Chapter 3
NATALIE
‘I’m only interested in one woman.’
I slam my bag into the living room couch with enough force to make the cushions bounce. “He must think I’m on my last two fucking brain cells!”
My flatmate, Sarah, peeks out from the kitchen of our small but comfortable apartment, her spiky pink hair catching the afternoon light filtering through the large windows. “What was that?”
I nearly jump out of my skin upon hearing her voice. “What’re you doing home?! I thought you’d be at work,” I gasp, hand pressed against my chest.
“I took a day off from work. I got back at four this morning and was supposed to be back in at nine? I’m a sous-chef, not the Flash. Staten Island is two hours away by subway. This last week has killed me dead.”
“I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you around lately.” I observe her tired expression, noting the circles under her eyes. “ You do look exhausted. Can’t you ask to stay in the Manhattan branch?”
“I’m working on that.”
Sarah walks out of the kitchen wearing a thin tank top and shorts, her damp hair suggesting she’s just emerged from a much-needed shower. “You’re supposed to be on a beach in Hawaii, soaking up rays and forgetting all about work.”
“Yeah. Long story.” I rub my temples, feeling the tension headache that’s been building all day. “Is there something to eat? I’m starving.”
“I was making Fettuccine Alfredo for myself. You want some?”
“Please.”
As I enter the kitchen, she glides over to the wine cooler to retrieve a fresh bottle of red wine, setting it on the kitchen counter while pulling out two large glasses with practiced ease. “So I suppose this would be a bad time to tell you your mother called?”
My headache grows exponentially worse.
“What did she want?”
“What she always wants.” My friend grimaces, her expression mirroring my own distaste, as she pops the cork out of the bottle and begins filling the glasses. “I told her you weren’t home.”
“I had my phone on silent. I haven’t even checked it yet. She’s probably left a dozen voice messages, each one more guilt-inducing than the last.”
The mere idea of talking to my mother makes me want to bury myself in my bed and hide from the world for the next decade.
As I sip the red wine, letting the rich liquid wash away thoughts of my mother’s inevitable emotional manipulation, Sarah stirs the pasta with methodical precision.
“I really don’t understand why you have to pay her gambling debts.
She takes a chunk of your salary every month for no reason.
It’s not like she’s even trying to break the habit. ”
“She raised me. I owe it to her.” I stare blindly into my glass, my chest aching in the way it always does when the subject of my mother surfaces.
Unlike me, Sarah was raised in a normal, happy home where both her parents loved her and thought the sun shined from her ass.
Sometimes I’m envious of the fact that her parents call her every weekend just to check up on her.
I’m also invited for dinner when she visits, but seeing her large, happy family makes me feel small and alone in comparison.
The only time my mother ever calls me is to demand money.
“I was a disappointment to her.” I sip the wine, desperately wishing I’d listened to my instincts and headed over to a bar to get drunk instead of coming home.
Unaware of the inner conflict raging within me, Sarah makes a scoffing sound. “Why? Because you have a well-paying job and are a well-adjusted adult? Did she want you to be homeless? Was that the dream?”
A heavy sigh escapes me as I swirl the red liquid in my glass, answering without thinking, “Because I ruined my brother’s life.”
My flatmate turns to look at me now, surprise written across her features. “Come again?”
I bite my tongue, closing my eyes in regret. I never talk about my family. The only reason Sarah knows about my mother taking money from me is because she heard the messages left on our shared answering machine, which Sarah’s parents insisted we get for emergencies.
“Forget it.”
“Oh, ho ho.” Sarah puts her hands on her hips, adopting that stance she uses when she’s determined to get answers. “Wrong answer. Spill.”
I press my lips together, trying to think up a way out of providing an explanation. However, Sarah is sharp as a tack and twice as persistent.
“An honest answer would be nice, Nat.”
A gust of air leaves me as I sink onto the stool at the island counter, feeling suddenly drained. “I did something stupid a couple of years ago and ruined his life as a result.”
Sarah freezes. “Are we talking about the same brother you haven’t seen in half a decade?”
I drain the glass, feeling numb inside. “The one and only. The sauce is burning.”
The acrid smell has my friend jerking around, and she quickly plates the pasta before bringing it over to the island counter, grabbing the bottle of wine as she does. “I think this conversation calls for more wine.”
A bitter chuckle escapes me. “I’d like nothing more than to get drunk tonight. Forget this whole day ever happened.”
She hands me a fork and generously refills my glass. “So what did you do?”
My stomach churns, but not from hunger now. “I slept with his best friend. He found out about it and lost his temper.”
The memory of that night has never faded from my mind, playing on repeat like a broken record I can’t turn off. I got my heart broken by two different men that night. Ethan Wilder and my brother.
My friend stares at me as the pasta cools, forgotten. “You slept with his best friend, and it ruined his life? Why? Was he in love with this man?”
Her blunt question has me letting out a startled laugh.
“No. No, but Lucas always told me to stay away from his friends. And on top of that, this particular friend was trying to get information out of me about Lucas’s new business venture.
Not that I knew anything.” I sip the wine now, more slowly.
“My brother never discussed business with me. ”
Sarah hisses like an angry cat. “He slept with you to get information on Lucas? What a jerk!”
I shrug, the gesture feeling heavy. “I was stupid. It was my fault. I had a major crush on him.”
Taking a bite of her pasta, Sarah chews slowly, processing this information. “So what happened?”
“With Lucas?”
“With the friend.”
My lips press together into a thin line. “Nothing. He slept with me, found out I knew nothing, told me this has all been for nothing, and left the hotel room. I left as well.”
I marvel at how calmly I can relay the facts now, like my heart never shattered at the cold look in Ethan’s eyes, the sheer disgust that replaced the warmth I thought I’d seen there.
“How did Lucas find out?” Sarah is determined to extract all the details from me, it seems.
“I called him when I got back home. His reaction wasn’t what I expected.” I leave it at that, forcing my attention down to the pasta.
But Sarah is like a dog with a bone. “How did he react?”
“Sarah,” I groan.
“You brought it up!” she protests. “Can you blame me for wanting to know the deets? And you never talk about your family, Nat!”
I glare at her. “For good reason.”
She just grins at me, and I sigh, twirling the pasta around the fork. “He wasn’t happy. That was his reaction.”
“And that ruined his life?” Sarah leans forward, her curiosity practically radiating off her. “Come on. What did he do?”
I love this girl, but sometimes she’s too nosy for her own good.
“He lost his temper,” I say quietly. “It didn’t end well.”
I swallow painfully, trying hard not to recall the way my brother shoved me to the ground, his fist making contact with my skin, the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth.
“My mother sided with him. She cut ties with me.”
When I hear the sound of something slamming on the counter, my head jerks up. Sarah is glaring at me with righteous indignation. “And you’re paying off her gambling debts?!”
“I... I have no one, Sarah,” I say quietly. “My father left when I was six. My mother and brother are all the family I have left.”
“So make a new family.” My friend looks genuinely upset now. “Date someone, get married, have kids, boom! New family!”
I have to laugh at the simplicity of the idea she’s presenting, and some of my heavy mood lifts. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Nat.” She touches my hand, her expression creased with concern. “She’s using you. The way she talks to you isn’t how a normal mother talks to her child. It’s obvious she’s using you.”
“I know.” I tap the side of my head. “In here, I know that. In here, I can’t seem to see it.” I point at my chest. “In my heart, I want my Mom, you know. Like you have yours.”
My voice grows thick, and I lower my gaze, the lump of emotion in my throat making it hard to speak.
“Natalie.”
I give her a pained smile. “I would rather not talk about it. I don’t even know why I brought it up today. It’s not something I like to think about.”
Sarah is quiet, and she shoves a mouthful of pasta in her mouth. After a few contemplative seconds, she says, “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it. But just for the record, I hate your mother even more now.”
“Duly noted,” I say gravely.
She gives me a half-smile before taking another bite. We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes while I savor the hot food filling my empty stomach.
When I came back to New York three years ago, I didn’t like the idea of living by myself, so I advertised for roommates. Sarah was the first person to respond, and she simply never left.
“I’m so lucky to have a sous-chef as my flatmate,” I sigh happily, letting the creamy pasta drive away the grim atmosphere in the kitchen. “I didn’t have the strength to cook. I was just going to get takeout. This is so much better.”
“Oh, yeah. What happened to your trip anyway?”
I fill her in about the company takeover, and she listens with vague interest until I mention Ethan.
“Now where have I heard that name before?” She scrunches her face, tapping her temple. “Ethan Wilder. I read his name somewhere. Wait.”