Anchor Me
Page 64
A knot of anger forms in my stomach, and I tell myself to just ignore it. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but all the children in the program do have special needs.”
“And this child you’re interested in? What’s the matter with her?”
I mentally bang my head on the table. “She has an extra toe on each foot. It’s really no big deal. We’ve already spoken with a surgeon about what’s involved to correct it.”
“I see,” she says, though I sincerely doubt she does.
“Well,” I say. “That’s really all I wanted to tell you. I’m sure you have a busy day and all that . . .”
She makes no move to leave. “I can’t say that I ever considered adoption, but I do think that a woman should want children so long as she can keep her figure and her husband happy.” She looks appraisingly at me. “At least this way you don’t have to worry about baby weight. But do you think Damien will be happy with a child who’s not his own blood?”
“I know he will be.”
Her mouth pinches together, and she inhales loudly through her nose. “You’re blind, Nichole. You always have been where that man is concerned. Do you really think a man like Damien Stark wants a child who isn’t his flesh and blood? He won’t. I’ve seen it before, you know. You can’t hold a man like that without the tie of blood.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father—your grandfather—he was my mother’s second husband and my stepfather. Do you think he cared a whit about me? I was never enough. Never polished enough or pretty enough. I was an irritation until I grew up, and then I was simply his heir by virtue of the fact that he had no other.”
I’ve never heard my mother talk about my grandfather that way. “I didn’t know that,” I say. “But that’s not what Damien’s like.”
“So you say now. Men don’t stay. Your sister learned that the hard way. I don’t want you to suffer the same. But you will. He’ll leave you. You give that man a child that’s not his blood and he’ll walk away.”
“No, he won’t.” I lean back. “The thing is, I’ve been thinking a lot about families. Family isn’t about blood. Blood is an accident. Blood is biology. Family is love and respect and caring and commitment.”
“Commitment! Is that why he’s been tooling around with that crazy bitch from London?”
“Sofia?” I tilt my head, examining her face. “What do you know about Sofia?”
Her eyes dart away, and I have the impression that she’s kicking herself for saying too much. “I saw it online,” she says vaguely.
“Since when have you hung out on social media? Christ, Mother,” I say, pushing my chair back to stand. “You’re the one who sent that email?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you’re suggesting that someone told you about your husband and that trollop, then I think you should thank them.”
“Go,” I say.
“What?”
“You heard me. I want you to go. We’re done.”
“But what . . . I don’t . . .”
“You understand me just fine,” I say. “And it’s time for you to leave.”
“Fine.” She pushes back her chair and stands up. “You always were an impossible child.” She hitches her purse up on her shoulder. “Do you really think they’ll allow you to adopt? With your . . . issues?”
There’s something cold in her tone. Something that makes me reach for the back of my chair to steady myself. “You mean the fact that I used to cut?”
“I would think an agency would be very disturbed by that fact. If they were to find out. If they were to see photos. Hear the stories. And of course, it would be terribly embarrassing if your history went public.”
“Are you threatening me?”
She sits back down. “I’m concerned about your welfare. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle. And, of course, I’m looking out for the best interest of the child.”
Fury pounds in my ears, and I grip the back of the chair so hard I’m afraid I’m going to break it. But then I take a breath, because the bigger picture is coming into focus. Because this isn’t about me or Damien or my child. Where my mother is concerned, it never is.
This is about her. And I know exactly what to do.
“You know what, Mother? You win.”
“Excuse me?”
“You win. You’re going to go back to Texas. To your new, mortgage-free house and your lovely new Mercedes and a six-figure bank account.”
“What on earth—”
“Don’t act surprised. It’s what you want. And it’s yours. If you go in the morning. And if you stay the hell out of my affairs.”
“You think you’re so special because you have money now? That you’re going to take pity on your poor mother who lost her fortune. It wasn’t my fault, you know. And that money isn’t yours at all.”
“Take it or leave it, Mother. But decide now.”
This was her end game all along. Cash. And I’m more than happy to have realized it now. Because I want this over. I want her gone.
“Be at the airport in the morning,” I order. “You remember where we keep the jet hangared? If you’re not there, the deal’s off.”
“I will,” Mother says. “But only because your perception is so skewed. I know this isn’t forever, no matter what you say. You’re just like your sister, and eventually you’ll come crawling back to me. You’ve never stood on your own. And when he leaves, we both know that you’re going to be destroyed.”
“He won’t,” I say. “I know it. And you know what, Mother? You know it, too. Maybe Ashley wasn’t strong. But I am.” I move around the table to stand closer to her. “But we don’t need to argue about it. You win, remember?”
I start to walk away, then pause and look back at her. “Actually, I guess we both win. Because you’ll finally be gone. Goodbye, Mother. We’re done.”
And then I turn my back on her and, with my heart pounding wildly, I walk back into Stark Tower and take the elevator up to Damien.
“And this child you’re interested in? What’s the matter with her?”
I mentally bang my head on the table. “She has an extra toe on each foot. It’s really no big deal. We’ve already spoken with a surgeon about what’s involved to correct it.”
“I see,” she says, though I sincerely doubt she does.
“Well,” I say. “That’s really all I wanted to tell you. I’m sure you have a busy day and all that . . .”
She makes no move to leave. “I can’t say that I ever considered adoption, but I do think that a woman should want children so long as she can keep her figure and her husband happy.” She looks appraisingly at me. “At least this way you don’t have to worry about baby weight. But do you think Damien will be happy with a child who’s not his own blood?”
“I know he will be.”
Her mouth pinches together, and she inhales loudly through her nose. “You’re blind, Nichole. You always have been where that man is concerned. Do you really think a man like Damien Stark wants a child who isn’t his flesh and blood? He won’t. I’ve seen it before, you know. You can’t hold a man like that without the tie of blood.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My father—your grandfather—he was my mother’s second husband and my stepfather. Do you think he cared a whit about me? I was never enough. Never polished enough or pretty enough. I was an irritation until I grew up, and then I was simply his heir by virtue of the fact that he had no other.”
I’ve never heard my mother talk about my grandfather that way. “I didn’t know that,” I say. “But that’s not what Damien’s like.”
“So you say now. Men don’t stay. Your sister learned that the hard way. I don’t want you to suffer the same. But you will. He’ll leave you. You give that man a child that’s not his blood and he’ll walk away.”
“No, he won’t.” I lean back. “The thing is, I’ve been thinking a lot about families. Family isn’t about blood. Blood is an accident. Blood is biology. Family is love and respect and caring and commitment.”
“Commitment! Is that why he’s been tooling around with that crazy bitch from London?”
“Sofia?” I tilt my head, examining her face. “What do you know about Sofia?”
Her eyes dart away, and I have the impression that she’s kicking herself for saying too much. “I saw it online,” she says vaguely.
“Since when have you hung out on social media? Christ, Mother,” I say, pushing my chair back to stand. “You’re the one who sent that email?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you’re suggesting that someone told you about your husband and that trollop, then I think you should thank them.”
“Go,” I say.
“What?”
“You heard me. I want you to go. We’re done.”
“But what . . . I don’t . . .”
“You understand me just fine,” I say. “And it’s time for you to leave.”
“Fine.” She pushes back her chair and stands up. “You always were an impossible child.” She hitches her purse up on her shoulder. “Do you really think they’ll allow you to adopt? With your . . . issues?”
There’s something cold in her tone. Something that makes me reach for the back of my chair to steady myself. “You mean the fact that I used to cut?”
“I would think an agency would be very disturbed by that fact. If they were to find out. If they were to see photos. Hear the stories. And of course, it would be terribly embarrassing if your history went public.”
“Are you threatening me?”
She sits back down. “I’m concerned about your welfare. I don’t want you taking on more than you can handle. And, of course, I’m looking out for the best interest of the child.”
Fury pounds in my ears, and I grip the back of the chair so hard I’m afraid I’m going to break it. But then I take a breath, because the bigger picture is coming into focus. Because this isn’t about me or Damien or my child. Where my mother is concerned, it never is.
This is about her. And I know exactly what to do.
“You know what, Mother? You win.”
“Excuse me?”
“You win. You’re going to go back to Texas. To your new, mortgage-free house and your lovely new Mercedes and a six-figure bank account.”
“What on earth—”
“Don’t act surprised. It’s what you want. And it’s yours. If you go in the morning. And if you stay the hell out of my affairs.”
“You think you’re so special because you have money now? That you’re going to take pity on your poor mother who lost her fortune. It wasn’t my fault, you know. And that money isn’t yours at all.”
“Take it or leave it, Mother. But decide now.”
This was her end game all along. Cash. And I’m more than happy to have realized it now. Because I want this over. I want her gone.
“Be at the airport in the morning,” I order. “You remember where we keep the jet hangared? If you’re not there, the deal’s off.”
“I will,” Mother says. “But only because your perception is so skewed. I know this isn’t forever, no matter what you say. You’re just like your sister, and eventually you’ll come crawling back to me. You’ve never stood on your own. And when he leaves, we both know that you’re going to be destroyed.”
“He won’t,” I say. “I know it. And you know what, Mother? You know it, too. Maybe Ashley wasn’t strong. But I am.” I move around the table to stand closer to her. “But we don’t need to argue about it. You win, remember?”
I start to walk away, then pause and look back at her. “Actually, I guess we both win. Because you’ll finally be gone. Goodbye, Mother. We’re done.”
And then I turn my back on her and, with my heart pounding wildly, I walk back into Stark Tower and take the elevator up to Damien.
