Page 18 of Healing You
“Enough!” her father growled, loud enough to halt the conversation, but not so loud to disturb the other diners. “We didn't schedule this dinner to embarrass or ambush you. Hell, we don't even care if you two get back together...”
Her mother lifted a brow, and a haughty ‘huh’ escaped her as he continued. “We are here to discuss business. An investment that Jonah, your mother and I, as well as some of the other community members are taking part in. We think it would be a wise way to spend your trust fund.”
Yvonne shook her head, giving a weak smile to the bartender as he delivered her dirty vodka martini. She took a sip. The bitter flavor burned the back of her throat and she resisted the grimace as she swallowed what was essentially just olive juice mixed with booze. Ugh, why did she think the dirty vodka martini would be any better? But at least she had chosen it for herself. Disgusting drink or not. It was her choice. Her mistake. “I told you,” she continued. “I am not touching that money until I hear some apologies. Heartfelt apologies. And acceptance to my life and what I want to do with it.” And maybe not even then, she thought.
“Sweetheart,” her mother said, “we have come to every single one of your fundraisers. If we didn't accept you and your little cause, would we have helped plan last year's dinner? Your father and I worked hard to fill every one of those tables with our friends.”
“Yes. And I appreciate that,” she said. “But that's still not an apology.”
“Okay, fine.” Her mom threw her hand in the air, nearly splashing a bit of martini onto her dress. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I gave you a perfect life. I'm sorry I bought you the finest clothes and paid for those braces when you were ten. I'm sorry that you grew up with every opportunity we could have provided.”
“Yeah... that's not really an apology, either, Mom. How about, ‘I'm sorry for micromanaging your life and then throwing tantrums when I didn't get my way?’ That's an apology I could accept.”
“Babe.” Jonah's hand came down on her thigh once more and this time she followed her urge and jerked her leg away from his touch.
“Move that hand, Jonah, or I swear to God, you will lose it.”
A spark of surprise tightened his features. But he was practiced... skilled in the art of hiding his frustrations in public. That was the blue-blooded, Ivy League lawyer way. He rolled his eyes, looking to Yvonne's father, shaking his head as if to say what are we gonna do with her. Her mother likewise rolled her eyes, and just as Yvonne was gonna snap his wrist back and launch into a tirade, her dad spoke. “You heard my daughter, Jonah. If she says hands off, then by God, I suggest you do it.” He spoke quietly, looking straight ahead, sipping his martini. Warmth spread in her chest. It was about as loving as her parents got... sad as that was.
“Thank you,” she whispered, smoothing her skirt in her lap. It was barely noticeable, but her dad's mouth twitched.
“So,” his voice boomed as he ran a hand across his salt and pepper hair. “Let's go have a nice dinner and talk some business. No more about this apology discussion tonight.”
As if hearing him from across the room, a waiter appeared with four menus. “Your usual table is ready, Mr. Sarzacki.”
“The others are already seated?” he asked as the host nodded. Then, as an aside, her father leaned into her. “You never want to be the first seated.” He tossed some cash onto the counter for a tip and gathered his drink gingerly in a hand.
Jonah led the way, with her mother next, her father with his hand at the small of her back, and hanging behind as long as she could, Yvonne. Looking around, she seriously considered making a run for it. Bolting out the front door just as they entered the back room. It would be too late for them to notice. Hell, she'd done it a million times in high school and college. Climbing out the window at midnight. Storming off in the middle of a fight. She'd just about become a pro. But now? She slumped, throwing back another gulp of her martini. Now she was an adult. And adults just don't do shit like that. Or so she'd been told.
As they entered the back room, a high pitched voice rang out. “Jonah, hi!” She looked up to find Sophy... Steve's Sophy from the other morning, rushing toward them and shaking his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Sarzacki, I'm so glad you could make it.”
Yvonne's entire body stiffened at the sight of the girl. Her curly, dark hair falling in cascading waves down her shoulders. Bright eyes, smooth, clear skin and a charming mole to the right of her eye. As she swept her gaze around the room, she didn't know her muscles could get any stiffer. But hell—there sitting at a large table was Steve. On a date. With this girl. Son of a bitch. It shouldn't hurt. But it did.
Sophy smiled, leaning in to shake Yvonne's hand. “You were at the clinic the other day. How's your dog feeling?”
Yvonne cleared her throat. “He's, uh, doing better, thanks.”
“Steve, look. This is so crazy, isn't it. My clients are your clients.”
Yep, could her life get any more messed up? Yvonne clenched her fist, determined not to bite her nails as Steve turned and caught her gaze. She looked at the table—set for six people. Sophy and Steve seated there, waiting. “Wait—we're all eating together?”
Jonah pulled out a chair for her, his hand landing at the small of her back, guiding her into the seat beside his—and across from Steve. If she hadn't been so stunned, she would have made a bigger deal of him touching her... but right then? In that moment, sandwiched between her two exes, she didn't have any fight left in her.
“I promise my presentation won't take long,” Sophy said. “And then you and your family can have a cozy dinner and Steve and I will be on our way.”
Yeah. Cause that's what she wanted.
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D ear God, could this dinner be any more painful? The only person who looked more uncomfortable than Yvonne felt... was Steve. Sophy droned on about the investment properties, but to be honest, Yvonne could hardly concentrate enough to pay attention. Not with the way her hand would land on Steve's shoulder every few words. And knee. Oh, God, the hand was moving... was she stroking him? Under the table? The very sight took her back to sophomore year when she was trying to get Steve to go out with her. Trying every trick in the book to catch his attention, despite the fact that Ronnie had told her not to bother. That she wasn't his type. But Yvonne would catch stolen glances from Steve. Would catch him watching her from his locker as she passed by. She knew he liked her, even if he dated what felt like every girl except for her.
Until the summer they volunteered together. Seeing him walking the rescue dogs every morning in Laconia only deepened her school girl crush into something more real. Something beyond the frivolous feelings of him simply being a cute boy. He was caring and attentive; when he was around dogs was the only time she saw him not being a bad boy or a prankster. It was the first time she'd gotten a glimpse of the ‘real’ Steve.
Yvonne quit listening when the salads arrived and just kept her eyes planted onto her plate. Did Steve know she would be there? Was this just some big set up... some way of him proving something? What was it about Steve that made her so crazy? He had left her dying in the hospital without even a phone call. He abandoned her, seemed to blame her for the accident, and yet, here she was lusting after him like some sort of masochistic victim who continued going back for more.
She needed closure on their relationship. Then she'd be able to move on, and likewise let him move on, without her feeling like her heart was flipping upside down.
“Sweetheart,” her mother said quietly, gently lowering Yvonne's hand from her mouth. Had she been chewing her nails that whole time? She didn't even notice she was doing it. “Are you paying attention?” The words were soft, demure even. But Yvonne knew better. The subtext of that was, pay attention for Christ's sake. But her mother would never say such a thing in public. Nuh-uh. No way.
