Can't Go Without Page 16

  “Leave your key on the way out,” I say, standing up to go to grab my laptop out of my bag. “I’m changing my passwords to everything right now.”

  “So weak, so so weak,” Samuel says condescendingly. “You have no real fight in you. You’re a weak pathetic excuse for a human being. I’ll get my stuff out tomorrow when you’re at the gallery.”

  “No, leave the key now,” I say, signing on to my computer. “I’ll pack it all up and have it sent to you. I’d rather not see you, hear from you, or know anything about you. Let Stella know where you’re staying, and she’ll send it over.”

  “Don’t worry, Stella will already know,” Samuel laughs again. “She may even know tonight.”

  “Stella too?” I ask stunned.

  “Oh yeah, Stella too… been hoping to get her and Christine both to agree to a good, old three—”

  “Out! Get out,” I yell, pointing toward the door, losing patience, feeling the bile come up in my throat. Christ, he’d been sleeping with our new artist and my assistant. Well, I guess that explains why a once-a-week-romp with me was enough for him. “Just go, just please leave Samuel,” I relent, feeling my shoulders fall.

  “So weak… so incredibly weak,” he repeats, walking out the door.

  “Tell me this is a fucking joke,” Jill says, sitting at my dad’s kitchen table.

  “That’s… man… shit happens,” my dad says, shaking his head.

  “Well I say ‘good damn riddance.’ He was a dickless cocksucker,” Shayla announces, slamming her hand down on the table. “Oohh sorry Daddy Vinn,” Shayla apologizes, making the sign of the cross.

  “Well, Shay’s got a point,” Jill confirms. “It’s no secret that we all hated him.”

  “I wouldn’t say I hated him,” my dad explains.

  “No? I believe your exact words were ‘that little fuck will be wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the ocean before he ever marries my baby girl.’ Wasn’t it something like that, Dad?” Jill goads, laughing.

  Laughing along with her, Shayla adds, “Don’t forget the part about ‘my Mary, God rest her soul, would turn over in her grave if she knew Leah was with a faccia di me—’ uhh… ummm.”

  “A faccia di merda, a shit face, a son of a bitch, ya know, a bastard,” my dad growls. “Okay, so I didn’t like him, but my Leah did,” my dad states, rubbing the back of my hand. “I’m sorry baby.”

  Looking at them, my heart softens and realization sets in. “I have to admit. I’m sad… sad that I got played… sad about all that shit he said about me,” I confess, stirring my hot tea. “Sad that he took my money… and sad that I wasn’t smart enough to see right through him.”

  My father’s grip on my hand tightens. I know it’s destroying him that he can’t go all Sopranos on Samuel right now. Continuing, I say, “But really, Samuel was a douche. I just tolerated him—at best. I certainly wasn’t in love with him. He certainly wasn’t the love of my life.”

  “It’s about time you figured out what the three of us knew all along,” Jill says, cutting more banana bread.

  “Yeah, he was certainly someone we’re all better off without,” Shay says. “You just have to figure out if there is anything… or anyone else… that you can’t go without.”

  “Of course there is,” I say, “the three of you.”

  “Nice try, Shay,” Jill says, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckle.

  Back at my house, I sign on to my computer to ensure all the passwords have been changed and updated. Samuel wasn’t lying. He took most of my money. Karma sure is a cunt-rock. I thought after I paid Chet O’Donnell all of his money back that I’d feel infinitely better. I didn’t. I thought after I apologized face-to-face to Tristan that I’d feel better. I didn’t. The most baffling thing about it all is that right now I feel better than I have in a long, long time.

  When Samuel took my money, cheated on me, and walked out my door, he strangely gave me back my dignity somehow. Selling myself out three years ago and destroying my dignity over a shattered heart wasn’t me. For some odd reason, I feel like everything is right back the way it is supposed to be—the playing field is all evened out. It’s like the Zamboni came out and cleared all the scratches, scars, and chunks of my broken past, smoothing the way for a better, clearer, and smoother future for me.

  My email inbox is full. I start reading emails and respond accordingly, when a new one pops up. I click on it only to feel my heart race, and my hands shake.

  I spent all day yesterday trying to figure out my future, just trying to figure out how my brother and sister both got wiser and more self-aware than I am. That’s just bullshit. I’m smarter and better fucking looking than both of them. Well, smarter and better looking than Adrian. And no, I don’t give a rat’s ass that he’s a doctor. Guy’s an idiot. Fucker slept in a tent for a year.

  Piper’s apparently pretty damn smart. And well, I could’ve broken a few noses yesterday walking around downtown Charleston with her. The guys from the Citadel were staring at her like she was put on this earth for their physical enjoyment. Guys are such fucking pigs. The worst part of it all, Piper just eats it all up. Some dude at Haagen Dazs gave her free ice cream. She licked the cone like some porn star, fuck just like Ivy, giving him exactly what he was hoping for. I threw a twenty on the counter and dragged her flirty ass out of there. So Piper’s got looks on her side too.

  I have to admit though; I do like it here. It’s no wonder Adrian and Piper love it down here. It’s so different from everything we’ve ever known. The people are kind and laid back, always willing to help. They’re not up your shit-shooter either, nosing around in your business. What’s not to like about that? And Hell, we’re not buried in a fucking foot of snow. New Hampshire just issued a state of glacial emergency yesterday, and we had to pull on sweatshirts in South Carolina. I could get used to this.

  “You ready?” Rory asks, meeting Piper and me at the gazebo outside of the Oasis.

  “Yep,” I say, “as long as you’re sure about this.”

  “Bet your sweet ass I am,” Rory says, thumping me on the back. “This shit’s going to be epic.”

  We walk in, the three of us, ready to make the deal of our lives. If I’m not going to take over O’Donnell Industries and run my father’s company, then I suppose I need something else to invest in. Piper is bound and determined to make me realize that there is more to life than getting girls and making money. I don’t see how there is, but if it makes her happy to tutor me, then I’m game.

  Rory’s damn sick of being a glorified bellhop. He’s been saving the money he earns working for his father to open his own hotel, but he’s still short on funds. I don’t know shit about running a restaurant or maintaining a hotel, but Lanette and Rory sure do. I’m going to invest in the Oasis Waterfall on the Waterfront, do some good for the people who mean something to Piper and Adrian. I mean; they’re the only two people who really mean anything to me. I might as well make their friends happy, so I can make them happy. Seems like a “nice guy” thing to do. I guess I’m learning.

  The plan is simple. I’m going to buy the land next to the Oasis, and we’re going to build a hotel, complete with all the southern flare and hospitality. It’s going to have the look of the old, but the amenities of the new. We’re going to give the Oasis a facelift, connect it to the hotel, let Lanette do her hosting, her cooking, and her gardening—inside and out—waterfalls everywhere, all while solving Lanette’s financial issues and Rory’s paternal problems. Everyone’s a winner.

  “Oh Rory, Oh Tristan,” Lanette cries, sobbing into her hands. “I’s gonna pay yous every last penny back. I promise you that.” Piper hands her a sweet tea, swooping her hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”

  “That’s just it Lanette. It’s not just for you—it’s for all of us,” Rory says, hugging her again. “We all need this. This is the family business we’ve all always wanted.”

  Rory’s right. Lanette needs it, because it�
��s her legacy, her connection to her husband, the place and future they built together. Rory needs it, because he can’t spend his life trying to please a man who cannot be pleased. I’d know that more than anyone. I need it, because I need something that isn’t connected to my old man, something that gives me a sense of accomplishment that he can’t take away anytime he feels like it.

  “Ade leaves for three weeks, and everything goes crazy,” Piper squeals. “Wait until he hears about all this.”

  “Open the damn door, Tristan,” my dad’s voice calls from the other side. I lumber to the door, not welcoming this little reunion at all.

  Unlatching and opening the door, my father storms in. “You just think you can write checks all over the fucking country, and I won’t find out about it?’

  “Uhh, yeah, I did,” I say, wondering how in the Hell he knew about the investments and checks already. It’d only been 48 hours since I wrote the first check.

  “Oh please Tristan, grow the fuck up,” he bellows, throwing his briefcase on the bed. “The bank called yesterday to tell me all about the astronomical checks you’ve been writing.”

  “Why the fuck would they call you?” I wonder, pissed as shit. “It’s my money, my account.”

  “Wake up, I own that place, that bank wouldn’t be shit without my money sitting around in it. Ever since Adrian withdrew all his cash and moved south, there are some stiff rules on your accounts, my boy,” my dad explains.

  “I’m almost 30-years-old. Is this a fucking joke?” I ask, incredulously.

  “No Tristan, you’re the fucking joke. You are almost 30, and yet, you still act like a teenager, waiting around for Daddy to bail you out,” my dad says, sitting down on my bed.

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” I argue. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Really? Is that right now, son? Then why in the Hell did I just give your tramps a half a million to keep their trashy mouths shut?” my dad asks, glaring at me.

  “I didn’t ask you to do that,” I counter.

  “It was either that or let Gabi or Amber or whoever the Hell else you got stuffed down your pants take my company,” my father remarks. “I was certainly not going to do that. Now, they each have 250 grand and new cushy jobs over at Weston-Mills.”

  I cannot understand this. How can I be gone for over a week and still be fucking up back home? I can’t be. That’s the thing. My dad uses me against myself. I’m a pawn in his games. He knows he owns me; he knows that all I ever wanted was to be the best in his eyes.

  I used to be Biff in Death of a Salesman, my dad’s pride and joy. Somewhere along the line, I turned into other son, Happy, just craving my dad’s damn approval. Well fuck that shit. Those days are over. This is all about the future—that was the past.

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore, Dad. I resign,” I say, feeling like I just scored that Lacrosse goal I missed in high school. The pressure’s gone—relief sets in and an overwhelming sense of fucking pleasure consumes me.

  “I’m sick of being in everyone’s shadow—everyone’s scapegoat. Those days are over. Your company. Your job. Your money. I’ll pass. I can go without it.”

  “Oh isn’t that sweet? Pretty boy came south and developed a conscience,” he says sarcastically and snidely. “Well guess what sweetheart, some people were meant to shine; others are meant to just sit back in the dark. You’re one of those dim, dim people,” he says, and walks out the door.

  Stopping before the door closes, he says, “I’ll keep your office warm. You’ll fall on your ass soon enough and come crawling back, losers like you always do.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, old man,” I say. As he walks down the hall and pushes the button on the elevator, I add, “On second thought, do.”

  “Two weeks? Really?” I say, biting into my Reuben. “I can’t believe you could be pregnant in two weeks. How do they know?”

  “According to the charts, my egg will be ready in eleven to sixteen days. I’ll have to go in every morning for blood work and a trans-vaginal ultrasound, so they can monitor hormone levels and the lining of my uterine wall or some shit like that,” Jill explains.

  “And to think some chicks get knocked up on a drunken one-night stand,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s just a fast trip to Crazytown.”

  “Sure is,” Jill says, stirring more sweetener into her iced tea.

  “Dad, I’m glad you took off for a few hours to come eat with us today,” I say, rubbing his arm and leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Well, we haven’t seen much of you since the whole Samuel shit storm last week,” my dad says, noticeably uncomfortable.

  “Dad, that was eight days ago. We’ve gone longer than that before,” I remind him, looking between the two of them. I notice the glances between them. It hits me immediately. “Hey! You guys have something going on. What’s up?”

  “We’re worried about you,” Jill admits.

  “About what?” I ask, taking a bite of my sandwich, watching the noticeable edginess they both have. “This seems a lot like my intervention in high school. But this time, I’m not doing drugs or fucking the basketball team,” I joke abrasively. My dad cringes. “Sorry Dad.”

  “Well, you scheduled that procedure at the end of next month. You sure you wanna do something like that?” Jill asks, staring at me intently.

  “We’ve been over this. You may want to be a mother. I don’t. I will never want to be a mother,” I say, putting down my sandwich and folding my hands in my lap. “It’s not who I am,” I explain for the umpteenth time. “Stop calling it a ‘procedure,’ too. It’s a basic hysterectomy. I’ll be fine.”

  I’m lying out my ass to the two people I love the most in this world. Truthfully, I would love to have a baby, be someone’s mother. But last year, I got nervous and decided to spend the money for BRCA testing. And guess what? Big shock there, I have the cancer gene. I never told my sister or my dad. I just know that there will never be a day that I will have to look my children in the eyes and tell them that I am going to leave them someday—someday soon.

  I decided to take that future right off the table. I never want my baby, my child, my girl to hurt like I’ve been hurting for the last decade, a hurt that never goes away. No thank you. It’s bad enough that I will have to tell Jill and my dad someday. I’m not adding anyone else to the list. Not now. Not ever.

  “Alright, so be it. You don’t have any maternal instincts. Got it.” Jill says, abruptly. “Alright then, moving on… so… what about Tristan?”

  “What about Tristan?” I ask, staring at both of them. Why in the world would they bring him up? He’s old news.

  “Do you think you’ll ever man up and tell him that you’ve been in love with him since college?” Jill asks me point blank.

  “I have not been in—”

  The look Jill gives me shuts me up immediately. Tristan O’Donnell was a guest speaker in one of my required Intro. to Business courses. He spoke to our class and told us about the high you get making deals and having a business in your name. At the time, he’d only been out of school for a year, working as a gopher for his dad. Chet O’Donnell was supposed to be the speaker, but “something came up.” Tristan was forced to fill in.

  Tristan had a whole speech ready, but was fumbling miserably. Then, he finally said, “I don’t know anything. It’s hard out there. Find out what your passion is and try to make it your career too. If you can make some money doing it, great, do it,” he looked around the room, loosened his tie, and sighed.

  He sat up on the table, and said, “But here’s what nobody tells you, if you can’t, who cares? Do what makes you happy.” Then, the whole “speech” turned into a question and answer session with Tristan O’Donnell about finding a job, saving money, heck, even on getting girls. He was so down-to-earth and comfortable, just seconds after he was uptight and uneasy.

  I knew back then that he was awful at being who his parents wanted him to be, but so comfortable
being the guy he was meant to be. He was strong and confident, but sweet and vulnerable. It was like looking at a schoolboy and a man, rolled into one. I went home and painted one of the most incredible paintings of my life that night, depicting a broken man one way, but if you looked at it a different way, it was a hopeful young boy. To this day, it really is my most cherished piece.

  Samuel tried to sell it last year to a European art dealer, who was willing to pay an astronomical amount for it. I was pissed that Samuel even tried to sell it. Last year, he said that he hated competing for my affection with a man in a painting. Back then, I just thought Samuel was just being the typical jealous boyfriend. I took down the painting and put it in the spare bedroom at my dad’s house. Now, I realize that Samuel just wanted the money from the art dealer.

  I always knew I wanted to be an artist, but I never knew that I wanted to open my own art gallery too. Tristan sparked that in me when he talked to my class—made me realize that I wanted to follow my passion but have money too. He made it seem so easy, so attainable. I looked at him, crisp, clean, full of hope, and saw my future. He showed me what I wanted my future to look like. I wanted to talk to him after class, but I wimped out. I never brought it up in the month that he kept coming in to Lucky Chuck’s. I was afraid I’d tell him too much, making me seem like a lovesick fool… which I was.

  “Leah darling, what Samuel did was despicable, but you’ll make all that money back in no time. Arts in Hands is a spectacular gallery,” my dad says, pushing his plate away and taking off his glasses. “Now, I’m not going to lie you, you’ve made some bad bad decisions in your life.”

  “I know Dad. I’m so sorr—”

  “Now let me finish,” my dad says. “But I think there is something to be said about fate and when you start ignoring that stuff, even worse things happen.”