Leaving her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s also the only thing I can do.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I find fresh coffee. And Celia.
She’s sitting alone at the counter bar, as if waiting for me.
I don’t speak to her or acknowledge her in any way until after I’ve poured myself a mug and taken a long swig. I need the shot of caffeine to deal with her. I wish it were something stronger.
Glancing at the clock on the coffeepot, I say, “It’s barely eight.” I set my mug down. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”
Her voice meets my back. “I’m talking with Sophia about some redesign she wants me to do.”
Yes, that. Right. My mother had announced that the day before. Celia may legitimately be working for us, but I know her well enough to know that her visit was purposefully planned to coincide with my own visit.
I turn to face her, scanning the kitchen for signs of others. “Where is she then? My mother.”
Celia shrugs. “She went to go get some magazine with a picture she’d like to use as inspiration.” She props her elbows on the counter and rests her chin on her clasped hands. “What about you? Why are you up and dressed for business during your Hampton vacation?”
“An emergency at work. My vacation is over.”
“Oh, Hudson, I’m sorry to hear that.” My mother sashays into the room, a stack of magazine clippings in one hand and an orange juice in the other. “Are you and Alayna both leaving?”
I eye her drink as she takes a sip. My mother never drinks OJ pure. “No. I didn’t want to wake her.” I throw a glance at Celia. She can take that as she’d like—it doesn’t really matter at the moment.
If she thinks anything of it, she doesn’t let on.
“I’ll leave my car for her to take back to the city if she’d like,” I say to my mother. Though, I’m not exactly sure Alayna drives. “If she’d prefer a cab, you can give her this for fare.” I pull out my wallet and hand my mother a hundred. She has money she could give Alayna as well, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she claimed she had no cash just to give Alayna a hard time.
“Okay.” She takes the cash with a pucker of irritation in her brow that says that she hates to be bothered. “How are you getting to the city?”
I stick my billfold back in my jacket. “I need to get to the East Hampton airport actually. My plane is already set to meet me there. I just need Martin to take me, if you don’t mind.”
“He’s not here until later, I’m sorry to say.” She isn’t sorry. Her smile is too sweet, the sparkle in her eye too bright. She loves it when she’s in control of a situation. Loves it when other people’s plans don’t work out the way they’d like.
Not for the first time I wonder, did she teach me? Or did I teach her?
But I don’t dwell on the question. I don’t have the energy or the mood to cogitate this morning.
“I’ll take you,” Celia offers.
My jaw tenses. I can sense the trap I’m about to be caught in. “That’s not necessary,” I say, as politely as I can. “You have a meeting with my mother. I’ll take one of the other cars.”
I nod a goodbye and start to leave.
My mother steps in front of me, stopping me. “Don’t be silly, Hudson. Let her take you. Our business isn’t a rush. We can meet later. Can’t we, Celia?”
“Of course.” Celia’s grin makes me ill.
I run a hand through my hair. Between the lack of sleep, the tension surrounding Celia’s presence, my mother’s early morning drinking, and my inner turmoil regarding Alayna, I don’t have the strength to argue. “Fine.”
Besides, leaving Alayna alone with my mother is bad enough. Leaving her with Celia as well would be very unwise.
We’re ready to leave within ten minutes. At the door, my mother makes a show of saying goodbye, even though there’s no one to watch as Celia’s already waiting outside. Then she excuses herself to the kitchen, likely to refill her drink.
Mirabelle descends the stairs just before I depart. “Where are you going?”
I don’t have time to explain the whole situation, but I’m fearful of my mother’s version, so I get Mirabelle up to speed as succinctly as possible.
When I’ve finished, she doesn’t seem happy. “But you aren’t even going to say goodbye to Laynie?”
I shake my head. “I’m in a rush.”
She puts a fist on her round hip. “It will take you two minutes. Get the eff upstairs and tell your girlfriend what’s going on.”
“Mirabelle, I don’t have time for this.” I pull my shades from my briefcase pocket and put them on. I don’t need my sister peering into my eyes right now. I’m not sure what she’ll see.
“Hudson, this is…” She searches for what she thinks this is. “It’s terrible, is what it is. I’m usually on your side, and you know that, but I’m rather ashamed of you at the moment.”
You’re not the only one, I think. There’s nothing to say, so I start to go. The air feels tight leaving like this though, so I say over my shoulder, “Make sure Alayna…” I pause. I don’t know how to finish the statement. “Make sure she gets home okay.”
I escape before she has a chance to respond.
Celia’s waiting in the driveway. After setting my briefcase in the back, I get in the passenger seat and buckle my belt. The feel of it across my chest is confining. I release it again and try to convince myself that I’m better now, as though the small width of material is responsible for my inability to get a good breath. My stomach lurches as Celia’s car pulls down the long drive to the main road. I don’t glance back. I feel shitty enough as it is. This isn’t how I wanted to leave Alayna—with Celia, driving away without even a goodbye.
The thought gives me pause—is that what I’ve decided then? That I’m leaving her?
It’s unbearable, but it’s possible that it’s inevitable.
Only a few minutes have passed after Celia turns onto the highway before she speaks. “How long are you going to keep me waiting?”
I scrub my face with my hands. “What do you want to know, Celia?”
“Don’t be a fucking dick, Hudson.” Her glare is apparent even behind her dark sunglasses. “You know what I want.”
I do know. She wants a progress report, so to say. How can I answer? I’m still reeling from my recent self-discoveries. I’m lost. There’s nowhere I can turn in this maze without hitting a wall. I have no hope of escape. The question is—does Alayna?
I’m not an impulsive person, but I make a spur-of-the-moment decision. And though there is nothing ideal about it, I know it’s the best choice I can make. So I commit to it with everything I have. “It’s over, Celia,” I say. “The game is over.”
She groans. “Not this bullshit again.”
“No, not this bullshit. That’s not what I’m saying.” I turn my head to face her profile, letting her know the fullness of my sincerity. “I’m telling you that I’ve put my time in. Like you wanted. And now it’s over. There isn’t anything else that you need to complete your experiment.”
Her brow rises above the rim of her glasses. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I hate myself for what I’m about to say—for sharing something so intimate and private between me and Alayna—but I’m familiar with self-loathing. I force the words. “I mean that she’s already emotionally invested in me. I don’t need to spend any more time with her. I can end the business arrangement I have with Alayna, and you’ll be able to study her reaction like you wanted to.”
Celia’s still skeptical. “Game over means all of it, Hudson. That means the personal too.”
“I know.” Just like that, I let go of every possibility of anything more with Alayna. I’m walking away.