Bad Boy Dom (19 page)

Michelle

After that night at the club, Eric started spending a lot more time with his new friend. I couldn’t lie; I was admittedly really jealous. I hated that he’d done everything with me for a month and now he’d moved on to his next obsession. Obviously, I knew that our friendship was completely platonic, but I couldn’t pretend like it didn’t sting when he didn’t come home for a week. Even though I was becoming a lot more social, Eric was still the basis of most of my social life. I didn’t really know what to do with myself when he wasn’t around. One night, I emailed him in the morning and tried to make plans for dinner. He was busy that night—he and Jamie were going out to dinner—but he said we could hang out the next night.

In the morning, I went to the farmer’s market and got all kinds of veggies. Almost everyone in California was a vegetarian, so I made spicy cauliflower tacos marinated in beer and cumin, topped with a cilantro relish. They took hours but the kitchen smelled amazing, and I was starving by the time they were done. By 7 p.m., Eric still hadn’t returned. I’d had dinner warming in the oven for over an hour, but I was starting to get really peckish and I knew I couldn’t wait that much longer. Finally, I caved and made myself a plate.

“I’ll just have a taste,” I said out loud to the empty kitchen. I made a little half-taco for myself and ate it in two bites. It was so good that I almost cried. I decided to wait another hour for Eric by watching some TV and having some wine. He was a hard worker; it was possible that he’d just been working the whole time and lost track of the hour.

When 9 o’clock rolled around and he didn’t come home, I drunkenly made myself a plate of tacos and then passed out on the couch without eating any of them. Eric woke me up when he came home; I heard the kitchen door slam and it startled me out of a deep sleep.

“Oh, shit,” Eric muttered, looking around. “I’m the worst friend ever.”

“You suck,” I said narrowly, tucking my head under an arm. The alcohol had faded into a slight hangover, and the overhead light made my head throb. Eric looked at me apologetically, then looked into the empty Pyrex dish containing leftover bits of cauliflower.

“I’m so sorry,” he gushed, grabbing my shoulder and clutching. “I promise we’ll have dinner tomorrow to make up for it!”

“It’s fine,” I said tiredly, getting up. I wasn’t in any mood to argue, and I just wanted to go to bed. I was sick of everyone I loved disappointing me.

“Baby doll, wait,” Eric begged. He grabbed my hand and I shook him off angrily, stomping up the stairs. “Michelle!” he called finally, and I turned around with a sigh and glared at him.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I know things have been out of hand with Jamie lately, I’m really sorry. I’ll be a much better friend and I’ll make an effort to hang out here more, okay? And we’ll do stuff again, we’ll go out soon!” He babbled on and on until I just started shaking my head.

“No,” I said, closing my eyes. “Sorry, I just want to be alone right now.”

“Michelle, please!”

Anger bubbled up inside of me; I was reminded of Dom making the same empty promises to me without delivering. “No,” I said again, trying to sound as calm as ever. “I want to be alone. Don’t bother me right now.”

“I know I let you down,” Eric said finally. “I don’t want you thinking that all men are assholes, okay?” I looked at him. “Only straight men are assholes,” he teased, giving me a sad smile. “I’m sorry I went a little nuts.”

“I just hate being disappointed,” I admitted. My eyes teared up and I screwed them shut, not wanting Eric to see me cry for the millionth time. “I hate it. It hurts so much.”

In two steps, Eric had bounded up the stairs and thrown his arms around me. “I know,” he said. “I know it really, really, really sucks. We’ll get through this, okay?”

“Okay,” I said through sniffles. I felt ashamed of how I’d acted, but Eric’s response was gratifying. At least normal people like Eric acknowledged when they fucked up, instead of acting like things were still okay.
Like Domenic
, I immediately thought. Thinking of Dom sent me over the edge again and I hastily tried to wipe my eyes and my nose with my sleeve. Eric squeezed me. It was comforting to be hugged by a friend when I was feeling anything but okay. But deep down, it wasn’t the fix I was hoping for. Eric wasn’t Dom; no matter how much he cared for me, he’d never be able to fix that hole.

***

The next morning, I woke up relieved that I didn’t have any classes that day. Since I’d moved here, I hadn’t exactly been as busy with school as I’d been planning to be. Everything I’d heard about med school made it seem impossible, but in actuality, things were going pretty well. I had a feeling that pretty soon I might be busier than I currently was, but I was enjoying the respite. This was the easiest I’d had it since high school, and I was beginning to get the sense of why normal people liked to party so much in college. If I hadn’t been so depressed and bookish, maybe I would have actually had fun before making a friend who forced me to enjoy myself.

Eric was still sleeping when I crept downstairs. It was unusual for him to sleep in, and with a slight smirk I realized that he and his new boyfriend must not be doing a lot of sleeping. A flash of jealousy shot through me and I winced. I hated being reminded that I wasn’t actually the good friend I wanted to be.

My laptop was sitting at the kitchen table, and I thought that I’d make some coffee before I started working that day. If I studied for a couple of hours and worked on a paper, I’d be free that night to go out with Eric. As always, the house felt a little too stuffy and warm. I wiped condensation off the inside of the kitchen windows with a free hand and stared out the window. When I was alone like this, it was easy to slip back into the pattern of obsessing over Dom and hating myself for the way things had turned out. It was crazy because I knew that none of it was my fault. But somehow it was easier to blame myself rather than Dom.

The coffee was too hot and I burned my mouth on the thin liquid. Coughing and sputtering, I set the mug firmly down on the counter. Coffee sloshed over the sides and spilled all over the counter and I watched as it dripped down onto the floor. 
What a disaster. You can’t even make coffee the right way!
I thought in irritation as I mopped up the spill, taking care to avoid burning my injured hand even further.

I opened my laptop and checked my email. I had about a million spam emails telling me about matches on a dating site, and I started to delete them all until I saw the username they were responding to: Michellelelebelle. I frowned. That was the name on one of my email accounts. One of my old email accounts, which I didn’t use for school, but that I’d used to email…

“Eric!” I yelled, pounding my fist on the table. More coffee splashed out of the mug and I looked at it with distaste. There was no response, so I yelled again. “Eric! Get down here right now!”

I heard some shuffling upstairs and a door opening. I was seething inside. I couldn’t believe Eric had created some fake profile for me on a dating site! Did I really look that desperate? Or lonely?!

“Hi,” Eric said sheepishly. He appeared on the stairs and loafed over to the kitchen table. I glared at him as he slid into a chair. “What?” he asked innocently.

I turned my laptop around and showed him all of the emails. “What is this?” I asked, dreading the answer. Eric flushed.

“Ohhhh, that,” he replied, looking away. “I thought you might want some new friends,” he said.

“And instead of just asking me, you went behind my back and made this?” I pointed at the screen even though Eric wasn’t looking. “Didn’t you think that asking me would be a good idea first?”

“Not really,” Eric replied. He spun around in his chair and turned to face me. “You would have shot me down, Michelle. You know that. You’re fine when it comes to going out, but every time I want you to talk to a guy, you clam up. I figured this would break the ice a little bit, since you don’t have to make awkward small talk in person.”

I blinked. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but Eric was right. Every time he brought up dating someone, I froze. I couldn’t imagine doing that; it just seemed so impossible. I couldn’t imagine talking to someone and having the conversation turn to past partners. How was I supposed to lie about fucking my stepbrother? Just the thought made me queasy.

“Michelle, just give it a shot,” Eric pleaded. “I know it would be a good thing for you! Plus, we can double date! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

I shook my head, sending my brown curls flying. I could now see hints of blonde in my hair; the California sun had done wonders for my appearance. “No,” I said finally. “It doesn’t sound fun.”

Eric frowned. “Michelle, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but just go on one little date! Please! Just one date!”

I shook my head again. “No,” I said. “Delete that profile, okay?”

Eric pulled my laptop towards him on the counter and looked at me. “No,” he responded. “You delete it. Look at all those guys who messaged you and then delete it.” I reached forward to grab my computer but Eric held it firmly. “And, Michelle, I didn’t make your profile look like some slut’s. I really think you’ll like it. The guys seem legit, too.”

“Nope, sorry,” I said, yanking my laptop away from his firm grip. “That doesn’t matter right now. I’m not ready to date, and I don’t think I will be for a long time.”

Eric got up from the table and shrugged, rubbing his face with both hands. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But I tried.”

Domenic

It had been three months since I’d heard anything about Michelle. She never responded to my Facebook messages, and shortly afterwards I noticed that her account was gone. I wondered if she’d deleted it or blocked me. Either way, I wouldn’t find out. Archie wouldn’t listen when I brought her up anymore, and even Mom suggested that I should start trying to move on.

“Honey,” she said one morning when we were having breakfast together. “Why don’t you go out with someone? You could use a girlfriend.”

I shook my head. “Mom, didn’t you say that artists were poison for relationships?”

My mom blushed and looked away. “That was before I met Archie,” she said in this dreamy tony. “I don’t feel that way anymore. He and I are just beautiful together, Domenic.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said, not wanting to think about her and Archie together anymore. “I’ll go to a bar and talk to some girls, okay?”

My mom shook her head vehemently. “Not like that, honey,” she said gently. “What if you thought about having a real relationship, instead of just a one-night stand with someone?”

No matter how cool my mom was, talking about sex with her still made me awkward. “I don’t know, Mom,” I said. “I don’t have any experience with that.”

“So make some,” my mom urged. “I’d like to see you settled down with someone nice, who inspires you, who encourages you…” she trailed off, a dreamy look in her eyes.

I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s that easy. Maybe I’m just one of those people who sleeps around all the time.”

“Domenic,” my mom said in a stern voice. “I know you’re capable of love. I know that you are, I can see it in you. So stop lying to yourself!”

“Whatever, Mom,” I said, pushing away from the table and standing up. “We’ll see what happens.”

Mom didn’t say anything as I walked out of the kitchen in a huff. Obviously, she had no idea about Michelle, but I couldn’t let her know just how close she was to hitting the nail on the head. Of course I wanted a relationship with Michelle. I wanted her back, I wanted her to love me forever. But short of Michelle, I couldn’t see myself staying with anyone. Sure, I’d probably still sleep around, but I could never commit to anyone else the way I wanted to commit to her. Besides, wasn’t it the whole ‘tortured artist’ thing to love someone for years? I’d be fueling my image, if nothing else, if I spent my life pining after Michelle.

Even though I knew it would be good for my career and my art, I couldn’t handle the idea of a life without her. Michelle was everything to me; I couldn’t just let her go and disappear. I knew that I had to find her. Maybe the time apart would have been good for her, and she’d be less angry towards me than before. Not that I deserved to get off that easily, but the idea of her greeting me happily was much more preferable than the idea of her running away and continuing to snub me.

Alone in my room, I stared at the unfinished portrait. Against my better judgment, I’d worked on it a few nights ago. Michelle was almost done. The gaze she gave me as she posed on the canvas managed to be both private and sexy. I stared into her eyes, silently praying that she would return to me.

Since I hadn’t been going out much recently, I’d spent a lot of time working on art. Besides Michelle, there were a few paintings of my mom in her youth that I’d done. I wanted to paint Michelle in every pose imaginable, but I was secretly worried about having that many copies of her likeness around me. With the big portrait, I could hide it if someone came in my room. But if she happened to be in every painting…not so much.

There was a knock on the door and I scrambled to throw a blanket over unfinished Michelle. “Come in,” I said, breathing hard. The door pushed open and Mom walked in.

“I wanted to talk a little bit more, honey,” she said, sounding cautious. I moved some clothes off the bed and she sat down with her ankles crossed. Mom folded her hands in her lap and gestured with her head for me to sit beside her. Instead, I took the chair at my computer desk and sat facing her, with my chin propped up in my hands.

“What’s up?” I was determined to be as blasé as possible.

“Sometimes I feel like I haven’t been a very good mom to you,” she admitted. She bit her lip and continued. “I was always so self-absorbed in my work that I didn’t spend as much time raising you as I really should have done.”

“That’s not true,” I lied. It was very true; I hadn’t seen very much of Mom growing up. She was always running away to communes or galleries for the weekend—or the month—and then forgetting about me at home. I’d had a copy of her credit card since I was 11, and I’d been on a first-name basis with every delivery place in town for the past ten years. “You were always a good parent.”

She shook her head, sending her delicate blonde wisps flying in the air. “No, Dom, don’t sugarcoat it,” she said, and I realized that she was upset. “I didn’t behave very well towards you, and I feel like it’s hurt you overall.”

I frowned. I didn’t like this side of my mom very much. “That isn’t true,” I told her again. “I promise, I’m not damaged or anything.”

“Well, I think I was too selfish to let you have a father,” Mom said, wiping her eyes with an elegant finger. “I couldn’t stay with your father long enough when I was pregnant. I didn’t even think about how much that would affect you, sweetheart. I always just assumed that I’d be enough to be your mother and your father. But I don’t think you had a great male example, and I want to apologize for that.”

“Mom, trust me,” I laughed, thinking of high school, “I’m fine. I was fine, I mean. Just because I don’t want a girlfriend doesn’t mean you failed as a parent.”

My mom looked at me with wet eyes. “I don’t think you had a positive male role model,” she continued. “I don’t think you know how to treat women.”

“That’s not true,” I protested, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Of course I know how to treat women.”

Mom stared at me. “Then what’s this sudden obsession with Michelle?”

Shit
. “It’s nothing,” I lied. “We were good friends growing up, don’t you remember that?”

My mom laughed and I felt myself relax slightly. “I mostly remember a little mousy girl chasing you and the boys around,” she said, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. “You and Ryan and all those guys you used to hang with. She could never keep up, bless her little heart.”

I shrugged. “I remember hanging out with her a lot,” I said slowly. “We were best friends.”

My mom narrowed her eyes at me. “Really, Dom? You used to torture her! Don’t you remember how you and Ryan pulled all those pranks on her during high school? It was like you wanted to tease her all the time for some reason. Just because she wasn’t very pretty or popular didn’t mean that you boys had to be so cruel.”

“I wasn’t cruel,” I said, frowning. “We were good friends. We hung out all the time. I always used to go over to her house and watch movies when Archie was working those long shifts.”

My mom looked at me and didn’t say anything. “As long as you’re not doing that to her anymore,” she said finally. “You need to be nice to her, Dom. Archie loves her very much, and I think she’s hurting and lonely for a family.”

“Why do you think I want to find her so badly?” I exploded, standing up. The chair fell over and my mom flinched. I curled my hands into fists and jammed them into my pockets. “I feel bad because I think I hurt her feelings when you guys were on honeymoon!”

“She did seem funny when we got home,” my mom mused. I recalled the extremely uncomfortable weekend where the four of us shared a house; Mom and Archie blissfully unaware of the agony and tension between Michelle and myself. “Did you get in a fight?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “I had some of my art friends over and I think it was too much for her.”

My mom shook her head. “Those brainy types,” she said airily, waving her hand around. “They don’t understand. Archie would just flip if he met some of the people I’ve worked with before.”

I smiled. It was true; Mom had kind of a wild past. “I’m sure he wouldn’t care now,” I offered.

“Of course he would,” my mom replied. “He loves me, but only the me that he’s used to seeing in this wife persona. If he saw me around my art friends, I think he’d be hurt because I’m so different. He’s not used to seeing me be wild and free. He’s used to me being devoted and loving towards him, and focusing every iota of my attention on him.”

I stared. I loved my mom, but she was always so ditzy that I had no idea if she actually knew how others perceived her. Now I understood, but I still felt confused. “How does that work?” I asked. “Don’t you miss being that person sometimes?”

“I love Archie more than I love anything else,” she said with a shrug. “And sometimes that means a little bit of sacrifice.”

“Did that change as you got older?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Of course,” my mom said without hesitation. “Of course it did, honey. When I was younger, I was so selfish! Even with you, all I could think of was me. I know that made me a bad mother, even if you’re too sweet to admit it. But all I wanted to do was things that made me happy, and I didn’t care whether or not anyone else liked it. I mean, I never even gotten in touch with your father to let him know anything about you. I did it because I thought it would be easier, but I never asked myself how much it could wind up hurting you in retrospect. And I feel like he probably would have liked some updates on you, and to see pictures of you growing up. He was a good man, Dom. He would have really liked to know you.”

I felt uncomfortable and looked away. Even though I’d forgiven my mom for not allowing me to grow up with a father, it still upset me to think about it. I’m not sure if things would have turned out any differently if I’d had a father, but I still missed not having one.

Even though Michelle and I may not have had a lot of other things in common, I loved how we came from similar situations. Both of our parents were well meaning, but incredibly neglectful. Navigating a relationship with my mother as an adult was incredibly difficult. I wish someone would have told me a long time ago that just because you forgave someone didn’t mean you got over hurting.