20. Vincent
“I love this. I absolutely love this!” Marjorie, the mother of all mothers, in her oversized silver-rimmed sunglasses she refused to remove and draped in cream cashmere from head to toe, gushed while staring at Wendy’s love bangle I locked around her wrist two weeks ago. She ran her thumb along the bracelet’s surface, burgundy fingernails juxtaposing against the gold. “Vincent has always had a penchant for jewelry.” Marjorie paused. “Definitely not like his father,” she added, licking the sticky red lipstick off her lips.
“I’m very happy with it,” Wendy replied, wrapping her fingers around the bracelet.
“Mom, let’s not talk about Dad. It’s rude.” I hated it when Mom did this… hated it.
“Oh, stop.” Marjorie waved a dismissive hand. “Vincent only lets me talk about his father in a positive light. God rest his soul.”
“It’s rude to talk about him when he’s not here anymore.” Shit, sometimes I really missed my dad.
“Growing up, I could never compete with Vincent’s father,” Marjorie said to Wendy, like I wasn’t even at the table as I stuffed my face with a buttery lobster roll. “Forget about it. If his father was in the room, I didn’t exist.”
“Mom, that’s not true.” I rolled my eyes and dabbed at the corner of my mouth with the white paper napkin.
“Aw, you were a daddy’s boy?” Wendy teased, winking at me.
“I loved my father. He was a great man.” I turned to Mom. “And he was okay to you also.” That was the understatement of the century. My father was an amazing man to anyone important in his life. He treated my mother like the rarest of diamonds and me like a prince. If he only knew what I had done and who I had become, I often wondered what he would have thought of me.
“Fine, you’re right. Your father worshiped the ground I walked on.” Marjorie swatted me on the arm. “Hopefully, you’re treating Wendy the same.”
I choked down the last bite of my food. The bun was buttery and soft but stuck in my throat like cotton. “I...yes, of course.” I managed to cough out the words, reaching for my glass of sparkling water. As I took a long sip, I met Wendy's eyes, soft and understanding. There was a look in there that was more than just affection. It was patience, faith even.
“Well, I'm not sure about worshiping,” Wendy replied lightly, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “But he does take good care of me.”
“Ah!” Marjorie trilled, clapping her hands together like a giddy schoolgirl. “That's what matters.” She speared a loose red pepper and white chunk of juicy lobster on the plate, popping it into her mouth. “So, do you plan on getting married in Newport?”
“What?” Wendy and I asked.
“I have to tell you,” Marjorie added, not missing a beat. “When Vincent moved to Florida during your break, let’s call it? I didn’t visit him once.”
Wendy glanced at me for confirmation.
“It’s true.” I clasped my hands and shrugged.
“I hate the humidity. It doesn’t agree with my skin. My hair.” Mom fluffed her hairspray-stricken chocolate brown mane. “There was nothing for me there.”
“I was there, Mom.” I jutted my neck forward.
“Yeah, but I was really angry with you at the time. You just took off and left,” Marjorie said while gesturing toward Wendy, who shifted in her seat.
“Mom, can we not do this now?” I interjected, pushing down the bile in my throat.
“What? It’s the truth.” Marjorie shrugged. “You abandoned us and went off to... wherever you went.”
“We've been through this, Mom.” I sighed, glancing at Wendy for reassurance.
“Yeah, Marjorie,” Wendy said, offering a small smile. “Let’s not revisit the past.”
Marjorie lifted her glass of white wine and twirled it, the liquid sloshing around gracefully before taking a slow sip. The silence was palpable as she set her glass back on the table. “Fine!” Marjorie finally broke the tension, throwing up her hands dramatically. “I see how it is.” She reached out to pat my hand resting on the table. “But remember, no one loves you more than your mother.”
Wendy and I both laughed, exchanging knowing glances that Marjorie might be the ultimate piece of work, but she was my mother.
“You really are crazy,” I said to Mom.
“That’s very rude.” Marjorie studied her nails, seemingly unbothered by the name-calling.
“Vincent, be nice,” Wendy added, reaching under the table to gently squeeze my thigh.
“Okay, okay.” I relented, grinning at Marjorie over the rim of my water glass. Her feigned indignation was a sight to behold, a well-practiced act that had never failed to entertain me, even as a child.
“Right, so Newport,” Marjorie continued, expertly steering the conversation back on track as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Do you think you’ll get engaged now that you’re back together?”
“Oh my God, Mom.” I slumped in my chair, slapping my hand over my eyes.
“Marjorie,” Wendy began, touching Mom’s forearm. “Vincent and I are doing great. Plus, did you hear the news? Vincent is buying a gorgeous property and turning it into a bed and breakfast.”
Marjorie perked up at this, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Oh, really? When did this come to fruition?”
“Earlier in the week, we signed contracts, and I put a deposit down. Wendy is going to help run the kitchen there.” Absentmindedly, I reached for Wendy’s hand, our fingers intertwined. “The place is going to be great.”
“Hold on. I thought you were an attorney?” Marjorie asked, scrunching her nose.
“I am an attorney,” I answered through gritted teeth.
“It doesn’t sound like you were practicing much law the last few years. Your law school was a fortune.” Mom shook her head.
“I refuse to go back into corporate if that’s what you’re hinting toward,” I spat. Just thinking about those long nights and the pure mundane nature of corporate firm culture sent spasms down my back.
“I’m just saying practice law. It’s what you’re made to do.” Mom shrugged, and when I met her with zero reaction, she quickly shifted her stance and cleared her throat. “So, will you let me stay there when I come to visit?” Marjorie raised a testing eyebrow.
“If you can afford to.” I grinned.
“Do you see how my own son treats me? You’re my witness.” Marjorie pointed to Wendy before leaning over and planting a red-lipped kiss on Wendy’s forehead, leaving a mark. “You are so delicious.” She patted Wendy’s cheek before grasping her hand. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
“Me too.” Wendy smiled.
“And when you do get engaged, will you tell me? Because I know Vincent won’t.” Marjorie pointed to my shrinking figure.
“Mom, can we please just chill?” I squeezed the bridge of my nose, threatening to crack the bone.
“Engaged? Who’s getting engaged?” said a familiar voice from behind.
I whipped my head around in time to catch Wendy’s eyes popping.
“Hey, Stephen,” said Wendy, half laughing.
Stephen’s eyes settled on me before shifting to Wendy.
“Vincent,” he greeted, the corner of his mouth twitching in a knowing smirk. He had always been a little too sure of himself for my liking.
I forced myself to sit up straighter. “Stephen,” I returned, my voice carefully neutral, offering my hand, and he accepted it, pumping twice.
“Stephen, this is Vincent’s mother, Marjorie.” Wendy motioned to Mom, who sat there with a smile plastered to her face.
Stephen reached forward, flashing a dazzling smile that made any person melt. “A pleasure to meet you. But you look far too young to be anyone’s mother. Let alone this guy’s.” Stephen pointed to my head.
What the fuck did Stephen know about me?
“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” I warned, my voice dropping an octave. Wendy squeezed my hand under the table to calm me.
“So, Stephen,” Wendy started, her voice giving away nothing of the tension that had just bloomed. “How’s the event coming along? Did you get the menu I sent over?”
Stephen stepped back from the table, redirecting his slimy gaze onto Wendy. It was enough to make my jaw clench. “Yeah, Wen. Everything looks fantastic. I’ll drop off the final payment tomorrow at the restaurant if that’s okay?”
Wen? That was my nickname for Wendy. My goddamn fucking name.
“That’s perfect.” Wendy grinned. “Stephen is hosting an event at his store for new items he curated. He does it every year around this time.”
“This year, I decided to get a little fancier and cater the best food. Obviously, I deferred to Wendy for that.” He shot her a wink.
I was about to gouge his eye out with my plastic fucking fork in a second.
“So, who’s getting engaged?” Stephen asked again, raking his eyes across the table.
“No one's getting engaged, Stephen,” Wendy responded quickly, shooting me an uneasy glare. “It was just a joke.”
“What are you even doing here?” I shot back and mouthed to Wendy, ‘Stalker.’
“Getting lunch, just like you.” Stephen held up a white paper bag and ran a hand through his hair. “This was fun.” He glanced at his watch, then back up at us. “Well, I should get going. Lots to prepare for this week.”
Wendy smiled brightly at him, her hand silently tugging on mine under the table. “Can't wait to see it all come together.”
Stephen left with a parting nod, his departure leaving an uneasy silence. Marjorie cleared her throat first. “He likes you.”
Wendy laughed. “Oh, that’s not true. We’re just friends.”
For the first time, Mom and I exchanged a knowing glance that Wendy had caught.
“Seriously, we both moved to Newport at the same time. And I don’t know.” Wendy shrugged. “We became easy friends. But that’s where it stopped. Plus, I’m taken.”
I was glad Wendy clarified that since Stephen's 'easy friends' statement raised a red flag. My jealousy gnawed at my insides, and I had to remind myself that I had no right to feel this way. After all, I was the one who left her. Suddenly, an idea gripped my attention, and I needed to act on it now. Pushing away from the table, I pulled my phone from my pocket.
“I just need to make a fast call.” I pointed to the device.
“Oh, okay,” said Wendy, a slight disappointment laced in her tone.
“I’m calling Zachary.” It was the truth.
“Alright. Tell him I say hi.” Wendy smiled.
“Go make your call.” Mom shooed me away. “We’ll be fine.”
As soon as I was out of earshot, I dialed Zachary's number. After a few rings, he answered.
“What do you want?” Zachary’s gruff voice punished my ear.
“I need a favor,” I said right away.
“Uh-huh. Sure you do.” Zachary was anything but amused, but I didn’t care.
“Come on, man. Drop the attitude already, okay? I’m doing right by Wendy, and you can’t tell me she hasn’t spoken to Blair about how well we’ve been doing. There’s no faking it over here.”
The line went silent, and for a second, I thought Zachary had hung up on me until he released a lazy sigh. “What’s the favor?”
“I need you to look into someone for me. I’d do it here, but I don’t want to feel like I’m snooping around Wendy, you know?”
“So, you’re using me instead to snoop around Wendy.”
“Zachary,” I warned through gritted teeth. “I. Need. Your. Help.”
“And who exactly is this ‘someone’?” Zachary asked, the curiosity evident in his tone.
“Stephen. He’s a... friend of Wendy’s.” The word 'friend' rolled off my tongue with distaste. “I got a strange vibe from him. I need you to find something about him that’s out of place.”
“Does Stephen have a last name?” Zachary teased.
I was about to open my mouth when I realized my dumb answer.
“Hello, Vincent?”
“I’m still fucking here.” I massaged my temple. Stupid, Vincent. So fucking stupid.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t have the guy’s fucking last name.” I punched the wall, shaking off my stinging skin.
“Seriously?” Zachary’s shock was genuine. “Jeez, look what love does to you. It makes you so soft you lose your edge.”
“Would you shut the fuck up? I’ll find out the guy’s last name.” How could I let an obvious detail like this slip? This never happened to me and only made me wonder. Could I be missing something else?
“Alright, alright,” Zachary said, the laughter in his voice fading slightly. “I'll start digging up what I can on every Stephen in Newport while you figure out a last name.”
“He owns, like a hybrid general store, an antique shop in town.”
“Got it. And when I prove your hunch wrong and Stephen isn’t some threat, Blair and I would like to come to visit you guys in Newport,” said Zachary, still keeping his tone all business.
“Fine.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, my tension lessening only a fraction. “But Zachary? This stays between us.”
“As always.” The line cut abruptly, leaving me with my worries and the low hum of the restaurant behind me.
I hurried back to our table, where Wendy was immersed in a conversation with my mom. She looked up as I approached, and her brown eyes twinkled with a warmth that melted the icy shield around my bones. Her smile faltered when she saw my expression.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brows drawing together in concern.
“Nothing,” I brushed her question away as nonchalantly as I could muster under her worried gaze. Slinking back into my seat, I took Wendy’s hand. “I think Zachary and Blair will visit us within the month. That’ll be fun, right?”
Wendy's smile returned, radiant as a sunrise, but a frown crinkled her forehead. “That's great,” she said, “but you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?”
I forced myself to smile to match hers and squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” A lie that felt like acid on my tongue.
Thankfully, my mother intervened at that moment. “Speaking of visits,” she said, her voice hoarse but warm, “Next time, I’d like to stay at your house.”
“What’s wrong with the hotel you’re staying at? It’s five stars.” Mom always had a way of making my blood boil to a standing simmer.
“If I’m coming into town to see family, I want to stay with my family. And all these hotels are so expensive.” Marjorie scrunched her nose, sipping on a fresh cappuccino.
“I don’t care about the price,” I pointed out.
“Sometimes you should care, Vincent,” Marjorie replied. “Sometimes you should.”