“Why am I suddenly so important to you, Jack? Because there’s another man in the picture? Someone who maybe, makes you feel insecure?” I watch as his eyes narrow slightly, but I continue, anger and regret for all the months I wasted on him, making me emotional. “Tell me, if I’d never met Landon - If I’d still been waiting on the sidelines, hoping you’d see past your bevy of models and athletes and exotic beauties to notice me, I’d still be right there, wouldn’t I? The only reason you suddenly can’t let me go is that I don’t want you anymore.”
He starts to say something else, but I notice a cab coming down the street and hail it. Luckily, it’s empty and quickly comes to a stop in front of us. Just before I climb in, I give Jack one more glance. He’s watching me, his eyes clouded, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Goodbye Jack,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t reply.
LANDON Court doesn’t deserve you.
If it wasn't so frustrating, it would be funny how everything always came back to Landon. Even an evening with Jack had somehow managed to devolve into an emotional conversation about Landon.
He’ll use you and then he’ll toss you aside.
It’s not as if I didn’t know that already. I’d spent the past few days pushing Landon away just so I could protect myself from that imminent hurt. But no matter how hard I tried, there he was, in my head, and physically too, refusing to let me go.
I sigh, pushing all my thoughts about Landon, about Jack and his ill-timed realization that we had something ‘good,’ to the deepest darkest recesses of my mind. There, at least, they won’t threaten to drive me insane.
I decide to call my mom, because it’s been a few days, and for some reason, I find myself appreciating her more. She answers on the fourth ring. “Sweetheart,” she coos in her low, smooth voice, and I sigh, feeling homesick.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you? I hope there’s nothing wrong.”
I’m tempted to break down and tell her how miserable I am. I hold back, but just barely.
“No. Nothing’s wrong. I’m good. Laurie’s good.”
“You’re fine,” she corrects, then laughs. “I’m glad you’re both okay.” There’s a pause. “Your father and I will be in the city on Thursday. I have an art thing.”
It’s always and ‘art’ thing with my mom. Even showing her work in a prestigious gallery is an ‘art’ thing. I still don’t know if she’s so blasé because of how successful she is, or because she really doesn’t care about events.
I’m in front of my building by now, and I step out of the cab. “Will I see you guys?”
“If you want,” she replies. “You could come with. We’ll pick you up on our way. Laurie too. It’s a black-tie thing at the Remington House.”
“The… what house now?”
She sighs, probably exasperated by my ignorance. “The Remington House is a historic mansion on Fifth,” She informs me. When I don’t say anything in reply, she continues her lecture. “Shelby Remington, the last living member of the Remington family left the house and his entire art collection to the Remington Trust. It’s a museum now. Two Cornelia Eames paintings he lost in a bet a long time ago are being restored to the house. I’m giving a speech.”
At least I know the name of the artist. I’d paid enough attention to my mother’s work over the years to recognize the name of one of the impressionists whose work she studied in college. Cornelia Eames had contributed much more than paintings to art. The Trust she established still sent aspiring artists to art schools in Europe every year.
“I’ll ask Laurie,” I say, letting myself into the apartment. The lights are off, which means Laurie isn’t home yet.
“She needs a night out,” my mom remarks. “There’s no benefit in staying home inside your brain when you’re miserable about a man. She needs to dress up, look beautiful, go out, and maybe flirt a little. It works all the time.”
This is why I can’t tell my mom how broken up I am about Landon. She probably won’t let me rest until she prescribes a remedy to help me find a way out of my heartbreak.
“I’ll let her know.”
“Hmm.” There’s a pause at her end. “I read your article. Good work there, sweetheart. Your dad thinks so too.”
“Thanks,” I say bleakly. How had I thought I could have any conversation, with anyone, without having to talk about Landon and the damned article about his hotel?
It gets worse. “So… how are things with Landon?”
I close my eyes, dreading the answer I have to give. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“Oh!” I can hear the surprise in her voice, and I don’t blame her, just a few days ago, Landon was charming his way through my family. “How are you?”