14. Despicable
CHAPTER 14
Despicable
Today will be good. I know that because it doesn’t take much to put Mace to sleep. My head drops to the couch, and I place a hand on Mace’s rocking chair. Footsteps pound against the floor, growing louder as the person nears me. I keep my eyes closed as Amelia plops down on the couch. She nudges me with a knee, but I squeeze my eyes tighter. Maybe she will take the hint and leave me be for today because, God help me, I don’t have the energy to argue.
“There’s a new post from the same guy,” she says. I ignore her. “You should reply, Cathie.”
A few days ago, someone by the name of Calum Dissick created an account on BC. What are the odds it’s the same man I knew? Zero. His profile picture is a landscape picture, but his username is a mix of his first and last name. Nothing to worry or think about. It can’t be him.
What caught the staff’s attention was his first post. It was long. The longest post from any of the guys. It’s common with GC, but for a guy to break the two-thousand-word limit? So the staff joked about it until Amelia heard about it. Now she’s convinced it’s Calum. Because she’s convinced it’s him, I’ve decided against reading it. He’s many, many months too late.
“You should block him,” I mumble.
My eyes open. The first place they go is Mace’s rocking chair. It’s empty. My heart skips. I look down, and my body sags. Mace is cradled in my arms. I never put him inside the chair.
Oblivious to my misery, Amelia says, “We can’t block a premium subscriber. And he’s nice. He’s always gifting the other guys.”
I stand up without looking at her. If she cares so much about this Calum, maybe she should answer him. “We can do without one more premium subscriber.”
“Just reply, Cathie,” Amelia says. I look back, and she folds her leg under her. Gesticulating with her hand, she says, “At least read the letters. We both know they are directed to you.”
“You don’t know that for sure. Don’t you have to prepare for your trip, Amelia?”
Amelia rolls her eyes and grabs the foldable rocking chair. I don’t let her pry Mace off me. I’m not interested in whatever she wants to say about this matter. I have moved on.
“How many Calum Dissick use the word superstar? How many Calum Dissick was in love with his stepsister? How many Calum Dissick lost contact with the same stepsister?” she whisper-yells. I place a hand on Mace’s lower back and the action provides me a little comfort. She rambles on in Mr Dissick’s defence. I need her to go away. “How many Calum Dissick knows a girl who loves to dip her chips in ice-cream? Or created a playlist for her?”
If it was really him, and he wanted a reply from me, he would have begun his letter with a long overdue explanation and an apology. It was hard, but now, I’m fine with his absence.
“I don’t know. Stop asking me.” I pause to take a deep breath. Amelia stands akimbo, her disappointment so thick in the air I can almost touch and taste it. I don’t care about him anymore. “The world is big, Amelia. It might be another person. Just drop the topic, please.”
Brown eyes narrow. She needs to mind her non-boyfriend. If she knows so much about love and reconciliation, she should accept Jason’s proposal to be his girlfriend. She likes the man.
“I think we should travel,” Amelia mutters. My God. I rush up the stairs while she’s still talking, but she follows. “We don’t need to be at the office as much. We deserve a break.”
We do. We have worked so hard, and both platforms are doing fine on their own now. We are not billionaires, but we will never have to worry about funds or investors if we maintain this momentum.
“Where should we go?” I ask. Mace’s breathing calms me. He has been sleeping a lot since he started teething. My boy has never been on a plane. This can be our first rodeo together.
In front of my room, she says, “New York City.”
“Very funny, Amelia,” I reply and shut the door in her face. Inside, I lower Mace to his crib. He stirs, his arms and feet shoot up, then they settle back on the bed. “Good boy, Macey.”
The door opens sooner than I hoped. It’s too late to take refuge in the bathroom. The guts of her to suggest NYC. She sits on my bed without an invitation and drops a pillow on her legs.
“Did you ever consider that Calum’s abrupt departure and the circumstances of Mace’s premature birth affected you in ways you didn’t address?” Amelia asks. Her gaze remains on the pillow. Of course she would enter my room to spew such nonsense without looking me in the eye. “It’s been over a year, Cathie. Maybe, just maybe, you need professional help?”
“Did you ever consider that maybe, just maybe, you need to learn to shut the fuck up?” I tell her. She scoffs, finally looking up to meet my gaze. I release a breath. “I’m fine. Seriously, Amelia. I don’t listen to Mace’s heart every day. I even sang to the chorus of Calum’s song.”
“And you deleted your account right after.”
“Not everyone wants to be on social media, okay?” I reply.
Though that’s not the main reason. I can’t tell anyone why I did it. Amelia folds her arms on the pillow. She is not letting this go so easily. I need a nap. I glare at her, but she stares back with the same viciousness. She’s such a handful. At this rate, she will drive me crazy.
“Why did you delete the account, Cathie?”
A sigh jumps out of my lips. I pinch the bridge of my nose, stalk to my windows, and fling the curtains open. “Amelia Greene, I told you. Not everyone wants to be on social media.”
“So, you didn’t delete it because of your man-phobia? You’re not heartbroken?”
Standing in front of the window, I count until twenty-five. I dare not look back as I tell her, “No, I don’t have a man-phobia. I am not scared of men. I don’t hate men. I. Am. Fine.”
Amelia’s voice sounds closer when she says, “What’s Jason’s last name?”
I spin on my heel. She’s in front of me. Her question is stupid. This conversation is dumb.
“What?”
“What does Jason do?”
My mouth gapes open. “What?”
“That man has been coming here, teaching you how to play the guitar, making playlists for your son, and you don’t even know anything about him. Nothing. No single thing, Cathie,” she says. Her finger juts out, poking my chest. I slap her hand off me. Her jaw clenches, but she keeps her hand to herself. “You choose not to interact with him because he’s a man.”
This is why we don’t need men. We have been living fine without one, and now he’s in her life, she thinks I have a fear of men. The world doesn’t revolve around men.
“Did Jason put you up to this?” I ask in a polite whisper, keeping my voice down because of Mace. I step forward, and Amelia backs away. “He was the one who told you I deleted my TikTok account, right? That bloody wanker. I should never have let him into the house. I—”
Amelia groans. “This isn’t about you, Cathie. Your decisions also affect Mace.”
“You need to stop talking, Amelia.”
Why now? Why today? Why does it bother her so much now? My chest rises and falls. She tries to touch my shoulders, but I stop her with a glare. Her fingertips massage her forehead.
“Even if you don’t do it for yourself, do it for Mace,” she begs. I am doing it for him. He didn’t want me. Why would he want Mace? I tap a finger to my temple and sigh. But she’s not done talking. “Calum is missing out on his son’s firsts because of you, Cathie. Mace is missing out on a father-son experience because of you. You had your dad growing up. Mace also deserves a chance with his father. But you are standing in the way of that, Mama Mace.”
My world stops. Tears rush to my eyes, and my heart cracks into plenty pieces. I point to the door, pushing her towards it with unnecessary force. She has chosen her side, and that’s fine.
“Get out,” I tell her. Amelia doesn’t move. If I had my way, that man would never set his eyes on my son. He deserves no part in Mace’s life. He and his silly letters can go burn in hell. My hand clamps down on her wrist, but she refuses to budge. Anger and hurt mix, building to the point they cloud my judgment and vision. “Get out, you despicable being.”
A soft gasp escapes Amelia, and she yanks her hand from my grip. I think I broke her heart, but she broke mine first. She points a crooked finger at her chest, her head shaking slowly.
“I’m despicable?” she whispers. “You’re the one hiding your son from his father, Cathie.”
“And I intend to keep it that way,” I say with conviction. My chin shoots out, my shoulders square. I will not be swayed on this. “Just you watch and wait until Jason knocks you up and leaves, then we will see if you can be so smug or talk about men and how awesome they are.”
“Not everyone is like Calum, and he didn’t know about Mace before he left.” My head moves to the right, then the left. I press two fingers to my temples, moving them in slow circles. Mr Dissick would not have stayed, even for Mace. That’s what she fails to understand. “And we don’t even know the full story. If he wanted to move on, he wouldn’t be trying to contact you. He left his number because he wants you to reach out to him. So, get over yourself and call him. Mace deserves to know his father. A child needs both parents. His mum and dad.”
The tiredness that eats at me is soul-deep. I’m so exhausted.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what it is to lose someone.”
“I don’t?” she says. Her eyes cloud with tears. “You think you’re the only one who has lost someone? I lost my best friend. I lost you.” Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her cheeks. “ Who are you ? You’re not my Cathie. You are a shadow. A colourless fake.” My mouth opens and closes. But she’s not finished. “You don’t even dye your hair anymore.”
“Shut up.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. I have a feeling she’s done pampering me. “You shut up.”
“Amelia,” I whisper.
My best friend of a decade and more covers the distance and grabs my shoulders. Looking me in the eye, Amelia shakes me. “Live, Cathie. Catherine Jenkins, I command you to live.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate this version of you,” she fires back at me. “Give me back my best friend, please ?” Her hands drop, and she sniffs. “What about me? There was me before C, there was me during C, and now, there’s me after C. Why won’t you live for me, Catherine? I’m your best friend.”
My mind blanks. I stop thinking and shove her. “Get out. I said, get out of my room.”
Amelia stumbles and falls. She hugs her knees to her chest, her expression so devastatingly sad like she can’t believe I pushed her. I can’t believe it, too. I want to offer her my hand, but I’m too consumed by anger to stretch it out. I rush to the bathroom and slide down the door.
Her cries ring out from the other side, breaking my heart. I’m not a bad person, I swear. Mr Dissick is the bad guy in this story, and even in his absence, he makes it look like my fault.
Moments later, I exit the bathroom. Amelia is gone like I wished, but seeing the spot where she once sat twists my belly. I disagree with her. I’ve been living. Where did that come from? I’m still her best friend, and I’ll not lose my best friend over a man who doesn’t care.
I stop beside Mace’s crib. “Mama is right, right?” I pinch his chubby cheek softly. He is my world. I can’t share him. “You don’t want that man in your life, right? What will Mama do?”
Mace’s silence hovers in the air. I drag myself out of the room and towards Amelia’s room. Her door is locked. I don’t know what I’ll say to her. She’s asking for too much. I knock.
“Go away, Cathie. I don’t want to talk to you,” she says. We have never fought, not to this extent. “And if you think I’m despicable, maybe we shouldn’t be hanging around each other.”
I bang on her door. “I didn’t mean that. Open up, Amelia Greene. Please, let’s talk.”
Silence.
“Okay, I’ll call him.”
Silence.
“Fine.” I settle down in front of her door. “I’ll just sit here until you open up.”
Thirty minutes roll by, a few more minutes pass, and the door doesn’t open. Defeated, I stand and knock again. “I’m sorry. Please open the door. I’m still your Cathie, Amelia Greene.”
But the silence is thicker and stronger than ever. I return to my room and sit on the bed. There is only one way to earn her forgiveness. A tear drops to my forearm, then another. I don’t want to do it, but I grab my phone and open the BC app. Calum’s post is at the top. It’s short.
Hey Superstar,
I miss you so much it hurts. We need to talk. There’s so much I have to say to you. I’m adding my number to this post. The missing digits are your day and month of birth. Call or text me. Or maybe both? We have so much to catch up on. Just call me. Text me. Anything. Talk to me.
Why did so many people upvote the post? If they had downvoted or reported it as a spam, it would never have been discovered. Mr Dissick has a lot of nerves thinking I would spend my time waiting on him. My gaze drops to the number at the bottom of the post. There are four asterisks within the phone number. I copy out the number and replace the asterisks with 1402.
I’m doing it for Amelia, not him.