eight: in which she has a moment of clarity

“But you won’t see me fall apart, ‘cause I’ve got an elastic heart” –Sia, Elastic Heart

********************************

For the next few days, Ghost’s cryptic words echoed in my mind, and not for the reason you might think.

I found it hilarious. Here was Ghost warning me about Sebastian. I mean, seriously? I’d known him forever, far longer than I knew Ghost. But I was starting to seriously question how well I knew him when he informed me that I was invited to dinner at his parents’ house Friday night.

“You do realize that they hate me, right?” I asked him, my voice incredulous. I’d made brown rice for dinner and, thanks to Seb’s ridiculousness, I’d almost choked on it.

He eyed me from across the table. “They don’t hate you, Maya. How could they?”

Very easily, I thought.

Simon and Valerie Brown were one of those nouveau riche that quickly forgot that they’d been middle-class about ten years earlier. Simon, Sebastian’s dad, patented a new kind of digital pacemaker that made him a ton of bucks. The money had started rolling in once Seb had finished high school. Now, the Browns like to pretend that they don’t know what a community college is. Or a KFC, which is where they used to take Sebastian for his birthday when he was younger. They’re both nearing sixty and enjoy taking spontaneous trips – first-class, of course – around the world. They completely rebuilt their house, and the only reason they don’t leave little old Sallow County is probably because they’re bigwigs here and everybody knows it. In a place like New York City, they’d just blend in and become invisible. Simon and Valerie’s worst nightmare is becoming invisible.

Instead of stating the many reasons Seb’s parents despise me, I sat quietly, finishing what was on my plate. Sebastian’s pleading eyes made me suck up my pride to tell him that I’d go to his parents’ place the next day.

My skin was thick.

***

As I’d expected, the first thing Valerie Brown commented on was the dress I was wearing. She met Seb and me at the door, pulling her only child into a big hug and kissing his cheek before releasing him and giving me the once-over.

“Miss Fenton,” she said with a fake smile, “that is a very simplistic dress. It suits you.”

Simplistic, huh? As in unsophisticated? Well, she was going to have to come at me much harder than that to elicit any petty cattiness in return.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brown,” I said with a smile. A real one, of course. There was nothing wrong with my dress.

It was a black sleeveless one, with a scooped neck, flared skirt, and a wide belt cinching my waist. Thanks to the warmth of the night air, I didn’t have to wear a cardigan. I’d even swapped my flip-flops and sneakers for black pumps. I’d collected my mass of hair into one braid and pinned it into a bun just below my right ear. I’d put in minimal effort tonight, but it didn’t show, if Seb’s gushing compliments when he’d first seen me were anything to go by.

Mrs. Brown wrinkled her nose at me and turned to lead us into the house. It was beautiful, their home. Beautiful and way too huge and fancy. Our feet echoed on the slick marble tiles, and horrendous artwork was displayed on the walls on either side of the long hallway. Chandeliers hung above us, lighting the way until we got into the large dining room.

I wanted to roll my eyes at the extravagancy of it all. This was a family dinner, not lunch with the Obamas.

Five places were set instead of four, and I raised a questioning brow at Valerie. She pretended not to notice, saying to her son in an overly bright voice, “You remember Helen Gould, Sebastian, don’t you?”

From where he stood beside me, Sebastian looked uncomfortable. “Yeah… Mom, please don’t tell me –”

“Of course, you remember her!” Valerie clapped her hands together. “I met her at the spa the other day, and the poor thing’s going through a nasty divorce. I invited her to dinner. It was the least I could do.”

She said the last sentence to me, as if by way of apology. Yeah, right.

Sebastian scratched the back of his head. “I don’t get it. I thought this was a family dinner,” he said, so clueless it was unbelievable.

It was obvious to anyone that Valerie was hoping to hook up newly-divorced Helen with her son. The fact that she’d invited me to watch it happen was…hilarious, to say the least. The woman was incredible.

“Hey, the more the merrier, right?” I heard myself say, watching a young woman dressed in one of those cliché black-and-white maid’s outfits put the finishing touches to the table.

Valerie’s eyes caught mine, and I saw the sly look in them. She was dressed like an angel – in an all-white pantsuit – but had a devil’s heart. And if looks could kill…

“Sebastian? I thought I heard your voice, son.” We heard Simon before we saw him, and when he did appear in the doorway, I had to do a double take.

The last time I’d seen him, which was a few months ago, the man had looked his age. Now, his skin had been pulled tight in an unnatural way, the wrinkles completely demolished, and his graying hair was now a thick, shiny brown. He was a tall man, towering over us all as he went for his son and hugged him like they didn’t see each other every week.

Valerie’s sly digs at me were one thing, but Simon’s complete dismissal of me was another.

“Dad, would you please say hello to Maya?” Seb said through clenched teeth.

“It’s OK,” I told him, just wanting this night to be over. Hearing him beg his father to acknowledge me wasn’t exactly warming my heart.

“What are you all doing just standing there? Sit, sit, sit,” Simon demanded, ignoring Sebastian’s question. I was fine with that.

Seb and I sat beside each other, while Valerie sat next to the empty chair she insisted was for Helen, and Simon sat at the head of the table. The maid immediately brought the drinks in, pouring everyone a glass of wine. I decided that wine would be a good idea to get through this night, more so when Helen Gould flitted through the door, wearing blue jeans and a frilly white blouse. She was a golden-haired, green-eyed little woman and when her eyes fell on Sebastian, she instantly grinned.

After being hugged to death by Valerie, she immediately went round the table and threw her arms around my boyfriend while he was still seated.

“You look amazing, Bastian! I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?”

“Uh, pretty good. This is my girlfriend, Maya,” he replied, putting an arm around my shoulders.

Helen’s gaze shifted to me and her smile visibly tightened. “Maya. How pretty. I’m Helen.”

“Thank you. It’s very nice to meet you,” I lied.

“Likewise,” she lied, moseying on to the chair opposite Sebastian. She continued to make googly eyes at him over her wine. I was torn between gagging and laughing in her face. Pathetic didn’t even come close to describing her, and I’d only met her five minutes ago.

“So, Maya, what is it that you do?” Helen asked, her face disinterested.

“I’m a nurse, specializing in frail care patients,” I replied. “How about you?”

“Helen is a divorce attorney,” Valerie piped up, sounding proud.

“How lucky,” I told Helen. “You can represent yourself.”

A heavy silence fell. I had to deal with sour looks from both Helen and her number one cheerleader before the first course – apparently, a normal dinner was unheard of – was placed before us. Sebastian and his father began a heavy debate about something to do with computers and Valerie and Helen kept themselves busy whispering back and forth like schoolgirls.

I was flat-out ignored – which was a good development when it came to the Browns.

“…and this is why interracial couples never last. Just look at that schoolteacher and Bill Henderson’s daughter. What’s her name? Clarissa?”

“Claire, Mrs. Brown,” Helen corrected with a smile. “And you’re absolutely right. Culture clashes, and all that. It never works out. Heidi and Seal split up, too, didn’t they?”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Seriously, I even gave my wine a suspicious glance, as if it was to blame for the garbage I had to be dreaming up.

“I mean, no offence, Maya,” said Helen, in a voice that said she definitely meant to offend me. “You and Sebastian will probably get married and have cute little biracial children.”

My cutlery clattered onto my plate. Oblivious, Sebastian and Simon continued talking, but Helen and Valerie were silently watching me, eagerly awaiting my reaction.

“No offence? Really?” My voice was shaking, my heart racing. Valerie had said some pretty scathing things in the past, but never something as blatantly offensive as this.

“It’s only the truth, my girl,” Valerie said with a smile. “God really didn’t want people to mix in that way. We have moments in history that attest to this.”

“You’re bringing God into your bigotry?” I spat, and this time, complete silence fell.

“What’s going on?” Sebastian asked in a low voice. “Maya?”

Ignoring him, Valerie began, “Bigotry, Miss Fenton? Honestly, don’t be so dramatic. I have nothing against other racial groups. For God’s sake, I employ Hispanics and African-Americans.”

My blood was boiling like water in a kettle. Perhaps that was what had a trickle of sweat slithering down my back.

“You’ve never liked me with your son. You’ve never liked me, period,” I told the woman, knowing that there was no way that she could deny the truth. “And honestly? I’ve never really cared, but now you want to tell me that the color of my skin is what will result in my relationship with Sebastian not lasting?”

“Did she say that?” Sebastian asked me, sounding doubtful. “She didn’t say that. My mother would never –”

“Sebastian, would you shut the hell up!” I roared at him, taking him aback. He drew away from me, a look of shock in his eyes. I turned my attention back to his mother. “You don’t know anything about me, Mrs. Brown, and you probably won’t ever care to. But I. Don’t. Care. If you can’t get past your son dating me because of my skin color, then I feel sorry for you. I really do. That’s your problem, not mine.”

I stood up, steadfastly ignoring Seb’s placating hand on my lower back. Before anyone could say anything to break the stunned silence, I stormed out of the Brown residence. Walking down the long, winding driveway was hell in my heels, but it had to be done. At least the weather had remained unchanged. I could only thank God for that. By the time I reached the looming iron-wrought gates, I was a sweaty mess and had my shoes in my hand.

Now, how to escape this prison of prejudice?

The gates couldn’t just be pushed open. Seb had used a remote to get us in, so it was no big surprise. I flung my shoes up at the iron spires…and the gate yawned open for me. It was probably Valerie, wanting to speed up my exit. I certainly didn’t mind.

This was the last time I would ever set foot on this land.

Sebastian didn’t follow me and maybe that was a good thing. If I looked at him, I’d see his mother saying those disgusting things and I’d inevitably punch him in the nose. Plus, walking alone gave me time to cool off. I hated wasting time on other people’s stupidity and ignorance.

I was halfway home when I stepped on glass, inevitably succumbing to the sharp pang of pain and ending up flat on my butt. The piece of glass had pierced the arch of my foot and blood gushed freely from the fresh wound. It wasn’t even the pain – or the sight of so much scarlet illuminated by the streetlights on either side of the street – that had me tearing up. It wasn’t even Valerie’s words, per se. It was the feelings and memories they dragged to the surface.

My parents had met in South Africa. As an interracial couple in the apartheid era, they hadn’t been allowed to marry, let alone be seen in public together. Funny how, over two decades later, I was experiencing a modicum of what they’d gone through. It made me sick to be judged like that.

“Fucķ you, Simon and Valerie,” I said through my tears. “Fucķ your ridiculous-looking Botox and fucķ your hair transplant, Simon. Fucķ your fake-ass bourgeois five-course meals and fucķ your triple-K breast implants, Valerie. And fucķ your dumbass son – because I sure as hell won’t!”

I let out a manic laugh that echoed into the night. It felt good to say all that aloud. It felt good to let it out, even if I was the only one around to hear it. The fact of the matter was that I was sitting on a tar road in one of my nicest dresses, barefoot and bleeding, and I’d left my handbag with my phone and keys inside Sebastian’s car. Since he was the only other person who had a spare, I was screwed.

But that only made me laugh harder. It was at times like these that I was glad I had a stalker, because that was how Jake found me. Did I question what he was doing in that particular neighborhood after eight in the evening? No, because I was just glad to see him. I didn’t even mind that he was on his bike.

*~*~*

Jake bandaged me up and made me a TV dinner, for which I was grateful.

I didn’t want to go home, in case Sebastian tried to return my bag to me tonight. I didn’t want to go to Kira’s or Luke’s because he knew where they lived. There wasn’t any likelihood of him hunting me down, as far as I was concerned, and I was strangely good with that.

Until Jake brought him up, of course.

“So that boyfriend of yours ditched you?”

Did I feel like talking about it? Nope. Just the memory of Sebastian sitting idly beside me while his mother and potential future wife said the most revolting, racist things to me… If I said Sebastian’s name out loud, I would probably smash something at the memory of that horrible dinner.

Jake had parked himself on the coffee table – which, surprisingly, didn’t creak under his weight – opposite where I had my feet tucked beneath my butt on his leather couch. He propped his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward. “’Cause I’ll kick his ass if you say yes,” he said, sounding serious.

“Don’t you ever worry about going back to jail?” I whispered. Once upon a time, I would’ve wanted that. Just for him to get out of hair for three or so years. Now? Not so much.

“No. So are you gonna tell me what the hell you were doing stranded a couple blocks away from your boyfriend’s parents’ house?”

I looked away. “We broke up.”

“And he kicked you out?” Jake’s tone was murderous.

“I took the liberty of escorting myself out.” Heart set with determination, I met Jake’s eyes. “He doesn’t know we’ve broken up, though.”

“And how does that work out?”

“Maybe I’ll text him.”

“Poor fucker.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “The poor fucķer.”

Jake’s excuse for closing the distance between us was unclear. My excuse for not moving was that there were about a dozen different emotions churning around inside me at that very moment, and a powerful, inexplicable lust for Jacob “Ripper” Ford just happened to be one of them.

His lips collided against mine with a sweet force that pushed the back of my head against the couch, taking my breath away. Seriously. I could feel a beautiful pain in my lungs as they ceased working and oxygen seemed archaic. He was kneeling on the ground, his palms flat on either side of me before his hands went to my face, gently cupping me as his kiss became slower. I was lost. Totally lost to the sensation he uncovered deep within me.

I found myself leaning forward, leaning into his kiss like a moth drawn to a brilliant flame. My arms went around his neck and my legs unfurled, so that his torso was trapped between them.

Jake kissed me like a dying man seeking one last taste of a female. It was consuming. It was powerful. My mind was a blank and all I could feel was him. All around me, like an aura. I melted. He only became more solid.

With a tug of my lower lip, he got my lips to part, and began to show me just how well his tongue worked. His mouth moved against mine in a languorous fashion, almost as if he wanted to savor my taste when all I wanted to do was savor his. He tasted of something syrupy, something heady. I liked it. He swallowed the soft moan I released and unraveled my bun, tugging the length of my braid. This tipped my head back, and his mouth kissed its way along my jaw line, his teeth grazing my skin, and down the side of my neck.

At this point, every part of my body became uncomfortably hot, trapped in its own personal inferno. My toes curled, the pain in my right foot nothing but a distant memory, and my head spun. When his lips kissed the curve of my bare shoulder, I shivered, never experiencing a kiss there before. His breathing was erratic, his mouth hot. And all I could do was feel. Feel my body react in a way it had never reacted before.

Jake uttered a low curse, swiftly moving from the floor to the couch, dragging me onto his lap. I sat astride him, his hands cupping my butt, and went for his mouth once more. I was insanely addicted. Instantly addicted. It was a given. Everything that Jake did, he did to the best of his ability and dear God, was he able. His chest was solid beneath my roaming hands, and I wished for skin contact. I would take what I’d get, though.

And then he moved against me, gifting me with languid thrusts against my center. It reminded me of that night in my kitchen, when I’d been so afraid of responding that I’d frozen up. I wasn’t a statue anymore. Pleasure, sharp and devastating, arrowed in my belly. I pushed down against Jake; wanting to heighten this feeling, wanting it to completely overwhelm me. He made a sound of appreciation, and in that moment, I felt absolutely wanton. My dress was hiked around my waist, my hair was a mess, and I had a man beneath me. A sexy, incredibly fine man.

A man who was not my boyfriend.

My movements stopped and my eyes snapped open, staring into Jake’s own lust-darkened ones. We were both breathing heavily, sucking all the oxygen from the living room, it seemed.

“I’m rebounding,” I blurted out, cupping a hand over my mouth.

“Don’t give a shιt,” Jake grunted, showing me just how much he didn’t give a shιt by grinding his hard-on into me.

I bit back the whimper that was threatening to escape. “Actually, I’m cheating.” Saying it aloud turned my stomach.

Jake ran his tongue along his kiss-swollen lip, the look in his eyes scorching my skin. When he spoke, his voice was devoid of any emotion. “I’ll take you home.”

I felt unbelievably awkward, sitting on his lap with my breasts all but spilling out of my dress and onto his face. I hoisted myself off him, flopping onto the cushions beside him.

“I don’t have my keys,” I said quietly, eyes fixed on an old scar on my left knee.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“OK.”

During the drive to my apartment, I told myself that this was for the best. Men like Jake were supernovas, and I would inevitably get burned. I liked my body way too much to subject it to third-degree burns of the emotional kind.