Chapter thirty Damon
Chapter thirty
Damon
Trouble in Paradise?
Andre Gibbs spotted dining without Julie Baker at friend Bruno Almeida’s SoHo bistro.
Julie Baker Struts Red Carpet Sans Rock!
I Want You Back!
Source at Bali shoot says Andre Gibbs texted ex, Kendra Gray, over ten times, hoping to reconcile.
Reader Poll: Andre Gibbs vs. Damon Park
I slam my laptop closed harder than necessary. I fucked up.
When Kendra called to tell me her trip had been moved up, I was already in the hallway outside her apartment.
I needed to talk to her, to hold her until I calmed down.
But not only was she not coming, she wouldn’t be there for over a week.
She was already on her way to the airport, and I was in the middle of the worst ever case of imposter syndrome.
I know I’m good enough for my job. Over time, I’ve accepted my career overseas as good enough.
But when it comes to Kendra, I’m seriously punching above my weight.
So I snapped at her. I stomped my way back down the stairs of her building rather than take the elevator because I had to move, had to leave right then.
When I was no longer seeing red, it was too late; I’d missed her call during her layover, and then she texted me that she needed to focus on her shoot and would hit me up as soon as she got back.
Seems like she’s had time to text with Andre, though.
I kick myself for believing that trash article for even a moment. I blame my short temper and already wounded pride. In my head, I knew Andre was spewing all that garbage just to make me doubt Kendra and me, to make me doubt myself. But in my heart, it worked.
I didn’t make it to the NBA. I am just an assistant coach at a high school.
All of that is true. And because it’s true, even though he cheated on Kendra and was engaged to another woman five seconds ago, he’s beating me three to one in the reader poll.
It’s like Kendra said: he’s everyone’s golden boy.
He was willing to let go of a whole apartment rather than reveal how much of an asshole he really is.
Because I’m a masochist, I reopen my laptop and click to the latest post in my feed.
It’s a retrospective of their relationship, claiming to show how the fire between them never died, even after the divorce.
By the fifth picture of Andre and Kendra mooning at each other, I open my phone and dial Adam.
“You’ve reached Adam Park. Sorry I’m away from my phone right now. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back. Or, you can text me like a normal person.”
I end the call, forgoing a message or text since I just remembered he’s at a cybersecurity conference in Vegas this weekend. I try Noah next.
“This is Noah. You know what to do.”
Shit. I hang up before the beep.
At Thanksgiving last week, Noah said he’s been dealing with on-set drama between his client and the other lead. It’s so bad, apparently, that he almost skipped the holiday completely. Mom would’ve killed him, though.
With wedding planning and an already packed schedule, I don’t even bother calling Henry, Jr, and I worry anything I’d say to Cory would eventually get to Kendra through Denise. They live together now, after all.
My brothers are busy living their lives. My teammates from before were always more coworkers than friends. I doubt Coach Paulson wants to hear about my lady troubles. So who does that leave?
The answer comes to me while heating up leftover sausage dressing and BBQ turkey wings. She answers on the second ring.
“Damon! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Her warm, singsong voice that’s never really lost the Rhode Island accent immediately loosens the knot in the pit of my stomach. She’s got the phone on speaker, and I can hear her stirring something. She’ll know what to say.
“Hey, Mom. Do you have a minute to talk?”
She must be able to tell my mood through the phone, because she moves somewhere quiet—probably the parlor—and takes the phone off speaker to talk with me directly.
“What’s wrong, hun? Is something going on at work? Or with that pretty girlfriend you didn’t bring around for Thanksgiving?”
Her tone is chiding, but I can hear her smile too.
“I told you she had to work. She was so bummed she couldn’t make it.”
She grumbles under her breath, and I can’t help but snicker.
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject, “what does it mean when a woman hangs with you all the time, acts like things are getting serious, but never introduces you to her parents?”
“Well,” she says with a sigh, “it could mean a lot of things. It could mean she doesn’t think you’re serious enough to meet the family. Just because you were willing to invite her, doesn’t mean she was there yet.”
I gulp. That’s the worst-case scenario.
“It could also be because her schedule makes it really tough to coordinate visits with her family. Isn’t she on location right now?”
I nod before realizing she can’t see me.
“Yes, she is.”
“Lastly,” she finishes, “she might not have a good relationship with her family.”
I rub my hand over the back of my head.
“I honestly didn’t think of that,” I admit, embarrassed. “It’s just that her ex and her dad are practically BFFs, and with the ex trying to rekindle things, I feel like he’s definitely got an advantage.”
Mom lets out a distinctly unladylike snort.
“Women don’t often divorce men they’re considering ‘rekindling things’ with. What does Kendra say about all this?”
I wince. Of course she’s going to suggest talking to Kendra. That’s the adult thing to do. But it’s so much easier to obsess over what Kendra might think of me than to have the difficult conversation.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “I haven’t exactly talked to her about it.”
Mom tsks.
“And why the heck not?”
“What if she says she’s not ready?” I nearly whisper, afraid to voice my biggest fear lest it come true. “What if after everything Andre put her through, she’ll never be ready?”
“I assume Andre is the ex-husband?” Mom asks.
“Yes.”
She takes a moment to think before answering.
“Your father and I know plenty of people whose marriages fell apart. It can be devastating, even when the marriage isn’t healthy and ending it was the best thing to do.
It’s like losing a family member, except it’s your marriage.
Most people have to go through a similar grieving process before they’re ready to get back into a relationship. ”
I’m silent, unsure of how to respond. I’ve only been thinking about my side of things, or me versus Andre. Yes, he’s a real piece of work, but she married him. She got in front of friends and family and said “’til death do us part”, stayed with him for four years, and then had to take him to court.
“Do you love her?” Mom asks quietly.
“I do,” I say without hesitation.
“Then talk to her. Talk to her about what you both want.”
“And if she wants the kind of life only Andre could give her?” Just the thought makes my heart squeeze painfully.
“Hmm,” Mom hums, deep in thought. “You know, you were always competitive, even as a little boy. You raced your friends on bikes, worked hard to be the best on the basketball team, and, of course, you competed with your brothers.
“A little sibling rivalry is normal. Healthy even. But you took it to heart. I remember many a night comforting you because you weren’t as smart as Henry, or weren’t as popular as Noah.” Her voice turns serious.
“But you are smart. You are successful. You were paid to play a sport you love for years, and now you’re an assistant coach for a team on its way to the state championships. Shouldn’t that be enough to prove the only person doubting your worth is you?”
I’m stunned speechless. Mom’s always been my biggest cheerleader, the one to see me when I felt invisible most days. She’s never been one to give out tough love; that was Dad’s area. Has she finally reached her limit with me?
“You’re a grown man,” she says sternly. I hear the telltale squeak of the kitchen cabinets, the thump of mixing bowls on the butcher block cutting board. “Maybe it’s time to move past all this childish competition and play your own game.”
I’m still reeling when she disconnects the call; I didn’t even get to say goodbye. First my brothers, now Mom. I’ve never felt so utterly alone. Who’s going to be my cheerleader now?