Page 25 of June: Jess' Story
“Jess. Come on, babe. Don’t do this.” He advances towards me looking like my knight in shining armor, something straight out of a wet dream. (And by shining armor, I mean a silk and virgin mohair suit).
“Do what?” I ask him, quizzically.
“Leave. Go to California?” He stops to shake his head. “You can go to California, but you can’t come to Taiwan with me? Your husband?”Hmm. Not a fan of that.
“My husband?” I raise both eyebrows. “My husband?! Who just kissed his best friend goodbye in our house this morning?” My voice is raised. (And it’s not my house, it’s Tommy’s. That was made very,veryclear in our prenuptial agreement.) Tommy’s head rolls back and he closes his eyes, placing his hands on his hips. It’s his power stance. Next his head will snap forward and he’ll have a sword drawn.
“Jessica DiAngelo,” head has snapped forward, metaphorical sword drawn, “I love you and our daughter. I want us to stay a family. I want us to be together, all of us. I know this isn’t what you signed up for, but I feel like you should at least try. Don’t we owe that to each other? To our daughter?”Nope.
“No.” I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t owe you a damn thing. I’ve given you everything you’ve ever asked for, and what’d I get? The shaft. So, no. You get to keep the house, your big bank accounts, you get the love of your life, and what do I get after giving up progressing my career to birth our child? I get booted. Out of your house, out of my bed. And I swear to God, Tommy,” I start shaking my head, “if you try to take Eden from me…” I don’t know what I’d do.
“Knock knock.” Damian calls out from the entryway where the front door was left wide open.
“Damian?” Tommy turns to his friend while I start gathering the diaper bag and my purse. Tommy looks between the two of us, confused. “You two are going…together?” (An unlikely duo, I know.)
Damian sort of gets this bashful look and rubs at the back of his neck. He’s got a bad rep. I think that’s where Tommy is going with this, but I’ll stop him right there if he does. He has zero legs to stand on in that regard.
When neither Damian or myself say anything back to him, Tommy says,“Just never thought I’d see the day is all.” Well, hell has frozen over. Pigs may as well fly, too.
Honestly, I'm grateful for Damian’s timing. I didn’t want to find out the direction our conversation was going.
“These the suitcases that are going?” Damian gestures to the three lined up by the door.
“Are we flying private or commercial?” I volley back.
“Private.”
I nod in response, then roll another suitcase that was tucked away in the office. And Damian laughs at me. Tommy just watches us, his brain not willing to compute what he’s seeing. Yeah, I talk a lot of shit on Damian, but when it comes to Britain and his girls, we’re on the same team. Always. (Almost always).
“Jess,” Tommy pleads, slipping a hand around my arm as I walk past. “I don’t want it to be like this.”No shit, Sherlock.
“We’ll talk when you’re back.” I say it as a reminder. Because he’s the one who was leaving in the first place. I pick Eden up out of the highchair, then toss my keys to Damian once he’s done with the suitcases.
“Can you get her carseat out of my car, please?”
“Can do,” Damian says as he walks past us, through the kitchen, to where my car is parked in the back alley.
Tommy’s just standing in the middle of our hallway, still struck by the oddness of the dynamic he’s witnessing between Damian and myself. There’s a shocking ease and familiarity between us.
And then Tommy looks at me with a question. Head cocked, eyes slightly narrowed — I know what he’s asking.
Instantly, I divert eye contact, jostling Eden in my arms as a distraction.I won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer one way or another.
With that, Tommy takes a step away from me, nodding, coming to a conclusion. And my heart breaks, just a little. I know what I’m doing. I’m allowing it to happen, but it still hurts.
“We’ll talk when I’m back,” he says, his tone no longer pliant and warm. Now it’s cold and firm, and I imagine I’m now the enemy. His newest opponent.
It’s not a place I’d like to be.
Just like Michael kisses Fredo, Tommy leans forward, pulling my face closer with a hand behind my head and he kisses me, firmly, painfully. (It’s the kiss of death if you’re Italian or, you know, intoThe Godfatheror mafia things.) There’s a hurt that crosses his face that should be on mine, but isn’t. And I say nothing.
He kisses Eden with extreme gentleness and care, a stark comparison, and says “safe travels,” before gliding out the front door with a light jog down our front steps.
I feel the dampness around the corners of my eyes, but that’s all that materializes. There are no sobs, no desperate cries, just a sadness I’ll be feeling for a long time to come.
“I feel like I got the timing of that wrong. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to interrupt before he power posed? Or after?” Damian jokes, and I laugh. I actually laugh at Damian.
“Your timing is classically shit, Damian.” He nods in agreement, then slips a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. Any other day or time I would swat him away, but today I allow it.