I chose to post this story because it was got absolute rave reviews from my college writing professor (when I borrowed it to complete an assignment), and college writing classmates. Also because ever since he read this story to me I have never been able to get it out of my head. Its visceral, its disturbing, its graphic and its compelling. At least that's what I've always found.
He'd been driven to distraction byt the fact that I posted that one. "That was not one of the ones that I approved!" He is embarrassed and thinks you all will believe him to be a sick fuck next time you see him, that you'll be thinking dark thoughts about him secretly.
He's adorable.
Ugh. So now I have the urge to post something else of his, just to assuage his anxiety, but that hardly seems fair, right? This is, afterall, my damn blog, right? I was like: Well maybe you ought to have a daily blog?
Whine, bitch, moan, excuses excuses excuses.
So I will be posting more from the man, I will, but not today. Today its back to Cedar Falls, America (wink wink Danielle).
I'll maybe throw you another Aaron piece in a few days-- spread them out a bit, just like I might my other creative writing. For instance Julia has requested Fairy tale!!
But nay. There's so much going on in mo-fo falls right now that we'd better get back there! In fact, I'mma throw two shorties at you since they are directly related and fairly bite-sized. ENJOY?!?!?!?!?
The Delaney house was impeccable. Maggie marveled at the level of taste and style that had gone into every detail, from the crown moldings to the curtains to the furniture. And it was so spacious, but still felt cozy and warm. It was the nicest home she’d ever been inside. She felt out of place.
Grey had grown up in this house. This stunning, graceful creature gliding up the stairs before her had raised him. Everyone knew who Velvet Delaney was, and everyone loved her. Maggie was not alone in her awe-struck response to seeing Mrs. Delaney pass by on the street or in a store; a shy, smiling reaction one might have to witnessing celebrity in their midst.
Now she was in her home. Now she was her daughter-in-law.
Maggie took a deep breath and tried to focus on what Mrs. Delaney was chattering on about. She was a lovely, kind woman and had been trying very hard to make Maggie feel comfortable, but the effect of her rapid fire dialogue and strings of questions was more the opposite of her intention than anything. Maggie felt like she was walking a very thin line—she didn’t know what was appropriate, didn’t know what Grey would want her to say or not to say, she felt locked-up, nervous, uneasy, and terribly, terribly guilty.
She wasn’t the kind of woman Velvet Delaney would have chosen for her son, Maggie was certain of it. And should Mrs. Delaney discover just how and why the two had wed? Maggie grimaced. She knew a day would come soon enough when Velvet’s warmth and sweetness would shut off cold.
She forced herself to stop thinking of that looming inevitability and listen to what her Mother-in-Law was going on about.
“… just lovely, really, and so flattering! But I think you’ll be more comfortable in something dry, don’t you?”
“Mmmhmm” Maggie’s tongue was behaving peculiarly and that was all she could manage safely.
“And you’ve got such a small frame,” Velvet continued blithely, “We’ll just look through Viola’s things.” She turned to one of the closed bedroom doors along the hallway. She didn’t knock, just twisted the knob and peeked in. “Well, it’s a bit of a mess, but what teenage girl’s room isn’t?”
Viola Delaney’s room was bigger than Maggie’s and Maggie’s sister’s bedrooms combined. Her eyes widened as she turned in place, marveling at the space.
“Let’s not focus on the mess!” Velvet said conspiratorially, misinterpreting Maggie’s astonishment. “Have a seat Dear and I’ll see what we have.”
Maggie pulled an expensive looking desk chair out from where it sat by a top-of-the-line computer and she perched herself on the edge of it, feeling absurdly afraid to break anything.
As Velvet rifled through hanger after hanger in a bathroom-sized walk-in closet she continued chatting gaily. “You look familiar, Maggie, but I’m having trouble placing you!” She gushed apologetically. “What’s your last name? That is, what was your last name?”
Maggie was silent for a moment. “Ramirez.” She answered.
The hangers stopped sliding for a moment and Maggie held her breath.
“Do you work at Delaney’s Wine Shoppe?” Velvet asked, excitedly.
Maggie let out her breath. “I do, yes.” She responded pleasantly. She shared a smile with Velvet and felt warm.
“That’s my brother-in-law’s place.” She said unnecessarily. “Is that where you met Grey?” She asked, excitement gleaming in her eyes, face glowing.
“It is, as a matter of fact.” Maggie tried not to betray alarm when Mrs. Delaney made an ecstatic little noise and swung back into the closet.
“Oh, Ramirez!” She exclaimed suddenly. Maggie closed her eyes, bracing herself. “Does your family own the little place on the corner of Maple and Elm?”
Again Maggie sighed with relief. She scolded herself for expecting the worst from people, but she couldn’t help feeling inferior to this woman, the third wealthiest woman in Cedar Falls. This was where the Delaneys lived: On Cedar Crest, in a mansion, with a swimming pool and a tennis court and a six-car garage and cherry trees. Maggie’d grown up above the family restaurant downtown.
“We do, yes.” Maggie answered.
“Jonah and I love that place!” Velvet sounded genuine, not at all patronizing. Still Maggie was wary. “Oh!” Velvet emerged from the closet and deposited an armful of clothing into Maggie’s lap. “Jonah!” she exclaimed. “I have to call him—I’ll leave you to try these on, I think the red would look stunning with your coloring!” And she hustled out, closing the door behind her.
Maggie couldn’t help feeling as though a cheerful little tornado had just swept her up and deposited her in OZ. She took a breath and looked at the exquisite garments in her lap. She knew she’d have to save months of salary just to afford one of them.
Was she supposed to feel like Cinderella? She only felt vaguely worse about herself.
*************
The car ride from Cedar Crest to The Riverside Bistro had been made in silence with only the flat, persistent instructions of the GPS and the relentless drumming of the rain. Grey didn’t need the directions but had opted to use the device out of routine.
His mother had taken the news exceptionally well. She’d been warm and welcoming and wistful. With a twist of his lips he wondered to himself how his mother would feel if she knew how her new daughter-in-law had roped her son into this sham of a marriage. His expression devolved into a nasty sneer when he thought about how his Dad was going to take the news. He would be hard-pressed to say which individual he despised more at the moment, the bitch who was fucking-him-over or the son-of-a-bitch who’d helped her do it.
Pulling into the parking lot he saw his mother’s car was already there. He put the car in park, ripped the keys out of the ignition, and sighed heavily. The rain hadn’t let up much.
“How’d you get your father to drop everything and come to The Riv for brunch?” Grey inquired, a nasty note edging his words.
He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at her. Instead he scanned the lot for signs of his Dad’s car. It wasn’t there yet.
She took a while before responding but he waited. Let her squirm.
“I told him I had some important things to talk to him about.” She said finally, condensing what Grey figured had been a much longer conversation.
“He didn’t wonder why you couldn’t just go down to Los Tres and speak to him there?” He was being unnecessarily combative.
“He asked that about a dozen times.” She admitted, sighing wearily. “I told him it meant a lot to me and he finally agreed.” He could hear the nerves skittering through her body in the wavering of her voice. He took some savage pleasure in her anxiety. There was nothing in the Pre-nup that said he couldn’t conduct himself like an outright bastard in front of her father. She was worried sick and he loved it.
He wondered for about the eighth time why she’d consented to his mother’s impromptu brunch. He supposed his charming mother could be very persuasive in her way.
He pulled down the visor mirror and pushed some of his hair around, trying to get it looking decent, though he supposed it was pointless given the downpour he was going to have to suffer through between his car and the restaurant. “Maybe we should have had the brunch at Los Tres.” He said with a sardonic little smile.
He felt, rather than saw, the way she bristled. But she didn’t rise to the bait. He kept on. “My parents just LOVE the place.” He sounded like a perfect ass.
“We don’t do brunch.” She said crisply.
Grey narrowed his green eyes in the mirror. “Oh that’s a shame. Isn’t there some Mexican version of Brunch?”
She took a long breath. He could feel her practically boiling beside him. He flipped the visor mirror back up into place and finally turned to her. Her cheeks were flaming red and her eyes were shining. He really was an asshole. For half a minute he toyed with apologizing, but then he shrugged. He fixed his expression to one of polite expectation.
“We open at one for lunch.” She responded through clenched teeth.
He rolled his eyes and looked back through the windshield. It wasn’t much fun if she didn’t rise. It felt like poking a wounded animal with a stick. Grey wanted a fight.
“Grey?” She sounded very small. He turned instinctively to look at her and then wished he hadn’t. She looked very fragile. She couldn’t look him in the face, focusing instead on her hands, where she spun the thin, plain wedding band around her slim finger.
He grunted in response.
“I know you don’t have to—“ she was struggling “and I have no right at all to ask—“ He curled his toes inside his shoes. He had the strangest urge to shake her. “But, my father—“ She exhaled. She couldn’t find a way to say what she needed to say and Grey thought he understood. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
“Well?” He prompted when she’d fallen silent for a moment. She closed her eyes and he got the impression she might be praying silently for some strength or guidance. He grimaced. He could kick a Virgin Mother statue. Fucking Catholics.
“If you would, if you could please just pretend that this marriage was… that it wasn’t…” She looked at him, lost, imploring.
He raised one eyebrow and stared at her coldly. “That it wasn’t? What? A total fucking sham?”
She squinted and looked away.
She really was quite lovely. Too bad she was such a manipulative cunt.
“It’s going to be hard enough on him as it is, “ she whispered as her eyes welled a little, “I just don’t want to break his heart.” She quickly wiped a tear away. “I don’t want him to know.”
Grey was merciless. “You don’t want him to know that you’re a money-grubbing whore who blackmailed a near-stranger into this mockery of a marriage?”
She gasped and he felt inconvenient prickles of shame on the back of his neck. He felt as though he had slapped her, and her expression did nothing to allay that feeling. She didn’t say anything. She distracted herself with fumbling through her clutch purse for a few moments. He didn’t know what she was looking for and he didn’t really care, except that it was irritating.
His words hung in the air between them and he felt like he was choking on them. But why the fuck should he feel guilty? He’d spoken the truth. She continued to dig through the little purse and he finally snapped.
“What the fuck are you looking for?”
She glared at him and he realized he liked that a lot better than the teary, baleful look. Her eyes snapped and she licked her lips.
“Are you going to behave like a petty child in there?” she demanded hotly.
“I don’t know-“ he started, a wry smile curling his lips, “What’s it say in the pre-nup?”
Her mouth opened for a minute and he could have kicked himself for admiring the fullness of her lips.
“You son-of-a—“
“Come now, you’ve met my mother and she’s a lovely lady.” He was smiling fully now. He decided he liked her a lot better when she was fired up and ready to spit in his face. It was easier.
She pressed her gorgeous lips into a thin, tight line and he could almost hear her swallowing her insults.
“Look—“ he decided it was time to get inside. “I have no intention of letting my mother know what a fucking joke this marriage is either, so you can just relax.” She looked tentatively relieved. “But know that I’m not doing this for you or your father.” He wished he hadn’t said the last part. It was unnecessarily petty and he felt like a prep-school bully.
Frustrated with himself he moved to grab the umbrella his mother’d insisted he take and Maggie flinched and shrank back in her seat. His gut twisted and his mouth went dry. She’d thought he was going to hit her. He paused, his ass half out of the seat, his arm stretched toward the back seat, staring at her, stuck in limbo.
Fuck. He blinked several times rapidly before proceeding more slowly. He picked up the umbrella gingerly and sank back into his seat, never taking his eyes off her. There was this awful moment where she realized he hadn’t moved to strike her, realized how visibly she’d reacted, realized he’d seen her whole-body flinch, realized he knew what she’d expected, and their eyes locked.
He wanted to tell her he’d never hit her but the words refused to push through the tightness in his throat. He had to break eye-contact with her. Her wide, dark eyes were glued to his and he felt trapped. He cleared his throat and looked out the windshield toward the restaurant. He could see red hair through the blur of the raid-slicked window and knew his Dad was making his way to the restaurant through the rain, under the cover of a briefcase held aloft.
“We should get in there.” He said, his voice hardly loud enough to be heard over the steady drumming of raindrops on the roof and body of the BMW.
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2 comments:
ya - why'd you marry that "aaron" guy anyways? he's a sick fuck!
lol.....!!!!!
i finally read the car one! i totally missed it. the line about "what does the pre nup say"? cracked me up. :)
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