Chapter 04
May
‘friend’ label
Colin
If I thought losing Ceci, my kids, and having my reputation dragged through the mud was some sort of hell carved on earth specifically for me.
.. it’s only because I had no idea that all of that—combined with the fact that I no longer have the company to hide behind and bury myself in work—is turning out to be the real version of hell.
I haven’t set foot in Montgomery Clifford since the whole debacle, also known as the day I “resigned.” Jonathan has been representing me as the major shareholder in every relevant decision. I simply can’t bring myself to walk in as a mere spectator after running the entire show for all those years.
I park in front of Alicia’s school and wait for her to come out.
This has become my only real occupation these past few months. I pick her up and drop her off at school Monday through Friday.
Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are for ballet, and twice a month, on Saturdays, she chooses a place for us to go together, and she always brings a friend, as if the idea of being alone with me is too much.
Ethan doesn’t come with her anymore either.
Alicia hasn’t wanted to spend a single weekend with me, and I could understand it when I was staying in a suite at The Ritz-Carlton. But it’s been almost a month since I moved into the penthouse. And nothing has changed.
I’m giving them all the time they need, and I’m trying to be present in every way I can. But it’s hard. Unbearably hard.
I’ve only seen Ethan in passing these last few months. He even blocked me on social media.
I learned he’d been accepted into every college he applied to because Ceci sent me a text telling me and attached a picture of the three letters lined up side by side. Yale wasn’t one of them, but I expected that. He wouldn’t choose anything that ties him back to me.
Alicia always keeps her guard up around me, but at least I’ve managed to get her to talk a little more.
Which means I’ve spent hours listening to her new favorite songs and researching random facts about the band members just so we’d have a topic she wouldn’t shut down right away.
Rock bottom hit this past week, when I sat through the entire first season of a Korean show—or a K-drama, as Alicia and her friends call it—because she and her friend Khara wouldn’t stop talking about it while I took them out for pizza on Saturday.
And the moment I got home, I pulled up whichever streaming service had it and finished the season in two days.
It was, by far, the worst thing I’ve ever watched in my life.
People blushing just from making eye contact, every minor misunderstanding snowballing in seconds, characters throwing punches and slaps for no reason at all.
And don’t even get me started on the ridiculous drawn-out effects every time the female lead sees the male lead walking toward her.
If someone had told me months ago that I’d ever watch something like that... I would’ve sued the poor bastard for defamation.
Now I’m the poor bastard.
I’ll never forget Alicia’s reaction when I told her I watched the show.
“You? You watched it?” she said in the most incredulous tone possible.
When I shared my first impressions, she kept staring at me.
“I can’t believe you actually watched it, Da—” She cut herself off before saying Dad, her smile fading, and my stomach sank.
But I didn’t let the moment drag on. I said, “I just didn’t understand why everyone keeps slapping each other for no reason.”
She smiled and spent the next twenty minutes explaining the plot to me as if I were the dumbest man alive. But she soon went back to staring out the window until I dropped her off at school.
And to think there was a time when Alicia had so much to tell me, so much to share, that I could barely keep up with her excitement most days. Back then, I used to feel overwhelmed. Now I’d give anything just to hear her ramble about something she loves.
My birthday was two weeks ago. April 30th. Forty-four years old, and nothing to celebrate.
Oliver was the first to wish me a happy birthday and offered to grab a drink that evening, but I refused. I preferred to be alone.
Harper called. Jonathan sent a text. My parents had a bottle of Rémy Martin Louis XIII Black Pearl delivered, along with a card that was probably written by the butler.
I handed it to one of the women who manages the upkeep of the penthouse.
And Alicia... That day, after I dropped her off from ballet in the late afternoon, she hesitated before getting out of the car and said,
“Mom mentioned this morning that it’s your birthday.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, my voice thick with emotion.
Without looking at me, she whispered, “Happy birthday,” and stepped out of the car, without once meeting my eyes.
And that was it. The only gift I got from my daughter was a sentence she couldn’t even bear to look at me for.
Alicia used to have a surprise for me every single year and never forgot my birthday. But if mentioning Ceci was the way she found to bring it up... then that was her bridge. And I was grateful for it. Grateful that Ceci remembered and grateful that Alicia mentioned it at all.
The passenger door opens, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Alicia climbs in and grumbles a barely audible “Hi,” without looking at me.
“Hi, honey,” I say, my voice gentle. “Did you have a good day at school?”
She gives me a rather uninterested answer and puts on her favorite playlist to play in the car. The rest of the ride passes wordlessly.
When I pull up in front of Ceci’s house, I place my hand on Alicia’s shoulder before she can get out.
“Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?”
Alicia looks at me, then down at her hand resting on the car door handle.
“I haven’t figured out what I want for my birthday... but one of the girls at school was saying it’d be cool if, instead of getting something for me, I gave something to places that need it more.”
She stares through the windshield.
“I’m gonna look into it later and see what I find.”
“Yes, yes—of course,” I reply, far too eagerly.
She says goodbye, opens the door, and steps out. But before she closes it, she leans back inside and says:
“If you’re really gonna keep doing this beard thing, you should at least go to a barber. A little more and you’re gonna look like that guy from the movie Mom likes. The one who gets stuck on an island.”
She laughs at her own joke, shuts the door, and runs toward the front entrance.
She laughed. Alicia laughed with me. Well… she laughed at me, but who cares.
Smiling to myself, I tilt the rearview mirror and run a hand over my beard. It’s definitely nowhere near the one Tom Hanks had in that movie... But she’s right. I need to do something about it. Later, though. There’s something more important I need to do first.
I grab my phone and set a reminder to research shelters.
Tomorrow I’ll have something new to talk about with Alicia—something that isn’t that terrible show—and I can donate to every place she wants and even a few more.
Anything, really, if it means giving her one more reason to look at me… or to smile.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I see a new text.
Oliver: Where are you? I stopped by your building and the doorman said you’re not home. Isn’t the unemployed guy supposed to spend the day sleeping on the couch?
“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” I mutter to the empty car.
Me: On my way. Just dropped Alicia off.
Before I pull out of the driveway, I see Ethan driving up in Ceci’s old car. He lowers the window, types something into the keypad, and the garage door opens. He drives inside. The door shuts behind him. He doesn’t look at me.
I know he saw me. There’s no way you can miss a graphite Range Rover Sport parked right in front of your house. And I know he knows it’s me, I’ve been driving this car for three months.
I got rid of the other three: the sporty one, the exclusive one, the vintage one—all the models I used to drive before. I didn’t want anything that reminded me of my worst choices, of who I gave rides to, or of the things I did in those cars.
With my chest tightening at being dismissed so coldly by my own boy, I shift into reverse and pull away from their house.
I hand Oliver the whiskey and take the armchair across from him, sipping my lime tonic water.
“Along with the vow of chastity, did you also cut out alcohol, Mr. Montgomery?” Oliver asks, his tone pure mockery.
“You’re exhausting. I honestly don’t know how Felicity has put up with you all these years. I see you for a few hours a month and sometimes that’s already too much.”
“Nonsense. You adore me. That’s why you always let me in when I show up for my charity visit to New York City’s least eligible bachelor.”
He waves a hand, and I glare at him.
Oliver takes another sip of whiskey and continues, “Felicity loves me. The same way I can’t live without her, she can’t live without me. And besides—” he winks, “I have my... talents.”
“Spare me your happily-ever-after and whatever goes on in your bedroom.”
We just sit there for a while.
“How are things with the kids... and with Cecily?”
I open my eyes and straighten at the seriousness in his voice.
“I’ve only seen Ceci once since the divorce. When I told her I’d bought this penthouse. We talk on the phone sometimes if there’s something about the kids that needs to be handled. Mostly, we text.”
I hesitate, remembering what it felt like to see her that day.
“She’s blooming, Oliver. It’s like being without me is... good for her. Like she’s getting ready to become the best version of herself... one that doesn’t include me.” A breath catches in my throat. “She looks more beautiful every day.”