I look down at the table and swallow the lump in my throat. “No, it’s okay. I totally get it – childhood trauma never really goes away without therapy. Besides, don’t be so hard on yourself because it happens a lot. My childhood wasn’t a bunch of rainbows with my parents either. Everyone makes mistakes because no one’s a perfect parent.”
Jack put his hand under my chin and makes me look up at him. “Well, you turned out perfect in my book, honey. You are the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful woman I know, and beautiful to boot. I’m lucky to have you, Dakota.”
I just smile at him and nod because I can’t believe that this gorgeous man thinks so highly of me. Jack Straithmore can have anyone he wants, but instead, he craves me, a curvy girl with only a faint idea of where I’m going in life.
But the truth is that slowly, I’m beginning to realize what I want. Maybe not with respect to a career, but I’d certainly like to be with Jack. I’d like to live together, have babies together, and maybe even get married. Is that so far-fetched? Looking into his gorgeous blue eyes, I smile happily once more and tell myself that today at least, anything is possible.
8
Dakota
* * *
Two months later.
My stomach wakes me up growling like a bear coming out of hibernation after months of not eating a thing. Grumbling, I climb out of bed and stare blearily at the alarm clock. It’s already 9 a.m. I grab my robe, bundle myself in it, and then open the door to head downstairs to the kitchen.
When I enter the hallway, I glance in the direction of my mom’s bedroom but it’s pointless, really. Not just because the mansion we live in is bigger than two people could possibly need, but also because we’ve both also done an excellent job of avoiding each other for the past few months.
But Denise should be embarrassed! Ever since I confronted her about sleeping with my ex-boyfriend, she’s been avoiding me. Maybe she does have a conscience. Or maybe, she’s out boning Eddie still, and too busy to come home.
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my ex around much either. Granted, we’re no longer together, but I thought I’d see Eddie occasionally around town at least. But nope, he’s disappeared too.
I flip my hair over my shoulder. Well, none of it really matters anymore, anyways. Knowing my mom is okay sleeping with my boyfriend is a wound I will probably never get over, or forgive her for. But in the long run, catching Denise and Eddie together was the best thing that ever happened to me because if that hadn’t happened, I never would have wound up dating Jack. Now, the past two months I’ve spent with the handsome billionaire have been the best of my life, so at least, I have that to thank them for.
I head to the kitchen because if I don’t eat soon, my stomach growls are going to wake up the entire neighborhood, and nobody wants that. I saunter into the huge, tiled space and grab a pan from the cabinet before putting it on the stove. Then, I add oil, turn the heat up, and head to the fridge to take out eggs, bell peppers, an onion, and some sausage. Perfect. This is going to be the most delicious omelet ever.
I throw the sausage in the pan first so that I can brown it while preparing the other ingredients, and it doesn’t take long for the sausage to start sizzling in the pan. The heat and aroma usually make my mouth water because sausage is one of my favorite foods. But today, something’s off and upon sniffing the scent, my stomach twists in the worst way. Grabbing the rest of the uncooked sausage, I check the date on the package to see if perhaps the batch has gone bad, but no. It’s fresh and won’t expire for another week.
Trying to shake off the nausea lurking at the back of my throat, I move back to the pan and stir the sausage before one side has a chance to burn. Then, the smell hits me full in the face, and that’s all it takes. My stomach cramps, and I feel the lump in the back of my throat growing stronger and thicker, until the urge is so overwhelming that I can’t fight it any longer.
As quickly as possible, I turn the burner off on the stove and take off running towards the bathroom. I cannot let Denise come downstairs and find me vomiting in the kitchen trash can. She would probably be really happy because it would be proof that I’ve become bulimic and that I’m serious about losing weight. Ugh.
Gripping my stomach, I rush into the bathroom on the first floor and kick the door shut behind me. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to turn the lock, so I just to pray my mother doesn’t suddenly decide to take an interest in her own daughter’s life and come check on me if she hears me getting sick. I bury my head in the toilet and lose everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours. It’s ugly. It’s a brownish-green stream of vomit, and splatters disgustingly as it lands in the water.