15. FIFTEEN
FIFTEEN
CORY
Judging by the clock on the wall, I’d been in the kitchen for all of an hour, and my mother had managed to make me feel smaller than I’d felt in years. Each little backhanded compliment and subtle jab ate away at me, shredding through my confidence and self-worth as if they were nothing more than tissue paper.
“That gown is quite something, Cordelia,” a woman whose name I didn’t know, but was probably expected to, stated. “You’d never catch me wearing that shade of red, but it’s great that you feel comfortable enough to do it. Annette raised you with so much confidence.”
My grip tightened around my glass. I wanted to hurl it at the wall next to the woman’s head and watch it rain tiny shards of glass into her perfectly coiffed hair.
Barbara piped up, smiling at me. “You look well, though! I see you’ve added some more doodles to yourself since the last time I saw you.” Then she glanced at my mother, her expression turning serious. “It’s a shame. ”
“I know. She used to be such a beautiful girl.” Annette placed a hand at the base of her throat, like the thought choked her up.
I pressed my lips together tightly before releasing them with a pop. “They’re called tattoos, Barbara, and yeah, I have. I actually own my own tattoo shop now. Maybe you’ll let me doodle on you some time.”
No one laughed or spoke for several moments, and then Monique glanced at my mother. “You didn’t tell us she opened a tattoo shop, Annette.”
My mother glared daggers at me, and then looked to her “friends.” I waited to see how she was going to patch that one up.
“That’s because it’s hardly worth mentioning. It’s just a phase. She’ll outgrow it soon enough and then be back to dancing. I’ve already reached out to a handful of companies.”
She what ? I had been wanting Garrett to be with me up until this moment. Now, I hoped he stayed far away because I was going to commit murder.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Cordelia! You don’t want to get wrapped up in that kind of business. Besides, you were such a wonderful dancer! So talented,” Mary said, hardly glancing at where I stood visibly seething.
“But do you think they’d even let her dance with what she’s done to her body?”
I sincerely hoped Barbara choked on her wine.
Annette waved a hand and continued speaking as if I wasn’t in the room. “I would hope not! No respectable place would, but that’s what laser removal is for. It’s quite the process but my dermatologist says he knows the most wonderful tech—”
“Like hell I will.”
My voice was ice even as my blood was boiling.
Everyone turned to stare at me, mouths agape to various severities. I hardly saw them though, my gaze pinned to my mother.
“Excuse me, Cordelia?” The words left her lips clipped, and in a pitchy tone. Think Umbridge from Harry Potter and you’ve just about nailed it.
“Sure, I can repeat myself.” I leaned forward, setting my drink down and pressing my palms flat against the granite before shouting, “I said, like fuck I will!”
Voices from outside the kitchen quieted, and a few heads popped in to see what was going on. Mary looked like she was going to faint at my profanity, and from the look on Monique’s face you would have sworn I had just spit on the Pope.
Through wide eyes and tight lips, my mother let some of her anger slip through her carefully constructed facade. “Cordelia Elizabeth Eastwood, you will mind your manners!”
I scoffed. “Like how you all were minding yours?” I chuckled humorlessly. “No, you know what? I’ve taken enough of your shit for one night. Let’s get a few things perfectly fucking clear. My shop is not some “phase.” I am never getting my tattoos removed, and I am never, ever going to dance again. I’d sooner chop off my own legs than do ballet. I am done with your superiority complex and the manipulative bullshit you try to pass off as caring. You’re so ashamed of me and my life, then get out of it! Don’t text me, don’t call me, don’t stop by my damn house. I’m done with you. So you can, and I mean this as disrespectfully as possible, go fuck yourself.”
A crowd had gathered and balked in stunned silence, and maybe I’d feel embarrassed about this outburst tomorrow, though I highly doubted it, but I didn’t have it in me then. I spun to find my father looking back and forth between me and his wife, warring looks of anger, embarrassment, and disappointment on his face.
Over his shoulder I spotted Garrett, who was pushing through the onlookers to get to me, concern creasing his features.
I started toward him but stopped as I passed my father. I might as well get it all out while I had the floor.
“And you? You can go fuck yourself, too. Maybe it’s because you’ve never been around enough to give two shits about how she treats me, maybe your head is just too far up your own ass to notice, or maybe you just don’t give a shit, but either way you’re just as bad as her.”
I waited only a moment to see if he’d respond, but he didn’t. He never did.
Garrett held his hand out, and I threaded my fingers through his, letting him tug me toward the front door.
“Cordelia! Cordelia!” My mother’s shouts echoed behind us as she started cutting through her guests to get to me.
We stopped and faced her, rage twisting her features. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t make it past her lips before Garrett cut her off.
“I think you’ve said more than enough. We’re leaving, and I suggest you listen to your daughter and leave her alone or I’ll help her file the restraining order myself.” His tone was polite enough, but there was an edge to it that felt sharp enough to draw blood.
With that, we left, leaving my mother and all her precious guests behind.
“Are you all right?” he bent down to whisper to me once we were outside.
I just shook my head. I would never shed another tear in this house. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, but gods did I want to.
Already my soul felt smaller, dimmer, and bruised. Annette wasn’t a violent woman, except for the one time when I told her I would be declining Julliard’s offer. She had slapped me across the face then, but other than that, she had never laid a hand on me. Yet, every time I left that house, I felt beaten down. Always expecting her brand of psychological warfare didn’t help. No matter how equipped I thought I was going into any interaction with her, no matter how guarded and detached I was, she always managed to land a blow.
I was so tired of letting her hurt me.
Silence hung in the air around Garrett and I as we waited for the valet to bring his truck around. The intermittent chirp of crickets sang loudly over the steady buzz of cicadas. A gust of wind rustled the leaves on the trees, and the muffled sounds of the party continuing on inside filtered through the door.
I couldn’t look at Garrett, and he didn’t try to get my attention. It was like he could tell that if he pushed the topic, I’d crumble.
When the red of his truck came into view, we moved to meet the driver. The same man who opened my door for me when we arrived, did so again, and if either man noticed the tension radiating off of us, they were professional enough not to say anything.
Garrett pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the freeway. Meanwhile I stared out the window, mentally spiraling.
The conversation in the kitchen was running on a loop in my head. All those women, who so eagerly jumped at the opportunity to throw cruel words about me around, like I wasn’t standing right there beside them. My mother who stood by and encouraged their torment of her only daughter. I’d get over the viciousness of the evening eventually, that nameless woman was right when she remarked on my confidence. But what I couldn’t shake was how my mother was still attempting to take the direction of my life into her hands. Talking to her dermatologist about tattoo removal? Contacting ballet companies? How long had she been trying to run my life behind my back? Did she ever even stop?
I didn’t realize we’d pulled into my driveway until I felt Garrett turn toward me on the bench.
“Do you want to talk?” His voice was gentle and smooth, like warm honey.
I steeled myself to make eye contact, but when I lifted my gaze to his eyes, eyes that reflected so much compassion and sincerity, I felt the hot prick of tears sting in my own.
I inhaled a shaky breath and cursed. “I don’t think I can talk without crying at the moment.”
Wordlessly, he reached down under the bench seat and pulled out a box of tissues.
A short laugh escaped my lips in a rush. “You cry in your truck often?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s called allergies, and you just look like you’re about to have a bad allergy day. The pollen count is quite high today.”
This man.
I snagged a tissue through another laugh, and we sat in silence for a moment as I thought about what to say to him.
“When I was little, I genuinely thought my mother loved me. Like, loved me. She was the one to take me to dance twice a week after school, and sometimes after we’d get some fudge from the store across the street. She’d help me with the routines at home, and she never missed a recital. Not one. When I moved to pointe, she would massage my feet because they used to hurt so badly sometimes. That’s when I really started hating ballet. I mean, those shoes are literal torture devices. My feet used to be so raw and blistered that I never wanted to wear actual shoes. I would’ve quit so much sooner, but I loved having her attention.”
Garrett listened quietly, his eyes offering encouragement to continue.
“She was always so busy with the country club and her committees, but when it came to dancing, I got her full, undivided attention. And the way she talked about me, she always sounded so proud. It was when I eventually told her that I wanted to quit ballet that I realized her love was only ever conditional. She loved me because I did ballet, and having a daughter who was good at dance gave her something she could brag about to her friends. When I no longer wanted to do it, she no longer wanted anything to do with me.”
I twisted the tissue between my fingers. “That was really when all of it started. It wasn’t even the tattoos, but that definitely made it worse. So much worse. God, the day I came home with my first, she was so mad she couldn’t even look at me. I don’t think she so much as glanced at me for a whole week. Everything I’ve done since has only soured our relationship more. I knew she’d be upset when I quit dancing and turned down Julliard, but I never thought it’d be possible for my own mother to look at me and not love me even a little bit.”
I sniffle and look up at him, the tears I’d been desperately trying to hold back finally spilling down my cheeks. “But even if I’d known then that this is what it would come to, it wouldn’t have changed anything. The shoes she wanted me to fill for her hurt so much worse than any pointe shoe ever could.”
“Come here.” He held his arms out to me, and I slid across the bench, letting him hold me as I released ugly sobs into his tux. He smoothed my hair back with his hand, quietly shushing me, and rested his chin against the top of my head.
Both hatred and love for this moment flooded through me. I hated being weak in front of him. Hated that he was watching me fall apart at the hands of my mother, and hated that I no doubt looked like an absolute mess doing it. But in almost equal parts I loved that he was here, holding me, and that I wasn’t alone. He made all the breaking inside feel gentler, and a little less permanent. As if my heart was still getting hit by a hammer, but through a pillow to soften its blow.
Eventually, my crying stopped, but he continued to hold me. When I finally tilted my head back to look at him, his face was so close to mine, the various shades of blue in his irises highlighted by streaks of gold and green, his breath washing over my face as his chest rose and fell steadily. Everything about the expression on his face said he wanted to kiss me, and every part of me wanted to let him.
I don’t know which of us moved closer, but when his lips ghosted over mine, I put a hand to his chest and leaned away marginally.
“Garrett, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m still chasing my dreams; I don’t even know where they lead yet. I don’t have time to chase after a man,” I whispered, not fully sure I believed them even as I spoke them.
His thumb and index finger titled my chin up so he could look at me more fully. His voice was equal parts gravel and desperation. “What if he’s okay doing the chasing?”
My heart stuttered in my chest before resuming a frantic rhythm. I let only a moment go by before my lips were on his.
And holy hell was kissing Garrett so much better than I remembered.
Our mouths moved together roughly as we devoured each other, neither of us daring to separate long enough to come up for air. My head was spinning, my lips searing from the onslaught that was this kiss.
He slid his hand holding my chin around to the base of my neck, and tipped my head back, deepening the kiss on a moan. His other hand circled my waist, and dragged me into his lap, not breaking apart.
His tongue slid along my bottom lip, coaxing my mouth open before claiming me entirely. I shifted, wanting to get as close to him as possible, but I bumped the steering wheel in the process, honking the horn and alerting my neighbors to the two grown adults making out in a car like teenagers.
He pulled away, chuckling, and grabbed my ass in his hands. “I’m going to rip that horn out.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him to me as I fought to catch my breath. “Come inside.”
He used his hand to brush a few stray hairs out of my face, watching the movement. “Sure, but I’m not having sex with you, Cory.”
My heart sank. “What? Why?”
He laughed and trailed kisses along my jaw. “Because the first time we have sex isn’t going to be on the same night you had a massive fight with your mother. It’s going to be a day that’s all our own. ”
I liked that he cared about my emotional state, even if my body didn’t like his answer. “Technically it isn’t our first time.”
“No, I suppose you’re right. But as much fun as the first time was, I want a do-over. I want to go into it with different intentions.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” I laughed.
He looked at me with a serious expression. “Humor me, please.”
I groaned. “Fine.”
He pressed a much gentler kiss to my lips, one that still made my heart race, but in a different way, and then we got out of the truck and walked to the door. We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other in the glow of my porch light, stupid smiles on our faces.
“Do you want to stay the night?” I asked him before quickly adding, “I promise I won’t seduce you. We could watch a movie, or just cuddle or something?”
He threaded his fingers through mine and nodded toward my front door. “I’m putting a wall of pillows between us.”
“That seems unnecessary.”
He pulled our joined hands up, and dropped a kiss to the back of mine. “I promise, it’s not.”