“But she was trying to find you when you were on your way here. Celeste just said so.”
“Of course she was,” I scoff. “She got caught and she was trying to beg for my forgiveness, which she won’t get.”
“So, you haven’t spoken to her.”
“No.”
Gianna sighs and murmurs something about pig headed men. “Perhaps you should talk to her before jumping to conclusions.”
“I know what I saw, Gianna.”
“You saw her best friend sitting on the couch.”
“Half naked, sweaty, and their clothes thrown all over the fucking living room. It wasn’t exactly innocent.”
“Well, I’ll concede that.” She bites her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m clearly not the best judge of character, and I’ve never met your Alecia.”
“She’s not mine,” I reply quickly.
“Isn’t she?” Gianna grins and cups my face in her hands. “You love so strongly, Dominic. You always have. It’s one of the things that both opens you up to great heartache and brings you such joy. Liliana dimmed that light in you for a while, but I can see that it’s back. There’s anger there, and I’m not saying it shouldn’t be, but perhaps you should try to reach out to her.”
“She hasn’t tried to contact me either, Gianna.”
“You’re halfway across the world. It’s been two days. Cell phones aren’t always reliable.” She leans in and kisses my cheeks then stands. “Ti amo.”
“I love you too.” I kiss her hand before she walks away, lifts the forgotten wine bottle off the railing, and returns inside.
I know what I saw. There was no way to mistake it. Her clothes were everywhere; Blake was half dressed.
And she refused to fucking say that she hadn’t just been with him. She wouldn’t deny it.
If she came looking for me, it was because I found out about it.
Right?
I shake my head and scrub my scalp in agitation, and then decide fuck it and pull my phone out of my pocket and quickly dial her number.
It goes straight to voice mail.
I frown and try one more time, but it again goes to voice mail. It’s either dead or she shut it off. I take a deep breath, and finally bring Jules up in my contacts and dial her number.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Jules, I’m trying to reach Alecia and I can’t get through on her cell. Have you spoken with her?”
“Dominic?”
“Who else would this be?”
“Your number came up as unknown. You’re lucky I answered.”
“Have you spoken to her?” I ask again.
“No, I haven’t spoken to her since the baseball game. Is everything okay?”
I swear under my breath and rub my fingers over my lips. “No, it’s not okay. But I’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, Dom.”
“Thanks, bella.”
She’s probably right. I’m sure she’s fine. But now worry has settled in. I need to get Gianna back on her feet and have words, and come to blows, with Marco, so I can go home and figure out what the fuck is going on.
Chapter Twenty
~Alecia~
I didn’t know I could hate a city as much as I hate San Francisco. And it’s really not the city’s fault. It’s a beautiful city with lovely buildings and interesting people. Excellent food. There’s always something going on here, whether it be an art exhibit or a festival.
And the views of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific Ocean are stunning.
But there are nothing but bad memories for me here.
I drive my rental car through the neighborhood I grew up in. I know the streets like the back of my hand. I walked home countless times, alone, when one of my parents forgot to pick me up from school, or simply didn’t come get me because it was inconvenient.
I could find their house blindfolded.
I pull up to the curb, cut the engine, and simply gaze about the tidy, middle class neighborhood. It’s a beautiful, sunny summer day. The trees are heavy with green leaves, the sidewalks tidy and busy with kids on bikes or running around with friends. Two of the neighbors are mowing their lawns.
I step out of the car and stare at Mom and Dad’s house. They must have had it recently painted. Instead of the solid, dependable dark grey from my childhood, it’s now a rust color, and the green shrubs on either side of the small porch look even brighter against the house.
I take a deep breath and walk slowly up the sidewalk, climb the stairs of the porch, and ring the doorbell. My eyes can’t help but travel to the corner of the porch where I used to sit for hours on end, watching the other kids in the neighborhood, wishing I didn’t have to go to another piano lesson or basketball practice or day camp.
The door opens and my mother, her blonde hair curly and a bit unruly around her thin face, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and blue jeans rolled up to mid-calf, opens the door with a surprised smile.
“Alecia! Oh my goodness, what are you doing? Come in, darling.” She steps back, letting me in and kisses both of my cheeks. “Alan! Alecia is here!”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Well, this is a delightful surprise. Are you visiting from Sedona?”
“Seattle,” I correct her and clench my hands into fists. “I live in Seattle.”
“That’s right, dear. Come on back to the kitchen. Your father and I were just about to have some lunch.”
The furniture is the same. Brown leather couches and a tube TV at least fifteen years old sit in the living room. The same worn dining room set in the kitchen.
Even the mug my dad is drinking out of in the kitchen is one I gave him for Christmas when I was nine.
“Alecia,” he says kindly, and kisses my cheek. “How nice of you to visit. It’s been, what, at least six months?”
“Three years,” I reply, and blink back tears. Why does this always surprise me?
Mom frowns and begins gathering lunchmeat, cheese, and bread to make sandwiches.
“No, it can’t be that long,” she says and shakes her head. “I’m quite sure we spoke to you at Christmas.”
“No, you didn’t,” I reply firmly. This is what I’m here for, right? I might as well start standing up for myself now.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” Dad says with a grin. “How is Sedona?”
“Seattle,” I say between gritted teeth. “Why can’t either of you ever remember that I live in Seattle?”
“Do you want ham or turkey, dear?” Mom asks Dad.
“Turkey, please. Alecia, come sit.” He gestures to the chair to his left, and I lower myself into it, set my handbag on the floor, and take a deep breath.
I wish I had a good, strong drink.
“I won’t be here long,” I begin, and bite my lip, mustering up courage.
“What is it, darling?” Mom asks kindly and cuts dad’s sandwich in two, diagonally, just the way he likes it.
“If you didn’t want me, why did you have me?”
They both still, then frown at me, flustered.
“What are you talking about?” Dad says.
“I know I wasn’t planned,” I continue, tracing a pattern on the table with my fingertip. “That was never a secret. But, if you didn’t want me, and I was an accident, why didn’t you give me up for adoption, rather than keeping me and ignoring me my whole life?”
“Ignoring you?” Mom demands, and sits at the table, the sandwich forgotten.
“Let’s not mince words,” I say, and look them both in the eyes. “I was never allowed to eat with you. You kept me busy in school to keep me out of your way. I hated sports. I didn’t even particularly like the piano.”
“Do you have any idea how much it cost to keep you in piano lessons? In sports?” Mom sits back, angry now, her brown eyes wide and frustrated. “We gave you everything. Sent you to the best schools. The best college.”
“I had everything so you wouldn’t have to be bothered with me,” I interrupt her. “And
it’s the past. There’s no changing it. I just want to know, why? What was it about me that was so unlovable that you couldn’t bear to even eat meals with me?”
I hate that I hear the catch in my voice, but I firm my lip, refusing to back down.
“That wasn’t it,” Dad says softly. “You were always such a self-sufficient child, Alecia. You played well alone.”
I shake my head, and can’t help but laugh humorlessly.
“Dad, I learned to be self-sufficient. You two never made a secret of the fact that you’d wished it was just the two of you. I’ve always, always felt like a third wheel. You didn’t want me.” I shrug as Mom gasps, covering her mouth with her hand in surprise. “Really, Mom? You don’t even know what city I live in.”
“Maybe we could have paid more attention,” Dad says thoughtfully. “But I, for one, thought we were giving you the best of everything. The best music lessons and sports programs. The school. Your mother and I worked very hard to be able to afford those things for you, Alecia.”
“I worked more than full-time just to pay the tuition for the private school,” Mom adds.
“I’m not saying that I did without things.” I swallow and fist my hands, pissed that they’re starting to shake. “I had plenty of things. But I didn’t have affection. I didn’t feel loved. And I just want to know what it is about me that is so unlovable.”
“My God, Alecia!” Mom exclaims. “Of course we love you. You’re our little girl!”
“I don’t remember you ever saying I love you to me. You didn’t hug me. You’ve never said you were proud of me.”
They stare at each other in confusion, then look back to me.
“You hugged each other. I come from a very loving marriage,” I continue. “But I don’t come from an affectionate family.”
“I guess we weren’t terribly demonstrative when it came to affection,” Mom says.
“Some people just aren’t,” Dad says with a shrug. “But we never mistreated you. We didn’t hit you or yell at you or even punish you very often.”
I sigh and rub my hands over my face. “Why do I feel like I’m spinning my wheels?”
“Are you saying we’re shitty parents, Alecia?” Dad asks.
“Yes! And I want to know why you don’t love me!” I yell and stand, my hands in fists at my sides. “I want to know why you never held me, or said kind fucking things to me! I want to know why you always sent me away rather than keeping me close to you!”
“Watch your language, daughter,” Mom warns sternly, but I just shake my head and pound my fist on the table.
“I didn’t deserve that!”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Mom says with a sniff, her nose in the air, and I know that they aren’t going to answer me.
“Maybe,” I begin thoughtfully, “you’re just too self-absorbed to realize that you did anything wrong. Maybe it’s easier to live in denial, in your perfect little home, your perfect little bubble, and believe that you treated me well. But I came here to tell you that you didn’t. And that it’s not okay. It’s made me question myself my whole life.”
I sit back in the chair and clasp my hands together. “I’ve always wondered why I was so unlovable. What did I do? I ran into the arms of the first man—boy then—to show me attention, and I ran as fast and as far as I could when I graduated to escape the loneliness of this house. You don’t want to acknowledge that you’re shitty parents? Fine.”
I stand and lift my handbag. “You were shitty parents. But I love you, because you’re my parents.”
I turn to leave, but when I get to the kitchen door, I turn back to them. “If you ever want to have a relationship with your only daughter, you call me. I’m not going to chase after your love. I’m not going to beg for it. For the first time in my life, I’m at the top of someone’s priority list: mine.”
On shaky legs, I walk through the home of my childhood, out the door and to my car. It takes me three tries to get the key in the ignition, but I finally pull away, breathing hard, trembling, but so fucking proud of myself.
It’s about time I stand up for myself.
I get to the end of the block when my phone rings.
Jules.
I send it to voice mail and shake my head. I cannot deal with talking to any of the Montgomerys today.
Instead, I search for another contact and press send.
“Alecia?”
“Hello, Jonathan,” I reply and clear my throat. “Would you be willing to meet up with me for breakfast tomorrow?”
“You’re in San Francisco?”
“Yes.” No, I want you to fly your dumb ass to Seattle and meet me there.
“Where?”
“Our diner, nine o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.” He pauses. “Are you okay?”
“I’m going to be.” I end the call and point my car toward my hotel. The phone rings again.
Unknown Number.
“Fucking telemarketers,” I mumble, and send it to voice mail, and no sooner does the phone ring again.
Jules.
“What?” I snap.
“Um…hello.” I can hear commotion in the background. People laughing.
“Sorry, Jules. What can I do for you?”
“Well, we’re having a family dinner, and Jax and Logan are here, and they’ve decided to get married in two weeks, which I know is short notice, but we want to make sure that if you can’t help plan, you can at least come to it.” She pauses to take a breath and I can hear someone—Sam?—yell, “You better bring your sexy ass to it!”
Oh, hell no.
“I’m sorry, Jules, I’m quite sure I have an event that day.”
“No, you don’t. I talked to Emily.”
“Then why did you just ask if I did?”
“Well, I’m polite, aren’t I?”
I can’t help but grin.
“If there’s no event, it must be because I have something else going on. Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m going to have to decline.”
I can hear movement, and the background noise lessening until it’s nonexistent, and then Jules says, “Okay, cut the shit. What is going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t sound like yourself at all. You sound…sad. Talk to me, friend.”
She just had to throw friend in there, didn’t she?
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be at one of your family’s parties right now, Jules.”
“What did my idiot brother do?”
I frown and park at the hotel. “Who said he did anything?”
“I’m not stupid, Alecia. Talk to me.”
I take a deep breath. My nerves are already shot from my visit with my parents, and I haven’t slept in days. To my horror, I feel my eyes fill with tears.
“I just don’t think it’s going to work out between your brother and me.”
“Why?” Jules asks in a soft voice. “I think you’re perfect together.”
“I need to be with someone who makes me a priority, Jules.”
“Okay.” She sounds confused. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not that for Dominic. And I deserve that, Jules. I need it.”
“Everyone deserves it, but I don’t understand why you think you’re not a priority for Dom. Hold on.” She pulls the phone away from her face and murmurs to someone quietly before returning.
“Please don’t tell the family about this.”
“That was my dad. He’s just making sure everything is okay. He won’t say anything.”
“I hope you’ll still think of me when events come up.”
“Girl, you’re doing Jax and Logan’s wedding. We won’t take no for an answer.”
I bite my lip as longing fills me. I love working with this family. It’s not just because of the money, but because they’re fun and my best clients. I don’t want to give them up.
And why should I have to? I didn’t do anything wrong!
&nbs
p; “Okay. I’ll call you next week. I’m out of town right now.”
“Where are you?”
“San Francisco. I have some demons to put to rest.”
“Alecia, I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you next week.”
She sighs in my ear. “Fine. We’ll talk next week. And I mean talk, Alecia.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
***
When I arrive at the Alley Cat, the diner that Jonathan and I had Sunday morning breakfast at every week during our entire marriage, he’s already sitting in our booth, near the back, looking nervous as he stares down into his coffee mug. I take a minute to soak in the sight of him. His mink-brown hair is longer than he used to wear it, almost shaggy. He’s still thin, just this side of too thin, with no muscle definition on his arms. He’s wearing his usual metal band T-shirt and baggy jeans.
He looks young. Carefree.
I sit opposite from him, unlike when we were married.
“You used to sit beside me,” he says with a half-smile and sits back in the booth arrogantly.
I don’t return it.
Instead, I sit back and say the first thing that comes to mind.
“You should be ashamed of the way you treated me.”
His eyes widen, but I see I’ve struck him dumb, so I continue.
“The way you used to belittle my job? Not okay.” My voice is perfectly calm, but my eyes are pinned to his. “The way you’d give me the silent treatment when I disappointed you? Definitely not okay. Making me feel small, or that your shortcomings were my fault, was not okay.”
The waitress appears to take my drink order, but I simply shake my head, sending her on her way.
“You pushed me away when I tried to give you affection. You made sure I knew that I was the last person on your priority list. You had inappropriate relationships with women that you weren’t married to.” I lean forward, bracing myself on my elbows. His face has paled, but his mouth is tight, and I can see I’m pissing him off. “And making me feel like a piece of shit because my sexual appetites weren’t the same as yours was not fucking okay.”