Chapter 162

Strange.

“I’m really glad you’re here … Both of you.” She smiles without looking up. I hand Jake the bowl of salad after dishing my own and watch her, I feel like there is so much to say yet I don’t have the words at all.

Where would I start? Twenty-six years of pent-up emotions and accusations, yet here we are, acting like me coming home for a weekend with my boyfriend is normal. Not that she’s even asked if that is what he is now. Maybe that’s what that look was all about, maybe it’s obvious.

Jake digs into his food, his normally chatty self, quiet, he’s leaving me to take the next step and for once I would rather ultra-sociable Carrero would just step in. He’s a master at idle chit-chat and dominating a conversation, normally.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying,” I mutter indirectly to break the silence.

Maybe it’s best to say it now and not let her think the whole weekend would be “catching up”.

I take a forkful of my chicken and dressing and watch the frown develop on her face. I try to ignore it.

“Well, even being here for a quick visit is enough for me … I do miss you, Emma.” She finally looks at me and smiles warmly. I grimace back but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, we’re doing what we always do. Playing nice and polite and pretending there’s no issue in front of other people.

Being back here, in this apartment, this town, and already I can feel myself closing. Old Emma mannerisms pushing in. The wall coming up between us. That controlled mask of indifference that Jake spent months peeling away. I don’t want to go back to her, to who she was. To that empty cold and feelingless shell of myself, the person who let no one in and never experienced real emotion. That girl is gone.

I was stupid to think I could come here and do the whole heart to heart thing with her. Being faced with her acting as though life is so fricking normal just reminds me that she will never see my side of it. She will never take any blame in how I turned out and why would she? Here I am with my billionaire boyfriend doting over me, dressed in expensive clothes and living the high life in New York. To her, she’s a success as a mother.

I’m jolted out of my head by Jake’s warm hand on my back and I glance at him, he’s studying my expression and frowning lightly. I realize I’ve been silently staring at my empty fork, probably with a blank expression as I mulled things over. My mother is chatting about nothing of importance, unaware that neither of us are listening. Jake strokes my back gently, relaxing his hand when I continue eating and returns to his own food, a silent little message between us that he knows I’m not okay being here. He smiles softly at me and a small look in his eye tells me he loves me. I inhale slowly and pull it all back down to the calmness he gives me. That peaceful place I spend most of my time now.

“So, Mom, how’s things at the homeless shelter nowadays?” I interject to try to connect with her, try to make things less awkward for Jake.

Calling her mom? Since when?

“Good, really good. I managed to get some funding help and with the volunteers and the grant from the city, I have the place ticking over really well. We managed to convince some of the food stores in Chicago to donate the food with sell by dates instead of sending them to the trash.” She grins, obviously proud of herself. She turns her smile on Jake impressively. “And the donation from the Carrero Corporation went toward fixing up the building and redecorating the shared sleeping rooms, thank you so much for that, Jake.” He smiles back but I just blink.

What? When the hell did Jake donate anything to my mother’s charity?

I glance at him, questioning with my eyes and he just shrugs. I’m irritated by this little new piece of information, something else he swooped in and solved with a cheque book, something else he didn’t tell me about.

I glare down at my plate and push my food around, I’ve no idea why I feel so tetchy lately. My emotions up and down for the last few days. Of course, I’ve no right to be mad about this, it’s nothing. Jake’s company donates to causes every year as part of a tax relief move, of course he would donate to her. She’s my mother and he loves me. He probably didn’t even write the cheque, just forwarded her details to finance to be added to our list of preferred causes. I know because it used to be my job to do it. I sigh heavily and try to force more food into my mouth although I have zero appetite. Being here is just making me irrational.

“I’m glad it helped.” He smiles, his eyes on me, but I ignore him. Finally, fed up with the way I’m feeling, I get up.

“I’ll make the coffee,” I state and walk off toward the kitchen without looking at either of them, I keep my back turned as I lay out cups and get them ready. I can hear my mother carrying on the conversation about the home, but Jake sounds only half interested, his replies polite yet he’s not really conversing. I glance back and catch him looking at me every few seconds. He’s trying to read me, trying to gauge what’s going on in my head. I look away and close my eyes.

This fucked-up part of me that he doesn’t see as much in New York, she rules down here in Chicago. Her moods all over the place, her temper short, and the suffocating air of this wretched apartment makes her agitated.

I carry the cups over and lay them down in front of them, returning for my own before I finally sit back down. I push my uneaten food away, curbing the urge to start tapping my nails on the table. There’s a growing energy of restlessness inside of me, that familiar pang to run very far away from here.

“So, Sophie seems happy, doesn’t she?” my mother points this question at Jake, and I bristle at the mention of her name. My protectiveness of her standing to attention, my mother needs to stay out of her life.

“She does yeah, she really is blossoming with the Huntsbergers.” There’s obvious affection in his voice and just like me, he’s been keeping tabs on her and calls her once a week to check in.

“Such a lovely girl, such a sad past … She deserved better.” My mother sighs innocently. and I choke on my coffee, a snort of disbelief setting it off and begin coughing badly as Jake pats my back and tries to console me with circular rubs. Finally, I clear my lungs and, gasping for air, I stare up at her in complete disbelief.

“You think Sophie deserved better?” I ask, my voice holding the slight hint of disdain.

“Of course, I do.” She blinks back at me with wide innocent eyes as though she has no idea. “Such a horrid life for a young girl … Being sexually abused by her father is just awful.” She shakes her head and swallows down with a face of disgust as though she can’t comprehend it at all.

“So, because it was her father, it’s wrong … What if he’d just been her mom’s boyfriend?” I ask, sarcasm oozing. An inner argumentative teen Emma aching to be let loose. Since our angry sex a week ago she had been showing herself in small ways, subtle tells that Jake doesn’t seem to mind at all. My inner voice jumps to attention, telling me to let it go but my piqued anger ignores it. Jake shifts in the chair next to me awkwardly, his hand stilling on his coffee mug as he waits for a response, he’s letting me act out because he thinks I need this. I can’t look at him.

“Darling, what a silly question … Any man touching Sophie that way is wrong.” She smiles toward Jake as if trying to excuse my weirdness but my rage kicks in stupendously. This is just typical of her in every way.

“It’s just not wrong when it’s me though … Right?” I snap. Gritting my teeth and lifting my glare toward her with full fiery fury. She blinks, lays her mug down very carefully and locks on me steadily. This is how she used to deal with me as a teen, this cool and calm control she has over me.

“I don’t know what has come over you, Emma, but I really don’t think this is a conversation we should be having in front of Jake.” She grits her teeth, her blue eyes icing over. If I ever wondered where I got the ability to bring up that icy wall and shut Jake down with a look, I see it reflected at me.

“Scared Jake will find out something less than favorable, Mother?” I laugh at her, sounding a tad manic and notice he’s still not moved his cup. “He already knows … I told him everything.” I smirk, shoving myself away from the table and walk off toward the counter to put space between us. That inner anger growing, and I don’t want to lash out in front of Jake. He’s never seen psychotic Emma in complete crazed mode beyond that night of sex. I don’t think I ever want him to see that part of me. He would leave.

“There is nothing to tell, Emma … The exaggerated versions of a child’s memory, nothing more.” She dismisses me so easily that it physically wounds me, a pain slashing across my chest so it knocks my breath away.