Chapter 6
SIX
Jess
While we wait for the car to the airport, I feed and change Eden. Again . I line up all our suitcases by the door. I even reach out to my one and only contact in California for a reference.
Jess
Hi Carly! Hope you’re doing well. I know we haven’t chatted in a while, but was hoping you could help me out. Is there a sort of Task Rabbit service near Britain’s new house? I need some same-day groceries and orders delivered.
I’m surprised when she texts me back almost instantaneously. Carly is Britain and Liam’s private chef. Was their chef? Maybe is just Liam’s chef now? (And yes, they have a private chef. No, I don’t have that same kind of money. Yes, I just went on a designer shopping spree, but that was on Tommy’s credit card, and I deserved it. Judge me. )
Carly
Hi Jess! It’s been a while! How is Eden?! I’ll send you the contact info for someone who can help you today. I’d trust them with my life, you’re in good hands. I’d say it’s task rabbit service adjacent ??
I send off a slew of texts to one “James Judge” along with a few threats, but also a promise of a big tip for a job well done, then I settle in to wait. Some more. I feel like I could’ve run a marathon with all this nervous energy fueling me.
I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Tommy, if I’m being honest. Ugh , I don’t like this. Every time my brain slows for even the shortest moment, I drift to him. I think about him, his day. He’s probably at lunch right now, maybe he and Jamie are out celebrating…
I’m stopped from deep diving that living nightmare when the front door flies open, rattling the picture frames along the wall. And…I’ve never seen Tommy look scared before. But he does now.
“Jess. Come on, babe. Don’t do this.” He advances towards me looking like my knight in shining armor, something straight out of a wet dream. (And by shining armor, I mean a silk and virgin mohair suit).
“Do what?” I ask him, quizzically.
“Leave. Go to California?” He stops to shake his head. “You can go to California, but you can’t come to Taiwan with me? Your husband?” Hmm . Not a fan of that.
“My husband?” I raise both eyebrows. “My husband?! Who just kissed his best friend goodbye in our house this morning?” My voi ce is raised. (And it’s not my house, it’s Tommy’s. That was made very, very clear in our prenuptial agreement.) Tommy’s head rolls back and he closes his eyes, placing his hands on his hips. It’s his power stance. Next his head will snap forward and he’ll have a sword drawn.
“Jessica DiAngelo,” head has snapped forward, metaphorical sword drawn, “I love you and our daughter. I want us to stay a family. I want us to be together, all of us. I know this isn’t what you signed up for, but I feel like you should at least try. Don’t we owe that to each other? To our daughter?” Nope .
“No.” I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t owe you a damn thing. I’ve given you everything you’ve ever asked for, and what’d I get? The shaft. So, no. You get to keep the house, your big bank accounts, you get the love of your life, and what do I get after giving up progressing my career to birth our child? I get booted. Out of your house, out of my bed. And I swear to God, Tommy,” I start shaking my head, “if you try to take Eden from me…” I don’t know what I’d do.
“Knock knock.” Damian calls out from the entryway where the front door was left wide open.
“Damian?” Tommy turns to his friend while I start gathering the diaper bag and my purse. Tommy looks between the two of us, confused. “You two are going…together?” (An unlikely duo, I know.)
Damian sort of gets this bashful look and rubs at the back of his neck. He’s got a bad rep. I think that’s where Tommy is going with this, but I’ll stop him right there if he does. He has zero legs to stand on in that regard.
When neither Damian or myself say anything back to him, Tommy says, “Just never thought I’d see the day is all.” Well, hell has frozen over. Pigs may as well fly, too.
Honestly, I'm grateful for Damian’s timing. I didn’t want to find out the direction our conversation was going.
“These the suitcases that are going?” Damian gestures to the three lined up by the door.
“Are we flying private or commercial?” I volley back.
“Private.”
I nod in response, then roll another suitcase that was tucked away in the office. And Damian laughs at me. Tommy just watches us, his brain not willing to compute what he’s seeing. Yeah, I talk a lot of shit on Damian, but when it comes to Britain and his girls, we’re on the same team. Always. (Almost always).
“Jess,” Tommy pleads, slipping a hand around my arm as I walk past. “I don’t want it to be like this.” No shit, Sherlock.
“We’ll talk when you’re back.” I say it as a reminder. Because he’s the one who was leaving in the first place. I pick Eden up out of the highchair, then toss my keys to Damian once he’s done with the suitcases.
“Can you get her carseat out of my car, please?”
“Can do,” Damian says as he walks past us, through the kitchen, to where my car is parked in the back alley.
Tommy’s just standing in the middle of our hallway, still struck by the oddness of the dynamic he’s witnessing between Damian and myself. There’s a shocking ease and familiarity between us.
And then Tommy looks at me with a question. Head cocked, eyes slightly narrowed — I know what he’s asking.
Instantly, I divert eye contact, jostling Eden in my arms as a distraction. I won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer one way or another.
With that, Tommy takes a step away from me, nodding, coming to a conclusion. And my heart breaks, just a little. I know what I’m doing. I’m allowing it to happen, but it still hurts.
“We’ll talk when I’m back,” he says, his tone no longer pliant and warm. Now it’s cold and firm, and I imagine I’m now the enemy. His newest opponent.
It’s not a place I’d like to be.
Just like Michael kisses Fredo, Tommy leans forward, pulling my face closer with a hand behind my head and he kisses me, firmly, painfully. (It’s the kiss of death if you’re Italian or, you know, into The Godfather or mafia things.) There’s a hurt that crosses his face that should be on mine, but isn’t. And I say nothing.
He kisses Eden with extreme gentleness and care, a stark comparison, and says “safe travels,” before gliding out the front door with a light jog down our front steps.
I feel the dampness around the corners of my eyes, but that’s all that materializes. There are no sobs, no desperate cries, just a sadness I’ll be feeling for a long time to come.
“I feel like I got the timing of that wrong. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to interrupt before he power posed? Or after?” Damian jokes, and I laugh. I actually laugh at Damian.
“Your timing is classically shit, Damian.” He nods in agreement, then slips a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. Any other day or time I would swat him away, but today I allow it.
“You ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply.
“Umm, is it just me or is this place kind of…shitty?” I was trying to think of a kinder word, but I don’t think there is one. The only other word that comes to mind is…brown.
Damian’s laugh bounces around the cab of his rented Escalade.
“I like to call this place an ‘acquired taste,’” he says with a smile. (He’s being much more gracious than me.)
Driving through Britain’s hometown has me confused. I’m trying to match her description of the place to what I’m actually seeing. (And what I’m seeing has me depressed.)
Britain moved back here following the implosion of her life in DC. (First Damian left her for his assistant. Then she came here to get closure with her mother’s death, eventually ended up falling in love with a hot zaddy who then dumped her rather rudely and very publicly. And now she’s living here because she’s a masochist, just like me.)
The town itself is decent sized and smack dab in the center of California, but it’s farm country, which is strange to me. We’re in California, not Montana, but I guess the term “California cowboy” had to come from somewhere. And if I had to guess, I’d say it was here.
I raise my eyebrows and blink rapidly as we pass a brown building with weathered siding and yellow neon that reads: The Boot Barn .
I haven’t been here before, but I think Damian’s been here twice. Maybe more?
“About how long till we get to her place?” Brit’s new house isn’t in town, it’s on the outskirts, on a lake, Robles Lake. I know her house is beaut iful (I helped pick it), so as long as I don’t get suckered into riding a mechanical bull somewhere, or stuck in this sepia colored valley, all will be right with the world.
“Mmm,” Damian hums, “thirty minutes or so.”
“K,” I nod my head and look out the window.
We pass through a small, worn downtown area before hitting the highway towards Robles Lake. The highway then eventually fades from four lanes to two, and the straights turn to hills and gentle curves. Rolling mounds, covered in dried-out, beige grasses surround us on each side and I start to get a bit claustrophobic. Wide open spaces and I’m claustrophobic. (I know. It’s weird.) But city girl here doesn’t like it. Something about no cell service and being stranded, it gives me the ick.
“Hey, thanks for taking Eden for a bit during the flight.” If I’m already uncomfortable, I might as well swim in it and say thanks to Damian. He held her for a bit so I could sleep. When I woke up, they were both zonked out, snoring together. It was cute.
He turns to look at me and smiles. He’s handsome. He has sort of unruly reddish hair that just works on him. He’s lean and cut, a fitness fanatic, and he has these piercing blue eyes and a strong jawline. Top that off with the title of CEO and, like, I get the appeal, I really do.
“Anytime,” he says. “I miss the girls being that small.” His daughters haven’t been that small in a decade and a half. “I missed a lot of it,” he says quietly. I may not have been around during that time, but Britain told me. About the sacrifices he made, the time he poured into his company and not his family. It paid off, I guess. Sold his company for a couple hundred million la st year, but if the price was not seeing your kids grow up, was it worth it?
“I miss….” He mutters as quiet as a whisper before trailing off, never finishing the sentiment. But I can infer the meaning. (Read: I miss her .) And there it is, Damian’s character flaw. Britain is his greatest love and no one can compare, not even his fiancé Summer. (Yup, he’s engaged, but still pining for his ex.) I reach over and rub his shoulder in a very platonic manner, but one that I hope says, “ I know. I won’t tell.”
This might be a weird opinion for me to have, but I think he could do better than Summer. Damian looks over and smiles at me, giving me one dimple. And yeah, he could definitely do better. Sure, Summer is textbook gorgeous, but there’s something between them that just doesn’t fit. I always sort of thought Summer was just the closest life raft he jumped to when he was drowning in despair from a loveless marriage. She was his easy out.
He clears his throat, simultaneously clearing the air. “So what had Tommy pulling on his big boy britches with you today?” I pull my hand back and roll my eyes. I don’t really want to talk about it. I mean, I haven’t even told Brit, but I know Damian can keep a secret…
“Tommy and I…well, we’re over.” Damian looks at me sharply. Like he’s maybe confused or even shocked. He’s got one eyebrow cocked. “He’s in love with someone else,” I say it like this explains and excuses away the entire situation. I clear my throat to drop the banger, “He’s in love with Jamie.” Damian’s disposition shifts from shock to understanding. Like maybe he had suspected something between them before. Maybe he fla t-out knew. I mean, he has known Tommy longer than me.
Damian eventually just nods, then rests a gentle hand on my thigh (as platonically as possible).
“Don’t tell Brit, please?” I ask him. “She’s got a lot on her plate, and I just wanna focus on helping her.”
“It’s safe with me,” he says, giving my leg a gentle squeeze then removing his hand. “You could have called me, you know?” It had crossed my mind, but I didn’t know if it would be weird because he was Tommy’s friend first. I just shrug, though.
As we get closer to Britain’s house (well, I assume closer because we’ve been in the car nearly 25 minutes), I have to get this off my chest. “Don’t get too annoyed with me when I pretend to dislike you, but I gotta keep up appearances.”
Damian laughs a little. “We could just tell her we’re friends now. It’d be the truth…and it’s been long enough…”
I get a little pang of anxiety at the thought, but play it off. “I don’t know, I kind of like our banter. Where’s the fun in being friends?” I shoot him a slightly mischievous look and Damian leans an arm across the car to ruffle my hair, with a certain boyish charm that says, “ You’re annoying, but a great friend.” And I smile back at him, then smooth down my hair.
Looks can be deceiving. A snapshot right now might get titled: “Couple Flirting on Scenic Drive” , but that would be a lie six ways to Sunday, just like most snapshots are.
Brit gave us a quick tour of the house upon arrival, and several things: First, my best friend looks like shit. She’s gorgeous, always, but she looks too thin, the bags under her eyes are dark purple, and she looks ready to cry at the drop of a hat. My stomach sank the moment I set eyes on her.
The second, this house is a fucking mansion. She keeps calling it a villa like that makes it sound quaint, but it is not. It’s not even a McMansion, this is just a flat-out mansion. I would literally kill to live here. I might even get over my fear of wide open spaces because it’s just that amazing.
The house is perched on a hill overlooking a sleepy lake. It’s not mountainous, just hilly, and it makes me feel, or I can sort of pretend, like I’m in the Italian countryside and not podunk California — two words I would have previously never even put together.
Brit’s house at Robles Lake doesn’t read tired, sepia like the valley does. It feels more like a sun tan in the summer. Like the scent of the place is just perpetually sunblock and citrus. Like everyday it's sunny, and Aperol spritzes simply appear in one’s hand the moment you step out onto her deck. It’s refreshing.
The inside feels the same. Light, airy. White boucle against, white oak flooring. Its tall ceilings and perfectly worn furniture give off that effortless (yet expensive) California, cool vibe.
After some awkwardness about sleeping arrangements, I excused myself to spend some time putting the bedding on the Pack ‘n Play while Eden explores the guest room by scooting from one place to the next. (As long as the doors are closed, she’s good.)
I put away some of our clothes, then hide the suitcases in the closet. I double check that the monitor Task Rabbit-James set up is in working order. (It is.) I’m laying out diapers, the changing pad, and wipes so I’m not caught with my pants down in the middle of the night when there’s a gentle knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call out. I’m surprised when it’s Damian who slips into my room quickly. Don’t like the look on his face, though.
“She doesn’t look good.” His face is white as a ghost’s. It makes me ache…for him. He cares for her so fucking much. It’s going to kill him watching her hurt over someone else.
I agree, “She doesn’t.” Damian gets on all fours with Eden and plays with her while I ponder the best way forward.
“What’s the game plan, Coach?” Damian asks me.
“I don’t know. I think we just have to be there for her. Support her. It’s the only way, right?”
From where Damian is now sprawled out on the floor, with Eden crawling over him, back and forth, over and over, he asks, “Was she ever like this…after…me?” This is going to crush him. I shake my head back and forth. I can see him swallow. It’s a hard pill to get down, but it’s the truth.
“Yeah, didn’t think so. Kind of hoped, in some sick way…” I don’t know what it is about Damian and me. I think we’re a bit kindred somehow. There’s some tie that binds us, and whatever it is (fine, I know what it is), we can share things with each other. Things he can’t tell Tommy or his other best friend , he tells me, and vice versa. Sometimes there’s things I don’t want to burden Brit with, so I dump it on Damian.
It sounds clandestine, but it’s far less nefarious. It’s just two people still searching for their person.
I think .
I used to have that person (thought I had that person), but not anymore. Not for a long time.
I offer Damian a hand, hauling him to his full height. “It’s not sick or twisted. I wish my husband didn’t want me to be his and his boyfriend’s spare. I’d rather he just let me go and burn our relationship to the ground. It’s worse this way.”
“Sounds like a fucking dumpster fire as it is, Jess.”
I nod. “Yup. I think you’re right.”
Without saying anything, Damian places a warm hand at the base of my neck, and massages me gently. I’m surprised when the comfort comes. It’s next level.
“Alright, let’s roll out. Pizza’ll be here any minute,” I say, putting a reluctant end to Damian’s hands that have eased some of the tension in my shoulders.
“You know pizza parties aren’t actually beneficial to morale, right?” He teases me.
“Hey! Nothing else delivers here, and pizza is fucking amazing. You cook next time then!” I shove him away playfully and he laughs at me.
“Maybe I will!” he says, swiping a hand through my hair to muss it up as we walk out of the guest room.
“You get the baby!” I turn, jokingly bossing him around and he throws up his hands in mock defeat.
“Jess?” Alex? I turn around in the hall to see Alex staring right back at me.
The moment shatters when Damian walks right into me, with Eden in his arms, and starts laughing when I stumble.
I might stumble, but my eyes never waver from Alex who turns and leaves just as stealthily as he arrived. I might have thought it was an apparition purely in my mind if not for Damian saying, “Was that Alex?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think so.”