Chapter 22
BABS
Sunday sunlight slants through the living room windows.
Every beam cuts through the gray sadness that clings to me.
The explosive confrontation in the hospital was far worse than I could have imagined.
I knew Dom would be difficult, but the heinous and unnecessary harshness of his words hurt.
The pain is so fresh and lingering that I’ve been worthless today.
Walking around my house, waiting for him to call to bitch me out more, or some angry, aggressive lash out.
The eerie quiet brings flashbacks to the long days spent alone after Violette ran off to New York.
Dom has always required a lot of time to calm down and process things at his own pace, all things that have been told and reinforced to me by various counselors and therapists.
I should know the drill by now.
Yet it still doesn’t protect me from the disappointment settling deep into the same wounds forged from him years ago. Scarred over on the surface but infected at the core. I’ve called him half a dozen times already. Straight to voicemail. Left a few messages.
Now I wait. Wait for him to come around, which could take weeks. Months that one time. I should be used to this and accustomed to being pushed away and ignored. Another thing I did wrong. Another betrayal for him to recover from.
This is my fault. I’m not hiding that fact.
But yesterday I didn’t get a word in. Hollister, raised with good manners and respect for women, jumped to protect me.
That part warms my heart and awakens something in me that hasn’t felt this way in a long time.
Yet as fast as that feeling arises, it’s quickly doused in the gasoline that lit the fire.
Dominic.
All questions and answers start and end with him.
He’s been my constant source of angst, heartbreak, and second-guessing everything in my life related to him. If only I were the mother he needed me to be. If only the professional help we both attended could have trained me to nurture him.
Everything I tried was rebuffed. Many times, I thought it was just too late, too far gone. That all pales in comparison to how I feel now. How damaged we are. Leaving me to wonder, can this even be repaired?
Then there’s Hollister.
Fun.
Free.
Wanting me.
I haven’t heard from him either. Long hours have passed without a single call or text. While he’s occupied my thoughts in the swirling complications of that confrontation, my phone sits silent. On the table in every room I go to, I look at it far too much to be good for my sanity.
Yet every time I think of the start of this weekend, how he laid himself bare to me, hope blooms in my chest. Wishing we could continue.
Wishing things didn’t fall apart. Yet, knowing this, the prudent thing to do is to put my needs aside for the good of my child.
Chin up and look back on this brief moment for what it was, a decadent indulgence that I once deserved to partake in.
That leaves my stomach even sicker, thinking I’ve lost both of them for good.
I rise from the chaise lounge where I’ve been anchored for the last hour, placating myself with a book.
My eyes travel over the words, yet none enter my mind.
The surrounding silence is lonely, save for the occasional interruption from the chef inquiring about lunch and the house manager requesting time to go over some maintenance items.
My fingertips trace over the smooth sea glass still pressed against my skin, a reminder of how close we were and how far apart we are now. I don’t know how we will get past this. Whatever happens, Dominic comes first, even if he hates me anew.
Enough.
I can’t wait any longer for my son. I know he needs time, but I need to explain myself.
My heart pounds with adrenaline, knowing I’m walking into the lion’s den.
I stand, grab my keys from the hall table, and stride out the door.
Determined to face him on his turf before this silence kills us both.
Getting there is a blur. A mess of tangled thoughts, rehearsing what I’m going to say and how I’ll respond to his various insults.
Motherfucker
Fucking my mother.
I replay all the vile words spewed in anger. Trying to control mine, as I should demand he respect me. Yet my anger will only be met with his rage. Something I can never top and don’t want to try. I did once. It was a disaster. No. Calm is the way to proceed.
The next thing I know, I’m standing at his door. My knuckles rap on his wooden door, noticing a welcome mat on the concrete floors of his building. I look away, contemplating if I’ve even seen a mat before.
When the door swings open to a beautiful woman with eyes so gray and large, I’m startled. Her black hair glows under the recessed light she’s standing under. A bright smile overtakes her face. An oddly familiar face, even though I can’t immediately place it.
I clear my throat, getting a hold of myself, that a woman would be inside Dominic’s space. He keeps his sanctuary private from everyone, including me.
“Hello, I’m Babs Barrett, Dominic’s mother.”
My manners snap into place. Extending a firm hand for her to shake.
“Yes, you are! I’ve heard so much about you.”
Her smile widens, and yet I think it’s genuine. I don’t detect a hint of malice or resentment, causing me to wonder if she’s lying. She’s embracing me before I can even swallow past my shock.
She’s warm, friendly, and hugging the life out of me. I’m so taken aback that I barely have time to process when Dominic appears in the distance. His scowl and the daggers he’s casting me tell me everything I need to know about how he feels.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?”
My manners only get me so far. She releases me with a laugh. Light and airy. I’m really confused about who she is and how she ended up in my son’s home.
“Ah, so he hasn’t told you about me.”
She shoots him a quizzical look. His expression softens, almost into an apology. I’m flabbergasted. Who is this magical woman who seems to be wielding invisible power over the most difficult person I have ever known?
“I’m Doctor Claudia Marlowe. You probably recognize me from television. Most people do. Or my books if you’re a reader. But here at home, I’m just Claudia. Or if you’re like that broody little thing over there, call me Marlowe.”
My mouth is hanging open. I can feel the air against my tongue and teeth. For the life of me, I can’t seem to close it. The hits just keep on coming. That’s when I recognized her. She’s a famous criminologist. On the late-night shows, whenever I return from a gala and need something to unwind with.
She’s famous.
She’s in Dom’s house like a ray of sunshine in the middle of a thunderstorm, and she called him an endearment. My brain can’t even begin to process all this.
“What do you want?” Dominic demands, charging toward the door. He would have stopped if it weren’t for this kind woman blocking it. “Haven’t you ruined enough lives for one day? Came back from another round?”
I mash my lips together, smoothing over the lipstick there. My gaze darts between them, expecting this sort of reaction.
“Hey, yeah. Why don’t we take this into the living room?” Claudia interjects, with her palm flat against my son’s chest.
The intimacy of the act speaks volumes.
I stare at it.
My gaze then flickers to Dominic, who raises an eyebrow as if taunting me to ask.
“Dominic, can you open a bottle of wine for us? Preferrable white. And get out that cheese sampler you like with the crackers I bought at the farmers’ market?”
My son has been to a farmers’ market? Who is he?
His eyes slide from mine to hers when her palm falls away.
I’m still staring. I know I am. But I can’t help it.
My son appears to be living in domestic bliss.
It makes my heart skip a beat while I’m still processing the shock.
This is what every parent hopes for. Yet, I still can’t get over how this woman has magically transformed this seething tiger into a hissing house cat.
“She’s not fucking staying, Marlowe.”
She doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t move. They have some sort of unspoken understanding between them. Suddenly, she turns to me, steps back, and opens the door wider.
“Come on in.”
He hesitates, the war in his gaze waging silent battles. Until he turns, his boots stomping away, and she rolls her eyes.
“He’s irritable today because he’s giving up smoking weed and vaping. It’s a new thing for him.”
Giving up those two things that have been his constant for as long as I can remember?
Listening and actually following instructions from a woman?
To say my mind is completely blown by this dynamic and whatever is happening is an understatement.
I barely get across the threshold, and the door closes behind me, before I turn to her.
“I’m sorry, but are you in a relationship with my son?”
She laughs again, waving me into the living room that surprisingly has a baseball game on the screen. Another sight I thought I’d never see.
“I definitely see how Dominic has told you nothing. He’s so private, but to answer your question, yes. We’re together.”
I would say this is new, but then again, I don’t know if Dominic would have ever told me. He keeps things bottled up. Weaponizing information such as this to use against me years later.
“That’s . . . wonderful.”
My words are sabotaged by seeing the throw pillows on the couch. A soft, lush blanket is strategically placed at one end of his couch. Everywhere in the space are her touches. A plant grows wild and wide near the door to the terrace.
Fresh cut flowers in a crystal vase on his coffee table. The place even smells divine, thanks to a lit candle on the end table. If I hadn’t come today, would I have ever known about her? Her positive influence in her life?
“Please sit.”