Twenty-two
JACK
Be the hero in your own life.
—SOLO FEBRUARY CHALLENGE
Sora’s not returning my calls. Or texts. I should give up, call it quits. She won’t let me explain. Not even a little. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt that she’s shutting me out so fast. Yes, weeks ago, I got tangled up with Mal, and that was my choice. A drunk choice, sure, but mine. I should’ve come clean to Sora from the get-go. That’s on me, too.
Because, right now, it looks like I’ve been caught red-handed. Technically, I didn’t know for sure Mal was coming to the awards ceremony. But I’d also known she’d been threatening to come for weeks. Was there more I could have done to stop her? I think of dozens of ways I could’ve kept her out of the ceremony. I Monday-morning quarterback myself so hard, I feel like I should try a new career as a commentator on ESPN.
The first day of March dawns dreary and gray with the lingering threat of snow. I sit in my brother’s law office, staring out over the high-rise view of Lake Michigan, in some of the most expensive real estate in the Loop, as he reads over my bakery lease. It turns out, Mal did buy the building. And the leasing company, and everything associated with the bakery I thought would be all mine. I’m technically leasing the bakery space from Starr International. Marc takes his time with it, a wrinkle appearing in his brow.
“Why didn’t you let me read this before you signed it?” He glances up above his reading glasses at me, his elbows propped on his massive mahogany desk. Seriously, where does a person buy desks this big?
“Because you’re busy. And sometimes you’re a prick about things like this.” I’m teasing, but Marc still doesn’t argue. He just goes back to reading. He makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat.
“Well, it’s an ironclad lease. To get out of it, you have to pay a year’s worth of rent.”
I jump up and snatch the paper out of his hand. “That can’t be.”
“Page three, paragraph two, line three.” He takes his readers off and puts them on his desk. “You’re screwed, man.”
“What do you mean?”
“The management company is definitely owned by the Starr family,” Marc says. “Looks like Mal just signed the paperwork a few days ago.”
“I thought she was bluffing.” Should’ve known better. “And this still doesn’t rise to the level of bodily harm? A restraining order?”
Marc shrugs one shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. She hasn’t physically harmed you, or threatened to do so. Yes, it’s a nuisance, but it doesn’t rise to a criminal level. Not yet. I mean, if she upped your rent to a ridiculous amount, or hassled you in some definable way…” He glances up at me, and I’m struck by how much we look alike. Granted, I’m one inch taller, and have a bit more muscle on me, but we’ve both got Dad’s chin and Mom’s dark hair.
“This is a hassle. A huge hassle.”
“Yes, but the rent is market value. If she jacked it up, then maybe we could sue her, but the rent is reasonable.”
“But she’s harming my business. And my sanity. What can I do about this?” I slump into the chair near Marc’s desk.
Marc stares at me sternly, looking remarkably like Dad. “Have you talked to her?”
“Of course I’ve talked to her.” Does he think I’m an idiot? “I’ve told her it’s over.”
“You’re not leading her on.”
“No!”
Marc leans back in his chair. “Really? You don’t love that she’s always begging to be back in your life? Doesn’t it feel good to punish her?”
“I’m not trying to punish her.”
“Not even a little?” He steeples his fingers and studies me over them, doing his best impression of Dad giving me a lecture.
I hesitate. I told myself I was just ignoring her and hoping she went away, but maybe part of me knew ignoring her would just make her want to be in my life more.
“Maybe a little. Not on purpose.”
“Sure, not on purpose.” Marc raises a knowing eyebrow. “Maybe, just maybe, Sora was a little bit right in thinking there was something between you, after all.”
“No. We’re done.” I mean it this time.
“Then prove it. Stop letting Mal twist in the wind. Cut the line.” Marc leans forward, his big leather chair groaning from the shift of his weight. “Really talk to her. Make her see it’s over. For good. Punishment time, playtime, it’s all over.”
Mal needs very little persuasion to meet me at the coffeehouse down the street from my bakery. I tell her we need to talk. She implies she’d rather get naked in my bed. I tell her, “No, talk, with clothes on, in public.” The coffeehouse is a small, walk-in joint with a barista in one corner and a line of stools and a small counter across both windows. During work hours it gets pretty tight with all the folks with laptops vying for the four outlets, but now, a half hour before the place closes, it’s nearly empty.
The sun sinks below the horizon, turning the sidewalk pink. A mild March day means the snow piles at the corners of intersections have nearly melted, leaving giant lakes of muddy puddles. For the first time since November, I can see patches of dormant grass in the medians at the center of the road. Spring is coming. I take a seat at the counter facing the street, blowing on my too-hot latte. Could it be as easy as Marc says? Is it really about just telling Mal a firm no?
Just then, Mal sweeps into the coffeehouse dressed in form-fitting leggings and a crop top, her Canada Goose jacket open, long blond hair flowing into her coyote-fur-lined hood, her feet clad in furry ankle boots. She’s got on a ton of makeup just to make her look fresh-faced. So much expensive highlighting powder and contouring makeup. When she sees me, she bounds up and tries to give me a hug. I stop her with a strong arm.
“Mal. Sit,” I say, nodding to the chair.
“What’s this?” She glances at the coffee cup sitting at the center of the table. Mine. “Is this my fave? Half-caf, double shot, soy milk, extra hot, super skinny? Like I like it?”
“No.” I frown. “It’s a latte.” My latte, actually.
“Oh. Well, that’s okay.” She sits down and takes my latte. Not what I’d planned, but oh well. She can have the coffee. Best to get this over with.
“I’m here to ask you to sell the bakery.”
“What? Why? Don’t you want to be business partners?” She grabs my hands. I pull them back.
“No, I don’t. We’re done, Mal. For real this time.”
She opens her pink lips to argue, but then stops. Something in my voice, maybe my face, I don’t know, finally hits a chord with her.
“You didn’t think we were done last month.”
“That was a mistake. We’re over. We’re never going to work.”
Mal’s bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears threaten to spill. I hate it when she cries, and she knows it. But it’s not going to work on me. Not this time. I hand her a napkin from the dispenser on the table.
“We’re done. For good. You need to sell the bakery.”
“No.”
“You can sell the bakery. Or…” I weigh my options. “I can call your mother.”
Mal goes white, and I know why. Her mother, Melody Starr, controls the purse strings. Also, Melody Starr hates me. Never really felt I was good enough for her daughter, but on this, she’d agree. That Mal needs to stay out of the bakery business.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” I stare at her until she blinks first. “Sell the bakery,” I tell her.
She dabs at her eyes. She sniffs, loudly. I don’t care if she cries in public. I don’t care if people stare. I just want her out of my life. And telling her to go, really telling her to go, is the only way to do it.
I pick up my phone and pull up her contact. “I’m blocking you.” I show her and hit “block.” “We’re not going to be friends. We’re not going to talk.”
She goes pale. “So we’re done. For good.” She blinks at me.
I meet her gaze. “Yes.”
“Is it that woman? Soron? Sara?”
“Sora. And me asking you to sell the bakery doesn’t have anything to do with her.”
Hurt flickers in her blue eyes. Legitimate hurt.
“I’m done punishing you for your mistakes. It’s over. We’re done.”
Mal stares at the cuff of her coat, playing with the insulated sleeve’s edge. She doesn’t say anything for a long time. “So, all the time you listened to me about my parents … about what they did…” Mal’s eyes fill with tears. “Did you even ever really care about me? Ever?”
“Of course I did. And I really am sorry that happened to you. No one deserves that kind of neglect.” I pause. “But I didn’t deserve what you did to me, either.”
“So that’s why you’re going off with Soda.” She grabs a napkin this time and blows her nose. Loudly.
“Sora.” I sigh. “And she’s not taking my calls thanks to the stunt you pulled at the Golden Chef Awards, so I’m not sure where we stand. I’ll be honest.”
“Sorry.” Mal squirms a little, though she doesn’t look sorry. “If she’s out of the picture, then…” Mal looks a tad hopeful for a minute.
“No, Mal. We’re not getting back together. Not even if Sora never talks to me again. We’re done. For good.”
Mal slumps back into her chair, looking resigned.
“You know, no one ever cared about that before you. Everyone just thought, ‘oh, poor rich girl.’ You really saw me.” Mal sniffs. “I really messed all that up, didn’t I?”
This might be the first time Mal took responsibility for anything. Ever.
I nod, feeling sad. “You did. Yeah.”
“My sister’s still not speaking to me either.” She balls up the napkin in her fist. I nod. I mean, I wouldn’t either if she slept with my spouse. We sit in silence for a bit. An awkward, awful silence, but Mal is really, I think, finally getting it.
“This is why my parents don’t love me. I’m unlovable.” A small sob escapes her. I grab another napkin and offer it. She swipes it from my hand.
“You’re not unlovable.” I shake my head. “You just keep making bad choices.”
“How do I stop doing that?” She swipes at her nose again.
“How about do the next right thing?” I tell her. “And then the next right thing after that. Then, before you know it, you’re not doing bad things anymore. Like start with small things and work your way up.”
She considers this. “But what if I do a good thing and then a bad thing?”
“Then you just start over doing good things.”
“So, the next good thing I need to do is sell the bakery,” she says, swiping at her cheeks.
I nod. “Yeah. That’s a good start.”
Mal nods. “I’ll sell the bakery. Then I need to let you go, for good.” Her eyes meet mine. They’re full of real pain. I hate that, but this has to be done. “So you can go be with Sora.”
I can’t believe she got her name right. Makes me think she really knew her name all along.
“If she talks to me again.” I’m not at all sure of that yet.
“She will,” Mal promises.