The One Where He Makes Arrangements

I wearily let myself into my apartment. Seven days of nonstop meetings and a long flight—not to mention the time change—have done a number on me. There’s nothing I’d like more than to step out of these jeans and T-shirt and climb into bed for a large number of hours.

But as the screen of my cell lights up with my mother’s number flashing on screen, I know that isn’t an option until later tonight.

“Mom,” I answer¸ rubbing my forehead.

“Mr. Carlisle will be waiting for you with your divorce papers at nine a.m. at the house. If you feel like you can drag yourself over here to look at them, please do.” She hangs up without another word.

Actually, after those two sentences, I don’t feel like dragging myself over there at all. Hearing my mother’s less-than-pleasant inner thoughts out loud is never enjoyable, especially not when they involve my ex and are directed at me. Nevertheless, I should have expected this.

I also know that her last sentence was her attempting to be polite. What she really meant was that, if I have any brain cells at all, I better get my ass over there before the lawyer shows.

I step into the bathroom for a quick shower, trying not to think about the last time I did this alone. Usually there’s another person in here for me to run my hands over, to kiss, to wash. And usually, that person is doing the same thing back to me…

I exhale deeply, washing the soap from my body. God, I miss her. If I thought Dayton’s leaving me seven years ago was painful, I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared for the hollow feeling inside my chest or every lackluster beat of my heart.

Her laugh, her smile, the twinkle she gets in her eyes every time I look at her… I miss it all, and it’s only been a matter of days. I didn’t realize just how much I love her until I watched that car pull away from the hotel, taking her with it.

I didn’t realize just how much brighter she makes life.

I dress quickly, tugging a jacket over my sweater, and push my cell into my pocket. It rings again, and I'm relieved to see Dad’s name on the screen.

“Dad.”

“Your mom would like to know if you’re on your way yet.”

My eyes drift to the clock on the wall. “Yes, I’m about to leave. Forty-five minutes earlier than necessary.”

He relays this message to her, and a heavy breath crackles down the phone as he brings it back to his ear. “She says not to be smart, and she hopes you arrive with a little more respect than you’re currently showing her.”

Twenty-seven years old and the woman can still make me feel like a kid.

“I’ll try my best,” I reply.

“He said he’s sorry. He’s simply tired after his long flight, and he’ll make sure to bring a better attitude,” Dad calls. A door shuts, and he exhales. “Good grief. Son, she’s not happy.”

“Really, Dad? I wasn’t aware from our earlier conversation.” I get into the waiting car with a nod to the building doorman.

“I hope you have plenty of medication in your apartment, because I suspect you’ll need it when you leave. Although, I have to say, at this point, rather you than me.”

I wince. I can just imagine what he’s had to put up with for the last few days. To the public eye, my mother is the walking embodiment of composure and elegance, even when angry. In private, she’s the exact opposite.

Quite frankly, it makes me want to turn this car around and have Mr. Carlisle email a copy of the agreement instead.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I end the call and lean back on the seat.

An endless tirade over my shortcomings with my first marriage and choice of wife isn’t what I planned for this morning.

The drive through New York is more painful than I remember, likely because I’ve been spoiled by quieter cities over the past month. When I finally arrive at my parents’ house, I linger in the car for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, my mother appears at the front door, meaning my attempts at prolonging the beginning of our conversation are thwarted.

“Inside,” she barks, her eyes hard and disappointed.

I bite my tongue. I know better than to respond to her in this mood…most of the time. Occasionally, the words slip out.

She points at the front room, and I walk in, dutifully taking a seat on the sofa. My father lowers his paper at a sharp look from Mom and glances at me with sympathy in his eyes.

Oh yes. This is going to be bad.

Mom looks at me for a long moment, her eyes shining with anger, before sighing resignedly. She reaches behind her head and secures her hair up with a large clip then brings her attention back to me.

“Why, Aaron? Why didn’t you tell her?”

I open my mouth, but she carries on, and I realize that all of her questions will be rhetorical until she decides otherwise. Perils of having a mother who is used to dealing with men like my father…and me.

“I don’t understand why it was so difficult. What were you trying to protect her from? The truth? Impossible. You can’t protect people from the truth with lies, openly said or otherwise. If it were any other girl…fine. But Dayton isn’t just anyone.” She sighs and puts her hands on her hips, and she’s gaining the steam she lost a moment ago. “You should have foreseen this. You should have expected that bitch—”

“Carly!”

“Shut up, Brandon!” she snaps without looking Dad’s way. “You should have expected her to pull a stunt like this. She despises Dayton without having met her. Your past with her is what held you back in that godforsaken relationship with that little gold-digger. The second she got wind of you being in Paris with her, she rushed over from London with a samurai sword to stab you in the back, and you damn well let her because of your stupidity.”

“Come on now, Mom. I was doing what I thought was best!” I sit up straight.

She raises her eyebrows. “And one day you will learn that mother knows best. I told you to be honest with that girl, and you didn’t. Now look. What do you have to show for it?”

I rub my hand across my forehead, feeling a dull throb beginning behind my eyes. “Can we discuss this another day? I’m exhausted and would like to get this meeting done with so I can go back to bed. I’d also like to wait in peace.”

“No, Aaron, we can’t discuss it another day.”

“Carly, give him a little break. He’s had it rough.”

“Of his own making!” Mom looks at him this time, and my father visibly shrinks. Behold the power of a woman’s stare. She spins her eyes back to me. “What are you going to do to solve this mess? Obviously divorcing Naomi is the smartest move you’ve made in a long time, but how much is that costing you? How much are you losing just to put an end to that sham you called a marriage?”

“Enough, Mother.”

“And then what? Are you going to jet to Seattle and expect Dayton to take you back because you snap your fingers? I wouldn’t put it past you. That’s exactly what your father would do. But it won’t work, Aaron. You won’t be able to show up and have her fall for it all over again. And even then, do you really expect Naomi to let it lie? She works for the company!”

“I said enough!” I yell, standing quickly. “In case it escaped your notice, I’m more than aware of the situation I’m in. Divorcing Naomi will cost me seven and a half million or it goes to court, something she knows. In the grand scheme of things, seven million really isn’t a lot. As for her working for us, that’s something I plan to rectify before the ink is even dry on the business contracts. And Dayton… I haven’t considered that yet. I know you’re doing this because you care, but this discussion is now over.”

The doorbell rings, and I walk into the office, ready to meet Mr. Carlisle and look over the papers. Mom follows me, her heels clicking against the floor.

“What do you mean you plan to rectify Naomi working for us? Aaron! Aaron!”

“Should I come back later?” Mr. Carlisle stands in the doorway of the office, next to my father.

“Absolutely not, Stephen. Carly is just fussing,” Dad answers. “Carly, darling, we could use some coffee.”

In a role reversal, he pins her with a severe gaze. Any other woman would melt into the wall in fear, but not her. She merely clicks her tongue, throws a cursory, annoyed glance my way that says we’re not done here, and stalks from the room.

Collectively, we three men exhale. Dad shuts the door behind her and motions for Mr. Carlisle to lay the papers out on the desk.

“Let’s get on with this,” I say. “I’d like to leave before she returns. I think she shaved ten years off my age somewhere during the last few days, and I’m even less fond of her rages now than I was then.”

Mr. Carlisle smiles. He’s more than aware of my mother’s…ways. “The only change I made was the monetary amount as you requested, Aaron. Everything else, including the no-contact clause, is as it was.”

I run my eyes over the sheets of paper in front of me, barely reading the words, and nod once. “Dad, how soon can we get her flown over here?”

“Likely on the next flight—if she’ll come.”

“She will,” I respond confidently, leaning forward to get the phone. I dial the Seattle office number, getting Dottie. “Dottie. Can you check the next flight from CDG in Paris to JFK for Naomi?”

“I’ll call you back in five minutes.” The phone clicks off, and I set mine back in the holder.

“Efficient assistant you have there,” Mr. Carlisle remarks.

“Only the best.”

The phone rings within the five-minute frame she gave me and I smile.

“There’s a flight leaving at eight a.m., Paris time. She’ll land here late tonight ready for a meeting for you tomorrow.”

“Perfect. Book that flight in her name.”

“Class?”

“Economy. And book her a hotel room…somewhere. Make sure the airline knows that the fee will be paid upon her collection of the tickets.”

I can almost hear her smiling down the phone. “Very well, sir. And the hotel room?”

“You don’t need me to answer that, do you, Dottie?”

“I’ll get right on it.” She hangs up on me for a second time.

I turn my head and find my father staring at me, a bemused look on his face. “What?”

“Economy class? God, son. She’ll have a fit.”

I shrug a shoulder, dialing my ex’s number. “I have to get my kicks somewhere, Dad. Besides, it’ll improve Mom’s mood somewhat.”

I redial four times before Naomi finally answers with a snap. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I do,” I respond. “And you should look at it, because you have a flight to catch in four hours.”

“Excuse me?” I hear movement down the line.

“A flight. To New York.”

“You’ll find that I don’t, Aaron.”

“You’ll find that you do, Naomi. Dottie will be emailing you your flight details any time.”

“You can’t just book me a flight and expect me to jump on it.”

“Absolutely, I can. Because if you aren’t on this flight today and you aren’t in my office at ten tomorrow morning to sign the papers sitting in front of me, you won’t be signing them at all and we’ll be settling this in court. This is your final chance, Naomi.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, Aaron Stone.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” I set the phone back in the holder, effectively ending the call, and straighten. Both Mr. Carlisle and my father are watching me with matching looks that tell of their hidden laughter. “If you’ll excuse me, Dad, Mr. Carlisle, I’m going home to bed. That flight last night was a bastard.”

“What about your mother?” Dad calls after me.

I open the front door and wave a hand over my shoulder. “Tell her about the economy flight and I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 725