ASMTD Ch. 10

"Memory often becomes disjointed with time," she says quietly, folding her hands in her lap. "I remember the time fondly, but I suppose that's how my mind wants to remember it."

Leo's muscles tighten under my hand, but I can't understand it. I desperately want to hate Antonia but find it hard to reconcile the version Leo's told me of her and the one sitting in front of me. Jekyll and Hyde maybe?

"Excuse me," I murmur, moving to get up. "I have to go to the ladies' room."

"Rai." Leo's hand is on mine in a second, blue eyes apologizing for something he hasn't even done.

I pat his hand and move away. "I'll be back in a second. Order me whatever; you know what I like."

Winding between the black clothed tables and relaxed dinners, I follow the sign for the bathroom and enter a monstrosity of chrome. The reflective walls blind me as I stumble into a bathroom stall and fiddle with the lock. It has to be the most complicated thing, and the dual toilets don't make it any better. Taking a closer look, I slap my forehead; one's a bidet.

Feeling wholly a stupid American, I sit on the toilet and pee, taking out my phone and seeing if the restaurant has wifi. It does, and two minutes later I'm hooked on a stupid race car game that I download to completely obliterate Leo and Antonia from my mind.

The bathroom door swings open, hitting the chrome walls with a boom. Jumping, I watch in horror as my phone tumbles end over end to the tiled floor.

Please don't break. Please don't break. I hold my breath as it hits, face down. Sending up a quick prayer, I gently pick up the device and look it over. Not broken. Thank God. But my game wasn't saved at all.

Frowning, I tug my phone away and finish going to the bathroom. I'm contemplating re-starting the level on my way back to the table as I exit the stall but a dark swath of hair stops me.

Antonia leans over the sink, arms braced on the counter, fingers curled tightly around the lip. She looks ready to either bawl her eyes out or destroy the place. Not exactly sure what the right course of action is, I move to the sink next to her and wash my hands.

"Sorry," she whispers, and I'm not sure it's to me or herself.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she says again, a bit stronger. "I didn't realize that me asking to meet you would make him so..."

"Hostile?"

She lifts her head. "He is, isn't he?"

Shrugging, I ask, "Has it been like this for a while? If you don't mind me asking."

"It's alright." She pauses and bites her lip, the motion more painful than attractive. "No. Maybe? I'm not sure. My memory of when I was with Leo is a bit fuzzy."

"Why's that?"

"Drugs."

"Oh."

"But I have been clean for almost twelve years. Ever since Helmi—" she stops and blinks, turning to look at me as if she's seeing me for the first time.

I'm not sure what she expects me to say or even where the hell this is coming from. My eyes narrow as I contemplate this being some kind of weird reverse psychology to get me on her side.

"I should not have said that." She turns back to the mirror and her expression drops, face revealing her age. There's a tiredness to her, an exhaustion that I either glanced over or she hides well. I think it's the latter as she pushes off the counter and pats nonexistent wayward strands back into her perfect bun. "It is stressful seeing Leo. He hates me and I deserve it, but it is hard."

I force myself to pick up a rolled wash cloth and dry my hands. "I'm guessing me being here doesn't make it better."

"Actually, you make it much better." Her smile is sad. "With you at the table, he is almost nice."

I wince. "I—I know it's none of my business, but Leo's told me some things about you and—"

"It's all true," she interrupts, looking me dead in the eye. "Whatever he said is true."

"Then why should I trust anything you're saying?" I'm torn. I want her to be untrustworthy, a lying bitch, but I don't get those vibes from Antonia. "You let someone hit your daughter," I add, more to convince myself that she is an awful person who Leo hates and I should hate as well.

"You don't have to trust me, Rai. The only reason I came in here was because I couldn't stand to sit and listen to Leo a second longer. He has so much venom. And while I know I deserve it, being poisoned still smarts.

"As for Helmi." Her lips pull tight and she turns away from me, moving to the last stall. "You will understand as the night wears on. If not tonight then tomorrow."

"Do you hate your daughter?"

She pauses, hand on the stall door. "I hate that she pits her father against me and manipulates him. I love my daughter, but I am finding it very hard to like her."

She closes the stall with finality, letting me know the conversation is over. I turn her words over in my head as I exit the bathroom and move back to the table. She loves her daughter but doesn't like her. Weren't the two mutually exclusive? You couldn't love someone if you didn't like them, could you?

I don't realize I'm back at the table until my thigh bumps the chair. At least my body knew where we were going because my mind obviously had more important things to do.

"I'm sorry about before," Helmi says suddenly as I take a seat. "I didn't realize it was rude."

It's obvious Leo said something to the girl. Lack of sincerity coats every word, and her subtle eye roll in the cherry on top. "Of course you wouldn't, you're still a kid."

Blue eyes snap up to mine as I move the chair closer to the table and drape a black napkin over my lap. "I'm almost 15."

"Hm?"

Leo either ignores or doesn't pick up on the undercurrents. His voice is almost chipper as he speaks to Helmi, "Rai and I were thinking of touring Paris tomorrow. Did you--"

"Isn't that what couples do?" she interrupts with a raised brow, the question directed at me before she turns and smiles at her father. "You told me she was just some friend."

Wow. I can't believe Leo's daughter. "We're not," I interrupt before he can open his mouth. "But part of traveling together means going to all of the historic places in the cities we visit."

"Must be weird to do something boyfriends and girlfriends do when you're not together." She pulls a small frown before looking questioningly at her father, "You told Penny about this right?"

"We broke up."

"Really. But you were just—

"Helmi," his voice cuts through her line of questioning as Antonia comes back to the table and sits down. "You didn't answer my question. Do you want to come with us tomorrow?"

She ducks her head, letting her hair shield her face. "Yes. If you still want me."

"Of course we want you to," Leo sighs, clearly frustrated. "Right, Rai?"

Do not drag me into this. Plastering on the best smile I can muster (still feels fake as shit), I nod emphatically. "Tomorrow is going to be great, Helmi."

Instead of a snarky comeback, the girl nods and flicks her eyes to Leo. "Can I get my phone back, isä?"

Antonia is quick to answer. "No Helmi. You'll just—"

"Okay," Leo cuts her off ruthlessly, and I swear it's just so he can say it before her, "But don't text. I want you to talk."

I don't like Leo. In this moment, I really don't like him. He's being a complete ass to his ex-wife, and it's obvious that he knows his daughter is playing him but his bitterness over Antonia just makes him skip over it. The dynamic is something I see in my own family, though slightly reversed. Leo's my father, I'm Antonia, and Helmi is my youngest brother. I should be canonized as a saint for putting up with the little shit and my father's backhanded compliments and flat out insults when I have the gall to reprimand his son. The kid is his son, and I'm 'Kris's daughter'.

The waitress comes back with our food and I stare down at the steak Leo ordered me. Good choice. Chancing a glance at his plate, I'm not surprised to see sautéed cod steaming over a bed of vegetables.

"Is it okay?" he asks, forcing my gaze up.

I catch him as he sears a bit of fish and pops it into his mouth. The move isn't all that sexy, but the look when the morsel hits his tongue, the resounding purr of approval that rumbles through him—Well, my panties just about go up in flames.

"Yes," I swallow, concentrating my eyes back on my plate and very deliberately picking up my fork and knife. "It's perfect."

The rest of the meal passes uneventfully, with Antonia trying her best to make polite conversation and Leo making some dick comment every so often. By the time we all finish and the plates are cleared, my ardor has cooled and I'm seriously considering making him sleep on the floor tonight.

As Antonia turns to the waiter to order coffee and a desert, I watch Helmi reaches over and downs her wine glass. Leo catches it too, and the slightest of frowns tug at his lips. Still, he says nothing. It's not until his ex-wife turns back and scolds Helmi that Leo jumps into action.

"It's just wine, Antonia. And don't you think you've had enough?"

Her eyes flare as she plucks the glass from Helmi and places it on the other side of the table. "She is 14. If I wanted her to drink my wine, I would have given it to her. Instead she steals it."

"Sorry," Helmi shrugs without an ounce of remorse as she goes back to her phone, blatantly texting.

Leo's frown deepens, but it's quickly redirected at Antonia as she speak, "Phone. Now." She levels Helmi with a look I've seen my mother deliver one too many times. Apparently they both read from the How to deal with your bitchy teenage daughter handbook.

"She already apologized. Let it go."

"That," Antonia says pointedly, answering Leo while staring at Helmi, "was not an apology. So if you want to act like a naughty child, Helmi, I will treat you like one. Phone. I won't repeat myself."

"And neither will I," Leo growls, leaning forward menacingly. "Stop acting like a—"

"Helmi," I interrupt, my patience up. "Give your mother the fucking phone, and, Leo, take it down a notch."

If a dumbass outsider opens her mouth on an issue she has no right discussing in front of her (for lack of a better word) boyfriend, his ex-wife, and their obnoxious daughter and everyone is around to hear it, can she take it back?

No. The answer is no.

Helmi's the first to respond in the stunned silence that's taken over the table. "Who in the hell do you think you are?"

"Language," Antonia and Leo says automatically, absently.

I finally understand what Antonia meant about loving her daughter but not liking her. As Leo's girlfriend I have to put up with Helmi, but I'm under no obligation to like her. Not one bit. "Just the one who's been sitting here all night watching your father growl at your mother and you play them both."

"Rai," Leo's voice is all threat, all 'you've stepped way over the line so shut up now'.

But I don't. And maybe that has more to do with me wanting to burn this bridge between us because I have less than 24 hours left abroad. 24 hours to get all my ducks in a row before heading back to the States. But lining up those ducks is the same as herding cats, so why don't I just burn it all down?

Kind of a shit analogy, but it gives me what I need. "I'm tired, and I'm on a Paris time crunch. Excuse me if I don't want to sit here and listen to this anymore."

Leo's hand reaches out and grips my wrist; more of a manacle than a caress. "Stop it. You're being rude." His tone is the same he uses with his daughter and it pisses me off.

Practically yanking my arm off to get away from him, I rummage through my purse before finding a few bills. "No. You're being rude. Not two seconds ago you were going to call your ex-wife a bitch for reprimanding Helmi because she did something wrong." I slap the bills down and shake my head, done with the whole interaction. "Enjoy your dessert. I'm leaving."

***

"You did what?" Em screams through the phone as I toss back a gin and tonic. It burns going down and I catch the bartender's eyes, ordering another.

I sit in a hole-in-the-wall bar, trying to pinpoint the exact moment I lost my mind. Or someone slipped something in my water. Whichever one.

"I called out their dysfunctional family bullshit and left."

"Who does that?" she asks, the wooden floorboards creaking as she paces.

I frown. Em never paces. "Hey. Enough of my shit. Are you okay?"

There's a pause, absolute silence on the other end, before she sighs and the creaking of metal springs and the rustle of cotton filters through the phone. "No."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Your shit is more interesting."

I snort and nod thanks to the bartender as he sets a filled glass in front of me. Slipping a few bills plus tip on the counter, I retrieve the drink and find a dark corner to sit in. There are many, but only one is unoccupied. "Only for like the next 24 hours, then reality strikes."

"And what reality is that?"

"The one where I'm back home, looking for a job, reminiscing about that crazy European backpacking trip I took."

"No Leo?"

"I don't think I mentioned his name in my reality, did I?"

She sighs again, loud and long, "Dude."

"Dude," I commiserate even though I get the feeling we're each using the word to mean two different things. Brushing it aside, I ask, "Seriously, what's up with you?"

"Well aside from having sex on a bale of hay and picking straw out of my pubic hair, nothing. Everything's normal."

I choke on my drink, coughing. "What?"

"Sex. On hay. Straw in hair."

"How is this not more interesting than my night?" I refocus. "First, who the hell did you have sex with? Second, are there a shortage of beds where you are?"

"Samson, and no, just heat of the moment."

"Heat of the—Haven't you been there for three weeks?"

"Yup."

"And you couldn't wait two minutes to run in the house and get on a bed?"

"Oh yeah, because the only place you've ever done it is on a mattress."

Suppressing a grin, I use my most diplomatic voice, "I plead the fifth."

She barks out a laugh that dies quickly and fades into a sigh.

"You and sighing, Em. What gives?"

"I just have no clue what the hell I'm going to do."

"When did this happen?"

"This morning. Like five minutes after we stopped texting."

Whistling high, I take another sip of my drink before answering, "How did it feel?"

"In the moment? Awesome. Well, I mean after the whole de-virgining thing."

"That's right!" I slap my forehead. "I totally forgot you were a virgin."

"As did I," she laughs. "My body did not. Hurt like a bitch the first time, but the second..."

"The second?"

"And the third..."

"The third?" I choke out a laugh, "How many times did you have sex?"

"Only three." She pauses. "Wait, are we counting sex as when the guy cums or when the girl cums?"

"Girl. Duh."

"Four, I think. They kind of blended together. Man has one helluva tongue."

"You can't see it, but I'm clapping."

"Not funny," she growls, the sheets rustling.

"So what's the problem? You had awesome sex—came four time. I'm missing the issue, Em. Or is it that I owe you 50 bucks. I'll pay even though the dude's not Irish and we're not in Ireland."

"Yup," she says solemnly. "Those are the reasons my life is sucking eggs."

I remain silent and wait for her to continue. Eventually she does with yet another sigh, "The condom broke and we had to drive three hours to get Plan B. Samson insisted on driving me, like having his dick made me incapable of working heavy machinery. And then he bought it for me and watched me take it. The whole thing just felt... wrong—like he didn't trust me."

"Guys are weird."

"And the whole ride back he was quiet," she continues, her words coming faster with a bite of anger, "Didn't say a word until we pulled up to the house. Then he was all like, 'This was great. Thanks. But I don't think we should do this again; I wouldn't want it to interfere with our work.' I swear to God, the man thinks his dick is some kind of magical object that makes a woman dumb as a bag of bricks."

"What'd you say?"

Her tone is as nonchalant as it gets, "Told him to fuck himself and left."

"Whoop! Whoop! That's my girl."

I can hear her smile through the phone, "Thanks. Felt good too."

"So wait, I'm confused," I say, downing my drink, "Is that why your life is sucking eggs, because you told him off?"

"No," she whines angrily, "It's because I wish I hadn't. I mean, he had a really nice dick, Rai. What if he's like a unicorn, and if I don't snatch him up now he'll disappear forever?"

"Who wants a douchey unicorn like that anyway?"

"Me!" she practically yells, before catching herself. "You know what; I don't want to talk about this anymore. You need to find Leo and apologize."

"What?" Another drink is placed on the table in front of me, though I can't remember even ordering it. Shrugging, I take a gulp. "Don't just spin this around on me."

"I'm turning it back to you," she deflects. "You're in the wrong, Rai. No matter how fucked up his family is, you don't do that. You know that. You're just self-sabotaging."

"I am not."

"You are, and it's because you love him and you don't want your feelings to get hurt."

"Fuck your Psychology 101 bullshit," I hiss, throwing back my drink and slamming it down. The last two hit me like a freight train and the room tilts.

"No, fuck your bullshit, Rai. You always do this. Remember Trey?"

"He was an asshole."

"Because you were a bitch; you said his painting was stupid."

"No, I said it looked stupid. And it did."

She didn't sigh, but she might as well have for all her tone suggested. "You push people past breaking to see if they'll stay with you afterwards, but people don't work like that, Rai."

"I. Do. Not."

"You do. And I think it's because that's how your dad showed love or whatever. He pushed you to breaking, but you always went—"

"I'm done with this conversation, Em. I don't need you fucking psychoanalyzing me. Enjoy not having sex."

Her voice mirrors my own, "You too."

***

Two more gin and tonics later, I leave the bar. The air is warm even with the moon hanging high overhead and the blanket of night trying hard to dim the bright lights of Paris. I angry walk, with no clear purpose or path, until I eventually make it to an empty taxi stand. The blinding light of my screen says it's 11:42PM. My choices are unsurprisingly limited given that I 1) don't speak French, and 2) have no clue how to navigate the city. Meandering in the morning and hitting random cafes doesn't actually mark me as a directional expert, and the lack of internet means that I can't even pull up a map.

A white cab pulls to the curb with a screech of tires. The driver rolls down the window and yells in French.

"Angles?"

"Where go to?"

I give him the hotel and he nods, motioning me inside. The backseat smells like flowery sweat, perfume, and body order and I hold my nose to keep from gagging as I roll the window down.

The city flashes by far too quickly and before I know it we're at the hotel. Pulling out some cash, I murmur, "Merci," before sliding out of the cab and walking through the glass sliding doors and lobby of the hotel. It's not fancy, the décor a mish-mash of deep reds and browns, but with what Leo's paying per night it might as well be a five star hotel. The receptionist explained the price with three words when we checked in: "Welcome to Paris."

Calling the elevator, I tap my foot and wait for the coming confrontation. It arrives with a jarring ring and I start before dragging my feet into the lift. Thirteen steps later, I can't hold it off any longer. Fidgeting with the key, I check the time again: 12:27AM.

He could be in bed, I try to convince myself as I push the door open. No such luck. All the lights are on and Leo sits on the edge of the mattress, rolling a glass half-filled of amber liquid between his hands.