Behind His Lens (29 page)

“Oh!” My eyes light up with excitement. “Maybe we can make one of my recipes. It’s been forever since I’ve had an actual kitchen to cook in.”

“I’d like that.” He reaches out, puts his hand over mine, and we ride the last few minutes in silence.

I’m scrolling through
my rolodex of recipes in my head, purposely ignoring the nagging sensation in the back of my mind. I know it’s there, trying to remind me that we’re home and that this thing with Jude has to change. We either have to take a step forward or a step back. But maybe not. Maybe we can just be in this perfect state of happiness without the world pushing in from all sides, threatening to crumble our budding relationship before it even has time to grow.

“Jeez. Who ordered the limo?” Jude asks as we pull onto my street.

My heart instantly sinks. There’s no way.

Surely, that can’t be her.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath as we drive closer. I recognize the distinguished looking driver positioned outside of the limo. David. He’s worked for my mother for twenty years, and he’s like a loyal sidekick, staying with her through both marriages; always in the background but consistently present.

My tongue drags along my top row of teeth as my instincts kick into overdrive. Jude cannot talk to her. My two
worlds can’t collide like this. It’s too soon. I haven’t had nearly enough time with Jude.

“Charley?” h
e asks, placing his hand on the back of my neck, gently massaging. “Is everything okay?”

“Um, yes. It’s just…” Crap. Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and I do
n’t want to lie to him. There are so many lies building on one another, this cannot be another.

In a blur of events, the cab driver stops, Jude pays him and hops out to grab our luggage. I slink out of the cab and try to hurry Jude along so he can get back into the cab before the dragon rears her ugly, coifed head.

“Clarissa, darling!” Her voice screeches through the air, like nails on a chalkboard. I haven’t seen her in four years, and this is how she decides to greet me— as if we do lunch three times a week.

I don’t turn toward her. My eyes stay glued on Jude as he pulls my bags out of the taxi and rests them on the sidewalk. But the moment she says my name, my old name, Jude’s head pops up and he looks past me. I know he connects the dots. Unless she’s stopped getting plastic surgery since I’ve been gone, we probably only look ten years apart in age.

“Darling, aren’t you going to greet your mother?” She pronounces every word slowly with her upper-west side hoity-toity accent.

Jude’s gaze volleys from her to me and then back again, trying to keep up.

Fuck.

With a disgruntled sigh, I swipe a hand over my face and turn toward her. This situation is happening whether I want it to or not.

“Hello,” I clip out, taking in her entire appearance. There isn’t a single strand of hair out of place on her beautiful blonde head. She has on tailored silk slacks, kitten heels, and a printed shirt that looks straight off the Fashion Week runway. Her makeup is flawless, concealing all of her inner ugliness from the rest of the world.

“Did you just get back from a trip?” she asks as h
er eyes scan down to my luggage— probably disgusted that I’m not using the monogrammed Louis Vuitton set she bought me when I turned sixteen. Sorry, I sold that a long time ago, mother dearest.

“We were in Hawaii for a shoot,” Jude answers simply. Can he feel the tension pulsing around us?

For the first time since we’ve arrived, her eyes fall on Jude. Her expression never falters. She doesn’t smile or frown; she simply stares toward him with a look of disinterest. “Oh, excuse Clarissa’s manners. I’m Mrs. Temple, and you are?”

“Jude
,” he says, extending his hand to empty air. She doesn’t even look down at it, and she definitely doesn’t step forward to grasp it. I step closer to him, instinctively wanting to shield him from the vile woman that created me.

“How are you associated with this
photo shoot
, Jude?” she asks as his hand falls back down to his side.

“I’m a photographer,” h
e answers confidently with his head held high, not intimidated by her coldness in the least.

She glares toward me with an expression as if she’s just had a hefty whiff of sour milk
. “Oh sweetie, a photographer, really? What has gotten into you lately? This isn’t how we raised you. When will you put this silly modeling behind you? How do you think I look when the ladies at the club ask about you posing for smut magazines in a bikini! Really, Clarissa, I expected better…”

“Mom!” I yell, before taking a deep breath. Don’t let her affect you
, I remind myself.

“What are you doing here?
” I bite out as calmly as I can, which is to say not calm at all.

A slow, wicked smile spreads across her lips and the expression sends a chill through me. “Oh, I’ve come over to help with the wedding planning, dear.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“You’re insane! What do…”

“I’m going to go…” Jude murmurs, interrupting my question and taking a step back toward the taxi.

“No!” I exclaim. This entire fucking situation is wrong, but he’s the only part of this that I want, that I need, right now.

My mother clears her throat behind us before offering me advice in her prim tone, “It’s best not to lead on the poor boy. Does he know about your engagement?”

The entire world slows as her words filter through the air. I turn toward Jude just as his eyebrows push together in disbelief.
Then, like rolling thunder, the expression takes over each of his features. His blue eyes glaze over in shock, his jaw clenches, and his hands tug through his beautifully dark hair, tousling it even further. Then suddenly, he’s turning on his heels, clenching his hands into tight fists, and walking off.

“Jude! Stop!” I run after him, but he climbs into the taxi without a single glance back. He slams the door closed, blocking me out. I don’t know what to do, so I bang on the window, trying to get him to stop. I bang so hard that my palm starts to sting, but he shakes his head, keeps his focus out through the front window
, and tells the driver to leave.

“Jude!” I scream through the night air as I watch his taxi drive away. How did this happen? How the hell did he just steal my heart? I thought I was protecting it, so why do I feel like my entire fucking soul just ground into the pavement underneath the weight of that cab’s tires
?

“Mom! You’re delusional!” I
scream, turning to face her and pacing forward with determined strides. “I broke off that ‘engagement’ four years ago. Why would you say something like that?! Are you actually insane or are you just trying to ruin what little of my life I have left?”

My hands hang in the air for a moment before I drag them down the sides of my face, trying to make sense of this woman in front of me. She glances down at her manicured fingers, not a hint of emotion marring her gorgeously evil features. “I guess one gets behind on the current events of their daughter’s life when they refuse to speak with them.”

Are her words meant to affect me? I don’t even know how it’s possible to hate her even more than I already do, but seeing Jude drive away adds one more notch to her growing list of vile deeds.

I force a slow inhale and exhale, and when I finally speak, my voice is eerily calm. “Mom, I need you to leave me alone. I’m not ready to be around you
, and I don’t know if I ever will be. I’d rather not have a family at all than deal with a mother like you.”

I start to turn to collect my luggage, mistakenly thinking that the whole exchange had hit its peak, but then my mother glances up and I gaze at her
icy blue eyes reflected back into mine. I don’t know what I expected to see, but cold, annoyance wasn’t it. “You always had a flare for the dramatic,
Clarissa
. It was embarrassing when you were growing up, but now it’s just pathetic. No one likes a depressed girl, not even that photographer.”

And with that bomb, she turns on her nude kitten heels and slides back into her limousine, leaving me like she has my entire life: ten times worse than the way she found me.

Jude

It’s been four years since I’ve felt like my life was out of control. Four years since I worked for the magazine. The moment I came back from my assignment overseas, I molded my life so that I could exist and be happy. I worked, I played soccer, and I picked up fast women. I never once felt like I was lacking anything, so why the hell does it feel that way now?

I pick up my pace, practically sprinting down the blistery city streets. The wind is working against me, pushing my bo
dy and adding extra resistance. I use it to work through my anger. I press on harder, whipping around the sidewalk and into Central Park. It’s too early for anyone to be here. Even in New York not many people want to get up and run at five AM, especially in fall. Cold air whips through my black fleece jacket, reminding me of the changing seasons. Does Charley like fall? If I had to guess, she would probably prefer fall and winter to springtime. She just seems like she’d rather curl up by a fire with her paintings instead of dancing in a flowery meadow. Although who would even do that anyway?

She’s called me a dozen times in the past few days
, but I haven’t answered. She’s even left a few voicemails, and although I should, I couldn’t force myself to delete those. It seems too final. Not to mention, I know I’ll be desperate in a few days. I’ll need those voicemails for proof that she really did care… on some level.

…

As I round the corner back to my apartment, her little blonde head comes into view. It almost looks like a mirage at first because a perfect angel waiting for me at my doorstep seems too good to be true. But there she is with her hands propping up her chin and her knitted sweater pulled up over her knuckles. She looks like a scared animal, but I can’t pretend she’s that innocent. I can’t pretend that she hasn’t been lying to me, or hell, maybe just lying to herself.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I approach the weathered stoop that leads into my apartment building. The entire warehouse w
as refurbished a few years back. Each condo has a wide, open layout and floor to ceiling glass-paneled windows.

When she hears my voice her eyes widen and her head snaps to look in my direction.

“We need to talk.” Her blue eyes plead for me to listen.

“Do we?” I ask, crossing my arms.

She bites her bottom lip and glances away for a moment, down toward the bottom of the stoop. I’d be blind if I didn’t notice her lip quivering or her blue eyes starting to cloud with sadness.

“Yes, Jude. Please,” she finally begs.

“How’d you find out where I live?” I ask in a clipped tone.

“Bennett gave me your address.”

“Huh.” I raise my eyebrows sardonically, “good to know where his loyalties lie…”

“Jude…” she protests, not wanting to drag Bennett down with her.

“Can I just speak to you for a few minutes? If you’re still upset with me after, I’ll understand completely. But I can’t let you assume anything my mother said was true.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, taking a deep inhale, and then I sigh and brush past her. The industrial door to our complex slides open after I
tap out the combination key, and without looking back, I start heading to my apartment. If she’s that desperate to talk, then she’ll follow me.

Our footsteps echo across the smooth concrete floor and I almost turn around and cave. It’s torture trying
to fight the connection we have but caving now won’t do either of us any good.

The second my apartment door closes and we have p
rivacy, Charley starts speaking so quickly that I can barely make out each syllable. Does she think I’m going to kick her out mid sentence?

“My mother was lying when she said I’m engaged. Well, I was engaged or technically “betrothed” to Hudson when we were in school, but that was just our parents trying to control everything. We never took it seriously, but my mom really thought I’d go through with it. She thought we’d go off to the same college, he would officially
propose, and then we’d live happily ever after. I have no clue why she brought that up today. It’s a blatant lie, Jude!”

“Charley, stop!”

My stomach is twisted into a tight knot and I can’t listen to another word she says. Everything she spouts seems to complicate things even more.

“Obviously I know
your mom is full of shit, but that’s not what made me leave. It’s the overwhelming secrecy that weighs you down. You won’t let me in. I would’ve known that your mother was lying right away if you had told me anything about her at all.”

I take a deep
breath, but I still have so much left to say.

“What happened to your family? Why do you avoid speaking about them?
” I pause, glancing up to see if she’ll answer, but when she doesn’t—I keep asking just to prove how much she’s been hiding from me. “How did your father die?”