“Harwin, how’s it going? I haven’t seen you in what, two years?” It was a lie. I had seen him at the local charity events every few months, but I always avoided conversation with him because he was a giant tool.
“Yeah, yeah…something like that.” He let my hand go and shoved his back into his pants pocket. “Who’s the dame?”
Biting my tongue at the insulting choice of wording to indicate his interest in Katherine’s identity, I forced a smile. “Her name is Katherine.”
Harwin leaned in close and waggled his eyebrows. “Trophy wife, eh? She’s a sexy little piece. You bang her in your office?” He winked at me, and his wife’s glare got a bit more intense, her eyes narrowing so she looked like a pit viper.
“Well, that would be a bit too personal for me to share. How is your lovely wife?” I directed the conversation at the woman behind him, glaring now at me as if I were enemy number one.
“Oh, her? Associate.” He shrugged it off as if it were nothing that he’d brought his mistress in public. “She’s kinda young, isn’t she? Even just for a pretty armpiece.”
And there it was. The real reason he’d come up to talk to me had nothing to do with his interest in catching up, and everything to do with his desire to know juicy gossip he could judge me for. Trying not to react to him and give him exactly what he wanted, I turned to see Katherine taking another bite of jam and smiling. She wiggled her fingers at me and held up a single finger as if to indicate she’d be over in a second.
“Yeah, I agree.” The dark-haired woman who had yet to be named chimed in on this conversation. It was as if she’d taken a personal offense to my suggestion that she could be his wife and hurled it back at me by joining in on his assault on my character choices.
My desire to melt into the background had vanished and been replaced by the sudden urge to tell these idiots to fuck off. Unfortunately, a reaction like that would likely draw more attention than the bit of harassment I’d endure with their ridicule. I opened my mouth to speak when I heard Katherine’s voice, and her arm wrapped around my bicep.
“Hi there—” she thrust her hand out at Harwin and smiled like she always did, oblivious to the delicate situation I was in.
“Katherine?” Harwin said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “Victor here didn’t tell me your last name.”
Katherine blushed and looked up at me as if she were charmed by that loser. I may as well have called him Todd Packer, but I wasn’t sure if she’d seen that show or not to even catch my drift. She shrugged and turned back to him, and before I could think of something witty to respond, she was announcing my shame.
“Katherine Scott.” She retracted her hand slowly, and the blackness crept over Harwin’s face, staring with his eyes and trailing down to the curved grin that betrayed his true feelings.
“Like, Jillian Scott, the gold-digging bitch who marries up about once a year?” Harwin’s croak churned my gut. His dark-haired beauty curled up next to him like a cat, clawing at his jacket and offering her own menacing smile.
“Yeah, that’s my mom.” Her tone went flat. Katherine shifted the pumpkin under her arm and cocked her head at me. A questioning look scrolled across her face, but the damage was done; I couldn’t stop what was coming now. It all happened so fast it had me scrambling to try to catch up and bail us out.
“Your mom is Jillian Scott-Baxter, and you’re what…? Here with him because he helped raise you?” Dark hair over there had a nasty bite to her tone. If looks could kill, I was watching murder. Katherine’s face fell, the smile replaced with a look of shock. She blinked her eyes rapidly; I assumed to hide tears building.
“I—”
“Thanks for catching up, Harwin. I think we should be going now.” I tugged Kat’s arm, pulling her out of the booth, but Harwin followed.
“You’re actually dating someone half your age? I mean, what possessed you to date the woman’s daughter? You a cradle robber or something? How long have you been dating?” His laughter burst out before the punchline. “You started when she was 15 or what?”
Rage burned my chest. I gritted my jaw and forced Katherine to move faster, to get away from the scene before it drew any more attention. She walked along next to me, but I could feel her silent protest.
“Would you hurry up? I want to get home.” I was angry and I snapped at her, but I had just cause. It was the most humiliating thing I could have imagined happening. No—worse. It hadn’t even been an average colleague we’d run into; it had been a man I loathed.
“Stop yanking my arm. I’m not feeling well.” Katherine jerked away from me, and I glanced at her to see tears in her eyes. I didn’t even feel badly. The anger overrode any other emotion.
“Stop acting like a child.”
Katherine stopped walking, but I continued. I knew the instant the word came out of my mouth that I had done it. I stopped, gritting my teeth and refusing to turn around. I knew she was angry now; I didn't even have to see it. I was an idiot.
“I’m sorry.”
Several long seconds passed by as pedestrians strolled past us. I pressed my hand to my head and tried to control my heartrate. Katherine had been nothing but supportive and kind to me, and I was an asshole. She had every right to be angry at me. I just hadn’t realized how much it would bother me when word got out. And Harwin’s accusation against Jillian’s character only flew in the face of what I was trying to convince myself—that Kat was different.
Katherine looped her arm through mine and pulled my hand away from my face. She stood quietly next to me. I could feel her hand trembling through the thick material of my jacket and didn’t know if it was nerves, emotions, or if she was just cold.
“Let’s go home.” She sounded calm, but I knew I’d struck a nerve. I wanted to turn to her and make it right, but I’d already humiliated her and myself enough. So, I led her back to my car, placing our items—sans strawberry preserves—into the trunk and opening her door for her.
The ride home was silent. The goodbye as she left to return to her home stilted. I had fucked up, but apparently not bad enough to warrant her tearing me to shreds like she ought to have. I watched her ride away from my house in her Uber, her pumpkin and mum to be delivered later on, after she’d “had time to brood,” and I tried to think of this argument in a positive light.
If she really was a gold digger, she’d either have forgiven me instantly and assuaged my shame for hurting her, or she would have used it to manipulate me into “making it up to her.” She had done neither. Her silent retreat was likely the most positive thing that could have happened.