“Son, if there’s a child involved, it would be the best thing for everyone.”
“I’m not prepared to negotiate right now without the facts.”
“But you’ll consider it?”
“Let’s get answers first,” I say.
“I just want peace between all of us, Austin. If –”
“Go home, Audra.”
“Do not do that to me,” she snaps, “Aiden’s done it for years, but I’ve never had this disrespect from you.”
“You’ve earned it,” I say. “Get yourself to an AA meeting and get back on the wagon or you’re gonna fuck something else up.”
“I’ll need to stay; fly back tomorrow.”
“You’re not staying here tonight. Jada has the guest room and I just got back. I’m not sleepin’ on the sofa tonight.”
“But you’ll sleep on the sofa for Adele when she does a surprise visit,” she mumbles.
“I’m pissed; I need space, Mom. And you’re not here to hang out with me and cheer me up because I’ve been having a shitty time. You’re here to lay on the guilt and strongarm me. It’s not late for you - you’re on San Diego time. No reason you can’t take a cab to the nearest luxury hotel. Just try to stay out of the minibar.”
She looks wounded. She’s good at painting her face with that expression. Her eyes fill with tears.
Here we fucking go. Women turning on the waterworks to make me feel like shit.
“I’m trying to help,” she insists. “I know what it’s like to deal with animosity from my children because of the choices I’ve made, son. Do you want to have to explain to your child in eighteen years or less why you couldn’t find it within yourself to drop charges against their mother, so they didn’t have to have the name of a prison as their place of birth?”
“The doorman will get you a cab.”
She waits a long moment, looking at me. I say nothing.
“I’ll just get on the phone and book something first,” she finally says.
I thrust my hand through my hair and go to the bathroom, slamming the door.
35
Jada
“Nope, I’m sorry, New York pizza is far superior to Buffalo pizza,” I declare. “It’s New York pizza everyone raves about. Buffalo is all about chicken wings, isn’t it?”
Andrew laughs. “Not so. We need to do a taste test. You won’t say that if you actually taste a Buffalo style pizza.”
“My friend is from Buffalo, too,” I remark, lifting my pastrami on rye. “Carly Adler. Well, Carmichael, now. It’s her husband’s apartment I’m working in actually. Austin’s brother.”
He swallows his bite of sandwich and sips his coffee.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure I know her. Buffalo is such a small town.” He rolls his eyes.
I laugh. “How big is it?”
“That’s what she said,” he retorts with an exaggerated wink.
But it’s good-natured, so it doesn’t come across as creepy.
I giggle. “No, really.”
“Over a quarter million.”
“Oh, okay. I thought it was smaller.” I shrug.
“Though I’m not from Buffalo, technically. I’m from Cheektowaga. It’s not far, though. Typical New Yorker,” He mutters.
I laugh. “I’m not even a New Yorker. I’m from Jersey. You’re more a New Yorker than me since you’re actually from New York state.”
“You don’t strike me as a Jersey Shore Snooky type.”
“I never said I was. In fact, I might be the anti-Snooky. See… I’m not the only one making assumptions.”
We’re both laughing when the elevator doors open and I, sitting up on Andrew’s desk (because there’s only one chair), turn to see who it is, ready to jump down so I don’t get him in trouble. This building has some older people, some young and hip people, and also some old New York money types of all ages. I wouldn’t want to get him in trouble for being chivalrous enough to make sure I’m not out wandering the streets after dark. Unlike some people.
It turns out it’s Mrs. Carmichael and Austin coming down and she has her luggage with her. Oh good, I guess I’m not going to be told to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I was a little worried about that.
Austin still looks like he could, as Andrew says, “melt paint” with his expression. His mother’s expression isn’t much different.
Austin’s eyes land on me and bounce between me and Andrew and then his eyebrows furrow.
“Good evening again, Mr. Carmichael,” Andrew greets, standing up. I slide my butt off his desk and stand there, wiping my mouth with a napkin before taking a sip of my Coke.
“Could you get a cab for my mother, please?” he asks.
“Sure can.” He heads for the door.
Austin’s eyes land on me and it’s like he takes stock.
I crumple up my sandwich wrapper and throw it in the trash bin under Andrew’s desk, then grab my drink and loop my purse over my shoulder before I round the desk and head for the elevator without making eye contact with him.
Andrew’s head pops back in. “Mrs. Carmichael, got a car out here for you.”