Once And Forever: Virtually Impossible Part 22

I was so sure I'd never be that big of an idiot again, but like the saying goes: 'Never say never.' Or 'always.' Or 'One more episode on Netflix, and then I'll go to sleep.' Because, as that other saying goes: 'The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.'

I deserved this.

"Do you know why I wanted to take you out tonight?" Emilia asked. "I heard something about Hayden Bennett from a reliable source."

My stomach clenched so hard, words and tears started spilling out of me. I couldn't stop them. "OhmyG.o.dIshouldn'thaveandI'msosorry.Ittotallywasn'thisfault.Itwascompletelymine,and-"

"Andi, he's getting a divorce."

29.

Hayden I'm not sure how long I was in the women's bathroom, staring at the tiny dots of the granite countertop, trying to see a pattern where none existed. I didn't understand how I could've gotten so far off-course, imaging things that weren't there. Shocked and confused how I'd made it through this much of life being so incredibly clueless.

"Hayden?" Clare called from the other side of the door.

Time to go back to reality. I pushed off the wall and went to rejoin the land of the living.

"Where've you been?" She did a double-take when she saw the picture on the door I'd just walked through. "You getting in touch with your feminine side, Hay?"

I slowly followed her back into the dining room. One quick glance told me what I already knew-the table Sira had been sitting at was empty, the staff clearing off unused utensils and untouched water gla.s.ses. I took one last pity-me breath and refocused on the woman who wanted to be with me. Kind of.

"Remind me to never use the bathroom here," Clare said as I pulled her chair out for her. "Seems like a depressing place. You going to tell me what happened?"

"I'd rather not. Nothing personal. It's just-"

"Nothing personal. Got it." She emptied the bottle of champagne into my gla.s.s, filling it all the way to the top. Evidently I'd been gone long enough for our food to have arrived, so I used that as a method of conversation escape.

She watched me eat for a little while. "Hayden, I'm going to tell my family we're getting divorced at dinner tomorrow night."

Unless I was traveling, every Sunday evening I put on a suit and took her to her father's house. Oh, the fun.

"Not a bad idea, as long as you time it right after everyone's second gla.s.s of wine and your stepmom's sixth," I teased. "But are you really sure you want to? There's no rush."

"I've wasted enough of your life. We need to tell them, but I'm kind of chicken, so it'd be great if you were there, too."

"You mean so they'll have someone to aim at?" I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but it was Clare's life, too. And she cared what her family thought of her. Luckily, I didn't have that burden with my own family. Not anymore.

I'd stopped caring what anyone thought of me the second time my father had tried to kill me. Or maybe it was a few minutes later when I'd let him die. I'd been pretty closed off before then, but that's when I stopped caring about everything, stopped feeling anything, and became nothing more than the person everyone expected me to be.

As soon as we got home, I tried calling Sira, but she didn't answer. Then I tried explaining myself over a few text messages. That failed to get a response, too. So I left a few more via the computer. I gave up after the second email, knowing anything more than that would only prove how pathetic I was.

Sunday morning, when I turned my laptop on, I saw a message. It was short, much too short to warrant the amount of relief I felt. But anything was better than being ignored.

'A friend told me she'd heard a rumor that you're getting divorced.'

Wow, I'd underestimated the speed at which Clare's so-called friends' mouths worked. And had never been more thankful for it.

'But, even so, I still work for you. I hope you understand why I can't do anything to risk my livelihood.'

That was it? That was all?

I typed, 'Then you're fired. Problem solved,' but then deleted it. That was hardly a good solution. By wanting to spend more time with her, I'd screw myself. I'd taken up so much of her workday, she'd become dependent on that income and had probably let other opportunities go. Since I relied on the quality and speed of her work too, dropping it all wouldn't help either of us.

Until now, I'd put off hiring an in-house a.s.sistant. That would change on Monday morning. I'd hire someone competent and keep Sira on until my new a.s.sistant could handle the workload and Sira had found other clients.

After that happened, she'd be out of excuses.

That night, on the long, anxiety-riddled drive over to Bart's house, Claire and I discussed scenarios, phrasing, etc. "Nothing should be this stressful, Clare. Why don't you just let me tell them?"

"No, I should. They're my dysfunctional family, not yours." Her pants were going to be stretched out in the shape of her fists if I didn't drive faster.

"It's not an execution. I'd be happy-well, not happy, but I'll tell them. As long as you're absolutely sure you want to do it now."

"As soon as I kick you to the curb, and some hooker takes pity on your pathetic-ness and brings you back to her place to live, someone will notice." Her smile was tight, like her brow.

"When we get home, I'm throwing away your e-reader and ordering you another, filled with nothing but the cla.s.sics."

"Just make sure Moll Flanders is on it. Talk about a tragic life. That kind of stuff happens all the time, Hayden. They even made it into a movie."

"And I'm canceling cable."

"I appreciate the bad jokes, but I'm serious. I may have accidentally mentioned our pending divorce to a couple of friends, and you know how my friends are, especially when they promise not to tell anyone."

Yes, I knew.

"I'd rather my dad hear about it from me rather than a tabloid," she said.

"We could claim it's a trial separation."

"What will that get us?"

"A chance to test out your father's reaction."

She laughed. "Are you that afraid of him?"

"I like to think of it as wary, not afraid." Sure, Bart held no real power in the company, but the board of directors didn't know that. Six years of mind-bending, soul-stealing work. I'd proven myself valuable, but Bart was fickle, unpredictable, and moody. If he went to the board, my career could be in jeopardy, and I would really prefer not to go job-hunting anytime soon.

But that wasn't why I was concerned. Clare's father already seemed to think that whatever his daughter did was exactly the wrong thing. He would take the news of a divorce better if I told him. It's a sad thing when a father trusts an employee more than his own child. Especially since his child had never actually done anything wrong. Other than not being who she really was for his sake.

Sunday dinner with the Chalmers was the same as every other time I couldn't get out of it. The only difference was Clare's hand on my thigh throughout. There was nothing seductive about her grip, though. Her fingers dug into my leg from fear and nervousness. If only it was another woman's hand for another reason, in any another place but this one.

When Clare's stepsister, her stepmother, and Bart's plates were taken away, Clare squeezed so hard I'd have bruises tomorrow. It was ridiculous for her to feel like this, and the sooner I got it over with, the better for her psyche, and the less blood I'd lose through the puncture wounds she'd make any second now.

"There's something I need to tell you-all of you." Once I had everyone's attention, I cleared my throat. "Clare and I-"

"I'm gay," she said.

All eyes beelined to her, including mine.

"I'm gay. I've always been gay"-her gaze darted from gape-mouthed family member to gape-mouthed family member-"and I always will be gay"-then finally moved to her father-"and I'm sorry I lied to you for so long."

No one said anything. But, to be fair, many of them seemed preoccupied with the napkins in their laps or the amazingly quick way their wine gla.s.ses had emptied. Clare looked at me and blew out a breath. Telling her she'd just made a colossal mistake would hardly be helpful, so with my eyes and a squeeze of the hand still denting my thigh, I tried to convey how proud of her I was. Because it was true. And I knew part of the reason she'd done it was because of me.

With a nervous smile, she said, "I know you must be shocked. But honestly, that was a lot easier to say than I thought it would be."

"I don't ever want to see you in this house again." Her father's tone was flat, dead.

Clare's smile melted. "And that was exactly as hurtful as I thought it would be."

"Cla-"

She cut me off with a look, placed her napkin on her plate and stood, staring at her father. "I've been your daughter for twenty-seven years. Gina has been your daughter for five, and in that time, you've paid for, and supported her through eight stints in rehab."

"Don't bring me into it," her stepsister snapped.

"I have nothing against you, Gina. I'm just asking for the same consideration."

"Maybe you'd get it if you weren't a d.y.k.e."

"Very mature."

And the laundry list cometh. My groan went unheard as a flurry of raised voices of varying pitches commenced. Every atrocity committed by a family member in the past thirty years was thrown out without a single one of them being heard. The only good it did was make me a little more grateful for my own family. Which, in itself, was disturbing.

"Stop it. Please, everyone, stop." I stood and put my arm on Clare's shoulder. "Calm down. No one is trying to hurt anyone else. If we all calm down and talk..."

Everyone suddenly shut up. The direction they were looking brought me to the reason.

When Bart threw his napkin into the ring, or onto the table in this case, people paid attention. His eyes were stone-cold, aiming straight at me. Me. Not any of the people shouting insults and slander. Me. "Did you know?"

"Yes," I said at the same moment Clare said, "No."

"Yes, Bart. I knew."

"You can clean out your office tomorrow."

As I nodded, Clare grabbed my hand, leaning around me. "I had no intention of telling anyone who isn't at this table right now. But if you fire Hayden, I'll take a full-page ad out in the Chronicle. The headline will say, 'I'm here, and I'm queer.' Explain that to your hate-filled friends, Dad."

"It's okay," I whispered, taking her hand. "Really." Then I looked at my ex-in-laws and said, "You're all intelligent people, so I'm a little confused how you've completely failed to grasp what a wonderful woman Clare is. All I hope for now is that you realize it before it's too late to have her in your life. Thank you for dinner." Then I pulled my wife away from the table.

Just before we walked outside, Clare turned back and yelled, "Oh, and by the way, we're getting divorced." When she looked at me, there were tears pooling in her eyes. "I sure told them, huh?"

"Yes, you did. Brilliantly." I put my arm around her shoulders and led her away from her nightmare.

When we got into the car, she said, "I'm so sorry."

I was reminded why I liked her so much-in the middle of possibly the worst night of her life, the one she'd been dreading for a decade, she was more worried about me than herself.

"You needed to tell them. The way they reacted is on them." I glanced at her and smirked. "Your timing probably could have been better, though. Next time, wait until they're drunk."

"You always give such good advice," she said smiling. "Someday, I might just start following it. So, what are you going to do now?"

"Me? Uh...I'm not sure." If Bart went to the board and lied his a.s.s off, I might have to look for another job. He'd never tell them the real reason he wanted me gone. "But don't put that ad in the newspaper. It will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt him."

She nodded, wiping her cheeks. "I've always known how he'd react if I ever told him. But I'm glad I did it, and I'm glad you were with me." She was silent for the rest of the ride home, and I didn't press her to talk.

I pulled into the parking garage underneath our building and handed my keys to the valet. Clare held my arm tightly as we walked to the elevator.

"You should keep the apartment," she said, pressing the up arrow. "I'll find another."

"Why don't you wait until you've had some time to think things through before making any real estate decisions."

"No, it's better I move out." She looked at me, her expression serious yet peaceful. "I can't afford the mortgage payment."

"Do you even know how much it is?"

"No, but I'm guessing it isn't free and, seeing as how I'm penniless now, that means I can't afford it." Because of Bart's fact-proof delusion that his brilliant daughter couldn't possibly understand math or properly consult with an accountant, Clare's trust fund would remain under his control until his death. A day that, until listening to his outburst thirty minutes ago and seeing the effect it had on his daughter, I hadn't actually been looking forward to. Who knew what he'd do with the funds now that he'd disowned Clare, all under the pretense of her best interests.

"Whether we're married or not," I said, "you'll never have to worry about money. Understand?"

She dropped my arm and looked at me, her eyes filling with more tears. "Hayden, stop it! Stop being so G.o.dd.a.m.n nice. I ruined the last few years of your life because I was too weak to be honest. I don't deserve your kindness, or your help, or your generosity. I don't deserve any of it."

"You'd rather I was more like your father, then?" My voice was stronger than I wanted it to be.

"You'll never, ever come close to being the man my father is. Thank G.o.d. You're too good, too accepting, too n.o.ble. But you need to stop using me as another wall."

"What does that mean?"

"Me. Our marriage. We were both hiding behind it, but at least I had Shannon. Excuse me for being blunt, but holy f.u.c.k, Hayden, what do you have? What do you want? Do you even know?" The volume of her voice increased with every word. I almost called her on it, told her that I wasn't the one she should be yelling at because I'd done nothing wrong. But I had. And everything she was saying was absolutely right. Absolutely irrefutable. Our marriage was just one more wall I'd built around myself. So I didn't have to actually feel anything, and I'd never have anything real to lose.

"I know you were staying with me for a lot of good reasons," she said. "And I love that about you. I really do. But now I understand what you meant by the wrong reasons. For all the risks you take at work, all the effort you put into it, you've never put anything even remotely like that into your private life. Why not?"

"I..." Didn't know.

"I get that you're afraid of getting hurt. And sometimes it does hurt. But it also feels amazing. It's worth any amount of pain to have those moments that take your breath away. That make you lose yourself and all your baggage and just be...happy."

"I am..." Even I couldn't stomach that lie. I wasn't happy. I'd never been happy.

The elevator door opened, and an elderly woman got on. She pressed the b.u.t.ton for the lobby.

"We're going up, ma'am," I said. "You might want to wait for the next elevator."

"I hate waiting." She smiled at me. "This way, I'm moving, even if it's in the wrong direction."