Read Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) Online
Authors: Shannon Dianne
Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) (26 page)
“Thought we’d have a little bubbly before I meet my parents for dinner.” He smiled at Dena and me as he poured champagne into three coffee mugs. He’s such a liar, I already knew he was meeting you and your people, but I didn’t say a word. I just sat on the couch with Dena and her son, Evan, wondering why Cadence was offering me alcohol. Everyone knows that I don’t drink since I’m on Lithium. I haven’t had a glass of champagne since college.
“I’m not sure Laura should be drinking alcohol.” Dena said.
“Oh, it’s fine.” Cadence answered with a smile.
“No, she really shouldn’t. It doesn’t mix well with her Lithium.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“Mood stabilizers don’t mix well with alcohol, Cadence. Alcohol is a depressant and we want to
normalize
Laura’s mood, not bring it lower.”
“Dena, relax it’s just champagne.”
“Cadence–”
“Everyone deserves a mug of champagne Dena! No matter who they are or what mood they’re in!” This was getting peculiar. My alarm bells started sounding. Cadence was trying to force champagne down my throat, but why?
Anyways, he poured the champagne into the coffee mugs and I really had no choice but to drink. I naturally assumed Malcolm had ordered him to poison me but I figured I’d rather be poisoned than strangled. So we all drank together, while Cadence nodded and smiled at us. He had a look of pride on his face, I had no idea what that was all about.
“Very good.” He said with satisfaction after he made sure we all drank our champagne to the last drop. “So I’ll come back and visit after I leave my parents.” He walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead. “Rest well, my love.”
Dena and I said our goodbyes and then I sat back on the couch, waiting to die.
Funn
y thing is that while Dena, Evan and I were all watching Madagascar (for the thousandth time), I heard Evan laughing and Dena … snoring. She had fallen fast asleep without so much as a warning. Without even a proper ‘goodnight’. I tried to wake her up by calling her name, shaking her, clapping my hands in front of her face, but she was out like a light.
So while she’s here, asleep on the suite’s couch and
Evan is eating muesli bars and watching Madagascar, I’m going to shower, shave, powder and primp myself for tonight. Because guess where I’ve decided to go?
Oh, you’re a smart girl; I don’t have to tell you.
See you soon,
Laura
Jon
8:15 p.m.
“It’s nice here.” I say as I look around Italiano’s. It’s a dim, candlelit spot, with paintings of Italian seaside towns on the wall. The harbor’s right outside, boats are docked on it, rolling up and down on waves. It’s full of people but it’s cool. Not too loud. Peaceful. “You’ve been here before?”
“Just once.” Danny says before taking a slow sip of her scotch. Real … easy …
She’s laid back today, chilled out, relaxed. She’s been giving lazy smiles, taking the long way around the couch, ignoring her cell phone, giggling with the
Rena (kind of ignoring Jasmine, I think), and sitting in the kitchen, playing the same jazz song over and over:
“I think I like this.” I said to her after the tenth time that it was on repeat.
“Do you?” She smiled.
“I do … it’s smooth.” I said and smiled back. “Real lazy.”
“It is.” She whispered before pouring herself another glass of white wine.
And tha
t’s the mood she was in all day. Wiping the countertops off slowly, humming along to her music as she did it. Her hair is just pinned up, nothing fancy, a few strands are hanging down. She has on jeans, an ivory sweater, her earth chain and black heels. Real simple. I heard her mother comment on how soft her sweater looked.
‘Cashmere’
, Danny said as her eyes were scanning a book, idly fingering through the pages. An hour later, she gave a breezy ‘
sure’
when I asked her to come with me to Italiano’s to grab a drink before everyone else showed. Today, she’s just chill.
Something’s up.
“It’s not so bad down here.” I say before taking a sip of my Captain Morgan. The ocean water in the air is thick tonight, it’s all I can smell. Only on Hilton Head can salt water overpower the oregano in an Italian restaurant.
“Yeah, it’s my new favorite hangout.” She gives an easy smile and then takes a sip of her scotch. “So when’s the big date?”
“What big date?”
“When you move to Boston.” She raises an eyebrow at me.
“Marlon has a big mouth.”
“You know he can’t keep anything from Jasmine.” She takes a sip of her drink.
“Soon, before February. Marlon says he already knows the perfect place for me.”
Danielle
8:20 p.m.
I’ve been pissed off all damn day.
I’ve tried to keep my peace. I really have. But you know me, it was hard. I had to literally press my lips together and when they threatened to open, pour white wine down my throat, just to shut the hell up.
I’ve been itching to smack the shit out of Jasmine all day.
Itch. Ing
. But after that attempted murder stunt, I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf. The last thing I need is a history of violence if my time in court ever comes:
Your Honor, the defendant, Danielle Rouge, burnt down a house on Friday and smacked the shit out of somebody on Sunday. This is the type of person she is.
I wanted to pop her so bad that I’ve been walking in the direction opposite of her just to restrain myself. So if she was sitting on the couch, I’d have to walk the long way around it to get to the kitchen. If not, there’s no telling what I would do.
Earlier today, when Jasmine told me that Jon was moving to Boston, I was
livid
. Beyond livid. I’m so tired of the men in my life making plans and doing everything without my consent or participation that I just want to say the hell with Malcolm and Jon. Maybe I should just start over. Maybe I should just cut my losses and move on because this is ridiculous. First Jon didn’t come home for months, like he was running shit. Next, he’s in New York trying to knock my boyfriend out. Then Malcolm has Laura in a house he owns like he’s the fucking man or something. Because of his lies, I burn down that house only to find out that it was Lola harassing me. Next, my name is being dragged through the mud as an adulterer. Enough is enough! I’m done with Jon and Malcolm and their constant need to manipulate lives and circumstances, and their need to be gods and heroes, instead of the mortals that they were born to be. I’m just done with it! Lies and manipulation and lies by omission and all this secret shit going on … I’m done!
But I’m still trying to play it cool here.
“Boston, huh?” I say with a grin and a nod.
“Here we go.” He grins and nods back at me.
“What?”
“You’re giving me that
Danielle Rouge
voice.”
“What Danielle Rouge voice?”
“You’re upset that I didn’t tell you about Boston first.”
“You don’t owe anything to me.”
“Danny, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He shakes his head and then gives me an exasperated look. “Will Marla be joining you when you move there?” Mind as well keep the ball rolling. Jon noticeably tenses at the question and then evades my eyes. I smile. “You’re allowed to date, Jon. No matter if you don’t afford me the same respect.”
“She … we … may have mentioned that.” He looks into my eyes and then away again.
“Hmm … is that when you two were in Disneyland together with Nicky? Or was it when you all were playing spades at your mother’s house afterwards?” Marlon told Jasmine who told me about Disneyland and spades. So I wait for an answer yet no answer is forthcoming. Even more interesting. He takes a long sip of his drink. “So, you came to New York to fight my boyfriend when you’ll be moving your girlfriend to Boston with you?” He looks me dead in my eyes.
“I’d be back with you in a heartbeat, Danielle.”
“Don’t try that syrupy shit with me Jon,” I say as politely as I can, “you’re evading the topic at hand. You want to have a life yet you don’t want me to have one. You’d never catch me driving to Philadelphia to fight Marla. Never.” He nods and then takes another sip of his drink. “Actually I think it’s nice that you and Marla have reconnected.”
“Don’t start Danny.”
“What?”
“Your sarcasm.” He shoots me a ‘warning’ look. Oh, please.
“You and Marla have been in the works a long time, I’m happy you and that bitch finally worked things out.” Wow, how bitter am I? And I was doing so well today.
“She wasn’t my first choice, Danielle. You were. You still are.” We share a moment of silence over that declaration. We also share a moment of silence over the death of the union of Jon St. James and Danielle Rouge. May their marriage rest in peace. Oh boy, I shouldn’t have said the bitch thing. There’s goes my new leaf.
“I’m sorry for calling your girlfriend a bitch.” That was rude of me and I’ve really been trying to be a better person since I tried to murder Laura.
I suppose my emotions are all over the place now. I’m frustrated at my love life and the storybook ending I hoped it would have. I’m upset that my divorce from Jon and my union with Malcolm wasn’t as glorious as I imagined it to be. As crazy as it sounds, I still have a small thing for Jon. He was the first man I’d ever slept with. He was the first man I said ‘I love you’ to. He was the first man I stayed the night with. He was the first man I’d ever been on a date with. I was seventeen when I met Jon; he was all I knew for years. I think of our younger days, our mutual friends, our little boy and I get all nostalgic. When I divorced Jon, I was on the high of new love with Malcolm and hatred towards Jon. But now that things have simmered down from a boil, I’m more rational. And at this moment, I realize that Jon and I are over. There is no chance of us ever getting back together. Jon and I will only be a memory. The thought of such finality is sad. The college memories, the campus parties that we’d sneak Everclear into, us sneaking into each other’s dorms, eating Doritos for dinner when the cafe was closed, him crossing his frat and me standing on The Lawn watching ‘Seven Footer’ (his line name) unveiled to the world, proud of him for wearing his black and gold, and me my green and pearls. Young black love at its best. We were so promising, so motivated and at times inspiring. Cliff and Claire. Jon and Danielle. But he and I didn’t make it. Our life wasn’t funny. My husband wasn’t attentive. I wasn’t patient with him. Our marriage ended … Damn, Jon and I are over.
But should we have ever started? I’ve manipulated my entire life, especially when it came to Jon. I stole him from Marla, conceived Nicky and then required marriage. I’ve been my own puppet master. I allowed no room for Fate to step in and mold my life into what it was intended to be. It seems that Fate had an entirely different life in mind for me. I can just hear Fate right now:
- Twelve years ago, y
ou were right
not
to turn around in that theater. You and Malcolm weren’t mature enough. Right person, wrong time. And, - You should have went to New Orleans for school but,
- You should have left Jon to Marla because,
- You would’ve
met other guys to date, love, hurt, be hurt by, obsess over, and have fun with. And, - You would’
ve left New Orleans and went to Harvard and, - Would have stumbled into Malcolm at
the Starbucks on Tremont St. during his Christmas break from Yale. And, - He would have asked to share your table and,
- You two would have talked and laughed and caught up and,
- Then you would have smelled him and,
- You would have recognized him for who he was. Then,
- Eventually, you two would marry
years later and, - You’d be walking into Part 2 of your life with a
clean slate
.
