Chapter Seventeen
Alisha
It's Saturday.
The very day I'm supposed to be meeting up with Methew to tell him the truth.
My hands won't stop shaking and no matter how many times I wipe them on my pants, they're still endlessly damp. My stomach is twisted up in knots, and I honestly feel like I'm going to be sick. I know it's just nerves and that it's no reason to actually call off this get together, but I'm still uncomfortable.
“Just take some control over the situation.” My mom makes it sound so easy, but her words actually spark an idea.
“You're right. What if I tell him I don't want to meet him at his house?” That's a huge part of my discomfort and concern. Going to his house gives him a lot of power over me and being in a place I don’t know will make me uncomfortable and stressed. I worry that that discomfort and stress would cause me to agree to something I wouldn't otherwise. Or to be pressured or bullied into something I don’t want, even.
“I think that's a great idea.” My mother waves a hand at me as if shooing me away in a gesture that tells me to go make the phone call now.
I pick up my phone and dial his number. He's quick to answer and I feel uncomfortable as I speak. “Hey, I was just wondering if we could meet at Club Red instead?”
As I say the words, my mother's head whips around and she stares at me. I can't help but wonder if she's heard Club Red’s reputation or the acts that go on there.
He hesitates and I sense he's not happy with my idea. “Sure, I guess we could.”
The way he slowly says the words makes me think he's trying to figure out a nice way to refuse. “I'd rather meet here if that's a possibility.”
Yep, there it is. Way to prove my point, sir.
“I'm sorry, I don't think it is this time.” I hate to give him any indication that there's a possibility for future visits, but I also don't want to piss him off. In all honesty, I just want to tell him the truth and then not meet with him again. This is just not the kind of news I want to send via text or give over the phone, or I'd have already chosen one of those options.
“Would you mind bumping up the time we meet then?” I have a feeling this is just his way of trying to regain control of the situation.
Honestly, I don't care. None of this is about control for me; I just want to be as comfortable as possible, and that means not meeting him at his house. The time we meet is pretty inconsequential because I know my mom is here to help with my daughter. “Sure.”
“How would meeting in about ten minutes work for you?”
Damn, he moves fast. “I'm pretty sure I can do that.” I run a hand over my messy hair and glance down at my ugly - but comfortable - sweats. I'm nowhere near ready to leave the house, and I'm going to have to hurry up and get dressed and presentable if we’re going to meet up in ten minutes.
“Great.” Something about his flat tone when he says the word tells me it's not great after all and it dawns on me that him pushing me to meet so fast was an attempt to get me to back down and meet at his place instead. I guess he thought getting aggressive would make me go back to the original plan, but that didn't work at all and maybe it even backfired on him.
Serves him right. If he's going to be a pain, he's going to have to deal with the consequences of his choices. I don't appreciate being bullied and him trying to force me is not going to make me do what he wants.
“I'll see you in about ten minutes at Club Red, then.” I reiterate the plan just to make sure he doesn't try to pull a fast one on me, because now I’m kind of expecting that behavior from him given our very recent exchange.
“See you then.” With that, he ends the call. I lower my phone, my mind reeling.
“Are you leaving, Mommy?” I glance up into my daughter’s sad eyes as she stands in my doorway. My heart drops and I feel awful as I stand up and walk over, opening my arms to her. Pulling her into a tight hug, I speak softly and press my lips against the top of her head.
“Just for a little while. It's important. I'm sorry. I do want to make time to do something fun tonight - just the two of us.” I know she's missing our time together between this new job and all my other responsibilities, but things are tough right now - for both of us.
“Okay, Mommy,” she says as my mother guides her into the kitchen with promises of ice cream and Go Fish. My mom winks at me, but even her gesture of support doesn't make me feel better. Am I a bad mom? Clearly my daughter is missing our time together and I'm not making enough time for her or she wouldn't feel so sad that I'm leaving. I don’t know how other parents manage to have full time jobs, but this whole situation is excruciating. Am I making the right decisions, or am I messing my daughter up for life? The questions are heavy... and so is my heart.
Pushing those troubling thoughts aside, I hurry up and get ready for my meeting before rushing out the door. About fifteen minutes have passed when I finally pull up at Club Red, well aware that I'm late but not caring.
Getting out of my car, I lock it up and make my way for the front door. I feel my heart sink to my shoes as I do so. Club Red is the place we met, and the first and last place we ever spent time together until Laurel and Arson’s party, where we again saw each other, a full five years later.
I make my way toward the table he’s at, trying to calm my slamming heart as I sit opposite him.
“Would you like a drink?” As he asks, I swallow hard and nod. Maybe some alcohol will give me the liquid courage I need to tell him the truth I’ve been hiding all these years. This is certainly harder than I expected it to be. For some reason I thought I would just walk right in, sit down across from him, and just tell him he’s a dad.
Instead, I'm sitting here rubbing my damp palms on my pants and trying to stop myself from having a meltdown panic attack - and I don’t even get panic attacks. Why am I so nervous? What's the worst that could happen here? He could try to fight me for custody of a daughter he didn't know existed until now. I can't imagine who would want to, or that anyone could be that cruel.
Maybe he'd be mad that I didn't tell him the truth from the start, but he did get married right after we were together. And the timeline between him and me being together and him getting married was so short I have to wonder if he cheated on his current wife with me, which leaves me feeling icky. I never wanted to be the other woman, and I sure as heck didn't want to split up anybody's relationships.
A moment later someone places a drink in front of me - something tall and fruity - and I take a deep, long drink while he watches, slowly lifting a curious eyebrow.
“Nervous?” he asks in a voice that seems to be designed to get me thinking about our past when he’d spoken in that gravely tone while telling me what to do next. But that voice has the opposite effect on me now; I’m simply not interested, and I find his obvious game playing kind of disgusting. I can't help but wonder if the reason he wanted me to come over to his house was just so that he could get me alone and potentially have his way with me.
“A little bit.” I can't even tell what the drink is; it’s just something fruity that does nothing for the dryness in my throat.
My hands are still trembling, and I press them tightly to my thighs, trying to forget the world around us and gather the courage to tell him.
“I'm really looking forward to meeting you next time at my house.”
I can’t stop the automatic lift curl as disgust floods me at his obvious meaning and intentions. Does he really think after all of this time - and the fact thathe's married - I'd be interested in any kind of interaction with him? And how dare he not assume I'm with someone after seeing me with Charles at the party.
Then again, maybe Charles told him and everyone else the truth, that he'd only taken me because I seemed like the best option at the time. For some reason, that thought hurts, but I push that thought aside to focus on here and now.
“Somehow I don't think your wife would like that.” Do I really need to remind him that he's married to keep him faithful? That makes me wonder how many other times he's cheated on his wife, and I feel awful for her. No woman deserves a man like that running around and cheating on her and trying to proposition other women.
His eyes narrow and I sense he’s frustrated with me. “My wife and I are actually about to divorce.”
I can't help but wonder if he tells that to all the women. But something in his expression and the look in his eyes tells me he might actually be telling the truth, and I feel more disgusted. Is he really trying to forge a relationship with me to replace his wife? Maybe he wants to use me to make her feel jealous and like it's easy for him to find new women when they’re in the midst of a divorce?
Whatever his intentions are, I don't like them, and I don't want to be a part of them.
“Look, Methew, I know we have a history together, but that's not why I met you today.” I need to hurry up and get to the truth of the matter or I'm not going to be able to tell him at all. And with every word he says, I want to speak to him less and less - so the sooner I get this out, the better.
“I think we should try to rekindle that history.”
Derailed once more, I stare at him, wondering if this is the universe’s attempt at a bad joke. Maybe I shouldn't tell him because this man's a walking red flag, and I'm starting to wonder if he would try something just to hurt me where a daughter is concerned.
Just because he's a dad doesn't make him a good person. Just because he has money doesn't make him stable. And just because we shared a night doesn't grant him access to my life.
“I'm sorry, I'm starting to think I shouldn't have come here today.” As I say the words, I feel his hand touch my thigh under the table and I jerk away.
He seems stunned by my sudden movement, and we stare at one another for a moment.
“Just come home with me,” he says finally. “We both know you want to.”
And that's where he's wrong. I don't want to.
As I glance past him at the bar, trying to regain my composure, I see a familiar head of hair and my heart sinks.
Charles is sitting at the bar.
What the heck is going on?