’ll be over soon. This is temporary. It’s not a lifetime as he’s imagining.
Taking a deep breath, I leave the kitchen and head up to the room I’m staying in. I won’t go so far as to call it my room. It’s just a room. No personal touches. No lived in appearance. Just a room that I’ll soon vacate and never return to.
Just like Xavi’s life. He’ll thank me. One day.