Chapter 6 Neil #5
“Good morning, Neil,” she greeted me calmly, leaning against the kitchen counter. She was drinking coffee; I could smell it in the air.
“Hey,” I answered, unenthused, taking a few steps into the confined space. The woman gave me a faint smile but never stopped evaluating me with her eyes.
“Selene texted me last night to let me know that you were here,” she told me, clearing the sleepiness from her throat. “What are you doing awake so early?” she went on curiously.
I remained where I was, motionless, while her eyes swept down my body in analysis.
It was one of the rare times when a woman looked at me not with admiration but with caution and perhaps a little bit of anxiety.
“I always get up at dawn,” I answered, glancing down at the stool before looking back at her.
Ms. Martin furrowed her brow. “Make yourself at home. Would you like something for breakfast?” she asked courteously. I sat down on the stool, crooking one knee and letting the other leg stretch out.
“Just a coffee, no sugar,” I answered.
“You’re not having anything to eat?” She grabbed a clean cup and poured some coffee into it, settling it on a little porcelain saucer. Then she approached and handed it gently to me.
“No,” I answered flatly. I was a man of few words.
Actually, I was uncomfortable. It wasn’t my habit to spend the night in strange places or to sleep in a bed other than my own. But my compulsion to see Babygirl was forcing me to do the craziest things.
“Somebody told me you really like cherry pie, though. Would you like a piece?” she offered, and I knew there was only one person who could have reported that information to her: Selene.
I smiled at the thought.
So she talked about me to her mother, then.
What the hell kind of situation had I gotten myself into?
Not waiting for an answer, Ms. Martin started cutting the pie into slices and gave one to me. I thanked her quietly and just drank the coffee, ignoring the sweet treat.
I was a creature of habit, and if my breakfast didn’t typically include any fucking pie, I wasn’t going to eat it then.
She clocked my resistance but said nothing.
I was positive she could see how agitated I was.
I had never crossed so many boundaries with a woman before, never entered into her life or eaten breakfast with her mother.
I had broken too many rules with Selene; I was absolutely fucked.
“At least try a bite,” Ms. Martin insisted, with a knowing smile, but I just took another sip of coffee.
“No, thank you. I’m good with this,” I answered frostily, and only then did I dwell on her the way she had on me: She was standing far away from me and nervously tapping her own porcelain cup with one finger.
“How’s school going?” she asked me abruptly, and there seemed to be a certain disquiet in the tone of her voice. After all, I had always been good at feeling out a woman’s emotions, understanding her intentions, and intuiting her thoughts; Judith Martin would be no exception to my sixth sense.
“Good. I’m getting ready to graduate,” I answered without breaking her cold gaze. She just continued to sip her coffee with both an innate elegance and a hint of agitation.
Wary, I continued to stare intensely at her.
“And after graduation? What are your plans then?” she volleyed back, and again, I got the feeling that I was being carefully assessed.
I could feel the pressure, not so much from the questions she was asking but from the detached way in which she asked them.
I recalled that I’d already told her about my desire to be an architect, so it felt pointless to have that conversation again, but I felt compelled to do so, nevertheless.
“Like I told you a while ago, I’m studying architecture. Recently, I was offered an internship in Chicago, and I think I’m going to take it,” I answered, almost testily. I wasn’t hiding how uncomfortable I was, and she could no doubt see my changing mood.
Talking about the future brought back all the fears I tried so hard to chase away.
I knew perfectly well that society at large would not accept a person like me with a shitty character and a disturbed personality.
How was I supposed to work with other people when I was still trying to find an equilibrium within myself?
How could I attempt to be a normal man when I couldn’t even accept myself?
“I’m glad to hear that. You should chase your dreams,” she commented, putting her cup down on the counter.
Then, she looked at me, letting out a heavy sigh.
“On that note, Neil…” she began, sounding a bit more certain.
“I want my daughter to finish college as well. I want her to achieve her goals and start her teaching career, which is something she’s dreamed about since she was just a little girl,” she continued firmly, walking over to the kitchen island.
I looked down and forced myself to stay seated, though I didn’t like her tone one bit.
“Every woman falls for a guy like you when she’s in her twenties,” she added, watching me carefully.
“And you know, don’t you, that this kind of story—the kind of story you two are living right now—is a short story, right?
” she asked sharply, but she didn’t wait for me to answer.
“Selene has always been a smart, principled, and, most of all, level-headed girl. But I don’t recognize that girl now.
She’s lost her mind over you, and it’s not good for her. ” She gave me a long, severe look.
I had sensed right away that Selene’s mother wanted to have this talk with me face-to-face, to bore me in person with some fucking harangue that felt completely unacceptable.
“What are you trying to say?” I tried to cut to the chase because I couldn’t stand all the pussyfooting around.
“Take a look at yourself, Neil. You could get any woman you want. You think I don’t know what happens here when the two of you are alone?
” She shook her head. I did not feel the need to confirm that I was fucking her daughter.
“Lately, Selene seems sad, lost in thought, or distracted all the time. I’ve seen marks on her body…
” She shot a frosty glance at me and went on.
“I have no doubt that the things you do together are consensual, but on your part at least, I don’t see any respect toward her,” she said with an accusing frown.
Was she seriously trying to tell me how I ought to be fucking her daughter?
I managed not to laugh right in her face, but it was a close thing.
Ms. Martin picked up on that and seemed even more unsettled than before. Maybe she thought of her daughter as young, but she couldn’t have thought of me like that. In terms of experience alone, I was far ahead of my peers and surpassed even some much older men.
“Are you telling me that I should take a more…timid approach with your daughter?” I tried not to use more vulgar terms to avoid upsetting her even more.
She reddened slightly, displaying the same discomfort that Selene showed whenever we had similar conversations.
The difference was, she stood firm in that moment and tried to push back at me.
“No, I’m sure you know best how to handle those situations. I’m only asking you to try to show a little respect,” she clarified.
What Ms. Martin didn’t understand, though, was that the way I handled myself with women was an essential part of me, of my personality. Every man had his habits and preferences, and he couldn’t simply alter them to please someone else.
I was no different.
“I don’t want to get into details, Ms. Martin, so let’s suffice it to say that what you are calling a lack of respect is something your daughter enjoys quite a bit,” I told her evenly.
I didn’t feel remotely guilty about the shocked expression that appeared on her face.
She’d been the one who decided to stick her nose where it didn’t belong; it was only right that she found this stuff out.
“She’s not a little girl anymore…” I went on, in a tone that made it clear that I knew sides of Selene that she could never even imagine.
I went back to drinking my coffee, which tasted somehow more bitter than before. Or maybe it was just this conversation that was bitter.
“I won’t keep Selene from seeing you, but if you do care about her, you need to let her go, Neil.
What’s going to happen when you go away to Chicago?
She won’t be able to follow you. She won’t be able to leave her school or…
” Her lip trembled, and her gaze dropped.
Then she looked back up at me and said, with an almost frightening strength, “Me.”
She took a breath and went on: “Please don’t hate me. I am her mother, and I have to protect her,” she said in a placating tone, and I gave her a sideways smile that made her frown.
I understood Judith’s little speech perfectly: She wanted what was best for her daughter, and the best was obviously not me.
She had to protect Selene, yes. Protect her from me.
I wasn’t surprised by anything she had just said to me, and it was all completely understandable.
She didn’t like me; she had never liked me, in fact, and deep down, I’d always known it.
The only thing I couldn’t understand was why she’d waited so long to tell me.
Instead, she had lied to me. She’d put on a little performance last time when we talked about art in her living room, and that was something I couldn’t stand in a person: lying and hypocrisy.
All at once, I got to my feet, and she tilted her head back to look up at me before taking a step back. I stared at her, serious and blank, determined to intimidate her and make it impossible for her to see what was going on inside my head.
Ms. Martin looked to me like she was having some trouble.
I rounded the kitchen island with my usual self-assured air and approached her. When I got close enough, I stopped and searched her face carefully. She didn’t flinch, though.
Instead, she swallowed and waited for me to speak.