Love Emerged (9 page)

These dipshits don’t know the true story.

“I am, and Brad Ashby is his best friend. Yes, they were involved in something at Michigan, but that’s been cleared up for a couple of months now. Brad’s a good guy, and I think you’ll like him.” Dylan stands.

I’m sure he wants to escape their judging eyes.

“That’s all, guys. Go back to work, and we’re having lunch with Brad tomorrow. Team-building.” Tim leaves the room.

I rise from my chair to bolt the hell out.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? A lunch with the budget guy,” John says as he files out of the room with Kevin and Yasmin.

I round past Dylan to hide back in my cubicle.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Dylan’s hand lands on my arm.

My eyes close as I search for any ounce of willpower I might have against this guy.

I spin around and wait for him to talk first.

“I want to apologize for leaving. I just—God, can we go out for a drink after work?”

“No. I already told you to quit sweating it. We’re good,” I lie because I am offended. He made me feel like a slut. But if I tell him I’m hurt, then that’ll only open me up to more pain, and I can’t let that happen.

“You okay with Brad coming here?” He changes subjects, which shows how much he really gives a shit about me. He doesn’t.

“Well, I have to be, don’t I?” I back up, putting space between us. “Excuse me, Dylan. I need to finish working on the Fraedrich’s account.” I twist around and leave the room before he can touch me or object.

My phone is vibrating off the edge of my desk when I return. I totally forgot to grab it on my way to the meeting. Right before it catapults to the floor, I pick it up.

Mom
. Sigh.

I swipe across the screen because I don’t have a choice. She’s called restaurants to have me paged before. She’ll stop at nothing to talk to me.

“Hey, Mom,” I answer, sulking in my chair.

“Sweetie, I’m back in town, and I need you to come see me tonight.”

Again? Why is she here again?

“Why are you back this time?”

“Just come and see me after work, okay?”

I pull the phone from my ear to make sure I really am talking to my mom. She’s way too sweet to be the woman who raised me.

“Okay.”

“Great. I love you.”

Say what?

Click
. The line goes dead.

I’m confused and wondering why she’s back in Detroit and why on earth she’s being overly nice to me.

Before I can put the phone down, a text message rings in.

Dylan: Let’s go out tonight. I want to talk.

Bea: I have plans. Another night.

Dylan doesn’t respond back, and I don’t mean to be a bitch, but he’s acting like I should fall at his feet and beg him to give me the reason he ran out the other night. I hadn’t expected roses and candy, but an hour would have been nice.

Is that because I enjoy his company though? Am I the screwed-up one in our friendship?

Dylan: I’m holding you to that.

First, I need to figure out why the hell my mom is here. I send a quick message to Tim that I have to leave early for a meeting with the Fraedrich’s, and then I pack up.

Just like two weeks ago, I’m out of the building and on my way to the MGM. The only difference is my taxi driver.

This time though, when I knock on the penthouse door, Helen answers.

“Beatrice,” she says in her thick Asian accent, “you upset me.”

“Hi, Helen. Why is that?” I walk into an empty room and look to the right and left for my mom.
Let’s get this talk done.

“You not stay here last time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was in a rush.”

“Hey.” She pinches my blouse and pulls me into her room of the suite.

“Helen!” I screech.

But she ignores my attempts to break free. It’s like I’m fifteen again, and she caught me with a boy.

“So, your mama is in a dire place. She’s passed out right now in her bed. She’s depressed, so you be nice to her.” She pokes me in the chest. “Promise me.”

I take her thin finger and remove it from between my breasts. “I got it, but let’s wake her up.” I weave by her small stature and walk directly to my mom’s room.

Lucky for me, she’s up and ready to tell me why she’s returned to Detroit. She might be a little more disheveled than usual, but she’s coherent.

“What’s up, Mom?”

“Beatrice,” Helen says from behind me, “I asked you.”

“Thanks, Helen. I’ll take it from here.” My mom holds her hand to halt her five-foot bodyguard.

“Beatrice you see me before you leave,” she says and retreats back to her room.

I sit down in the chair in the corner. “Why are you back?”

“Can’t I see my daughter?”

There have been other times when men have left her, and she never called me, let alone visited.

“Are you this upset about William leaving you?”

“Yes, and no.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Let’s go to the sitting room.” She leads with her lighted up joint and a bottle of bourbon in her hands.

She sits down in the same spot she was in two weeks ago while I stand next to the window to keep away from her while she smokes her joint. I thought for sure she’d be onto her next victim by now.

Her lips turn down, and she smashes the end of the joint into the ashtray, extinguishing it. “Your grandmother called.”

“From the grave?” I walk over to snatch away her bourbon.

Her eyes pierce into mine, and I place her bottle back down.

“Your father’s mother, June.”

“Why?” My heart speeds up like a race car on the final lap, gearing up for something bigger and badder.

“Sit down.” She eyes the chair across from her.

Since she’s done smoking, I take a seat. “Just tell me. What’s going on?”

I’m not close with my father, or his family. I’ve only had a few phone calls with him this year, and our talks are brief and superficial with mundane conversations about the weather, jobs, and if I needed money. His family doesn’t recognize me as a part of their family, and I don’t really care to be associated with a family bearing an embezzling grandfather, a hooker-loving uncle, and a coke-addicted cousin. Each has been through the gamut of the online gossip. That’s to be expected when someone has agreed to have his or her life taped every day. My dad’s family owns Vitron’s Entertainment, a popular restaurant chain company. My aunt thought it would be good publicity to have a reality show.

Of course, I wasn’t asked to be a part of it. Not like I would have accepted anyway.

“He’s sick, and he would like to see you.” She pours another glass.

I mentally remind myself to stop her after this one. “Why didn’t he call me himself?”

“Because you told him you were done with him two months ago.”

“No, I didn’t. I never said that. I told him I was busy with my new job and didn’t have enough vacation time.”

“Well—”

“Well, what? Those are two completely different things.” I sit up a little straighter in the chair, my feet preparing for my getaway.

“You’ve always had a strained relationship with him.”

Does she not see our own relationship as strained?

“Just”—I shake my head—“what’s going on with him?”

“I told you, he’s sick. It’s his liver. It’s not a surprise. The man drinks like a damn whale.” She rolls her eyes.

I refrain from pointing out the similarity between my parents as she gulps down the rest of her bourbon.

“Like, he needs a transplant?” I’m growing impatient from her lack of information.

“I think so. June didn’t go into many specifics. Just that they both would like you to come visit. He’s at his condo in Chicago. So, I’ll escort you, and we’ll go this weekend.”

Her glass clinks to the table, and she reaches for the bottle again, but my hands and reflexes are faster, so I win out and tuck it between me and the arm of the chair.

“I think you’ve had enough.” I ignore her exhausted eyes. “That’s five days from now. You’re going to stay in Detroit this week?”

“Oh God, no. I’m leaving tomorrow, but I’ll meet you at the airport on Saturday morning. We’ll go there together.”

“I think I’ll drive in by myself. You don’t need to chaperone me, Mom. I’ll be fine.” I stand with the bourbon bottle in my hand.

“You’re leaving again? Why are you always in such a rush?”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I need to finish some work if I’m leaving this weekend.”

She nods and plucks her bourbon bottle out of my hand, her babysitter for the night.

“I’ll call you when I’m in Chicago.”

Unable to settle down until I find out exactly how my dad’s health is, I grab a taxi to make my way to the lakefront.

I sit down on a bench, looking across the lake to Canada. The Ambassador Bridge that attaches Detroit to Windsor, Ontario lightly lights up with dusk slowly approaching. I pull my phone out of my purse, and my thumb hovers over my dad’s name.

Hugh Vitron, a male figure who’s always seemed mysterious to me. He has foregone marriage after my mother, and instead, he’s found that serial dating is his choice. A forever bachelor. No meaningful relationships to speak of.

I shake off the apprehension and click the green button to dial him.

Voice mail, voice mail,
I wish in my mind.

“Bea,” he says, excitement filling his voice.

“Hi . . . Dad.”

“I’m guessing you talked to your mom.” He muffles the phone.

I’m guessing he’s telling his sweet nothing to leave the room because his daughter, who’s probably older than her, is on the phone.

“I just left her. How are you feeling?” I need to cut to the chase because I tend to be like a toddler with emotions—throwing and yelling when they’re too much for me to handle.

“I have cirrhosis of the liver.”

“What exactly does that mean?” My feet bounce on the ground, and I close my eyes.

“I’m dying, baby. That’s what it means.”

The prick behind my eyes is the first reaction to the news. Next, my nose burns, and I lose control of the wetness overtaking my vision.

“What about a transplant? There’s nothing they can do for you?”

Surely, people with money can buy things on the black market.

He laughs, and it’s the first time I’ve heard him sound so calm in his amusement. Usually, it’s forced and drawn out to make others truly believe he’s enjoying their company.

“Not in my case.” One would expect despair, begrudgingly upset that there was nothing to do to save their life. “I’ve known for a while, but it’s becoming unmanageable.”

My head falls forward between my shoulders, and I push back the tears that want to escape. Not while on the phone with him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Everyone is. Will you come and see me?”

“Yes. Mom said this weekend. You’re in Chicago, right?”

“This is where my doctor is, so I’ll be here for . . . a while. I’ll make reservations at that pizza place you like so much.”

I was five when he took me there, but that doesn’t stop me from smiling because he remembers.

“Okay. I’ll be in on Saturday morning.”

“I can’t wait.” His voice sounds like he’s smiling from ear to ear.

I hang up with my dad and pick up my head, wishing my heart wasn’t searing with dread. I can’t even explain why these emotions of loss are flowing through me because he hasn’t exactly been Johnny-on-the-spot as my father. If anything, he’s been more like a distant cousin, popping in and out.

But, now, he’s dying.

The thought is like being jabbed with fifty needles right to my heart.

My head falls into my hands, and the tears I’ve been trying to push away leak out one at a time until they link into streams down my face. The man they say is your first love—which, in my case, would be my only love—won’t be on this earth soon. The relationship I always thought might bud into a father-daughter bond will disappear with his existence. I’ll have a weekend in Chicago with him, in the hopes that it heals the hurt he’s caused me most of my life.

Dylan

“YOU’RE GOING TO WORK YOUR
ass off today, right?” I ask Brad on our way up to Deacon Advertising.

“Shut up, man.” He straightens his tie.

At least his appearance is good, but the pricey suit that his ex-fiancée made him buy makes him look like he should be the boss, not some number-pusher.

“I’m just saying. I called in favors to get you this job.”

He takes his fist and hits me square in the upper arm. “I got this. No worries.”

“No taking off to find Taylor, got it?” I remind him for the fiftieth time.

I can just see me looking for him at lunch, only to find out he hightailed it somewhere on a dead-end lead on the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend from college.

“Please. No one is talking. I’m about to hire a private investigator.”

“Seriously¸ what does this girl have? Gold between her legs?” I ask.

He stares at me, long and mean, as though he’s trying to make his eyes shoot darts at me. “She has gold in here.” He taps his heart with his palm.

“Sap,” I murmur as the elevator doors open, and I step out of it.

“You know, it will happen to you someday. There will be a girl who will have the ability to make you do anything,” Brad says.