Saint, p.17
Saint, page 17
“What do you mean, Saint?” She winced.
“In this bag, you’ll find the million in cash that I promised you seven months ago.” I motioned to the duffle bag near my feet. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. You can… return to your life and forget that I ever came into it. You can forget me. You can drop the mask of concern about me. And don’t worry your pretty head, Beauty. I made sure you’re safe. You can return to the–”
“–Ugh!”
My speech was interrupted by grunts and growls paired with the collision of slender hands shoving into my chest as Victoria grimaced. Like a rainbow, she was always beautifully transparent and variegated with her emotions. She had no problem putting them on display. Again and again, she shoved into me with all the hundred fifty pounds of might in her possession. Her little hands balled into fists as they collided with my chest. Again and again, they attempted to gain access to my most prized possession.
“What do you mean you can’t do this anymore? Huh?” She gritted as she frowned and shoved into me. As we stood out on the patio, the evidence of a pending storm loomed overhead. Her straightened hair whipped in the wind, nearly covering her face. I’d seen her angry, but at present, she was livid.
“You can drop the act, Victoria. Take the money and go.”
“Who the fuck is pretending here, Saint? Return to what life after you’ve planted yourself so deeply in it? I don’t have anything to return to!”
Between her words came the downpour of frustration and disappointment in the form of tears.
“Victoria, you’re a wonderful, beautiful, successful woman. You have an entire world that existed before I came along–”
“And you’re a part of that now! Saint, what are you doing, love? Why are you doing this?”
I’d never witnessed her broken, yet here I was, slamming the vessel in her chest into thousands of pieces. Our end was met where it began, on the beach. And despite the irony, there was no poetry in the fact. Only pain remained. Dr. Gibson had neglected to inform me how agonizing love could be.
“I don’t do this! I don’t grovel. I don’t beg, and yet here I am, humbled and hurting because you felt something and freaked out?” Victoria pointed to me accusatorially as she sniffed and frowned. There were so many emotions playing on her face that it was difficult to keep up. “Really, Saint?”
My fucking toes curled.
“This wasn’t part of the recipe of what we were cooking, Victoria.” I shifted my gaze elsewhere because her eyes held far too much truth. Her pain was mine. A reflection that I didn’t wish to see.
Watching her crumble was like poison seeping through my veins. I didn’t dare watch her cry. It tightened my chest, like the marionette strings she claimed over it. But this was different than the willful hold I’d surrendered to her. This was pure, unadulterated pain. I wanted something real and profound. I’d located it but found difficulty determining if it was genuine. There were a million reasons for it not to be. That was my problem.
“Tell me you would be here if it weren’t for the money.” Sniffing my own tears away, I begged her to make a fool of me.
“Saint, I–Listen.”
Her inability to grant me the words I needed to hear left me fragmented. I needed the affirmation she couldn’t provide. I needed to know that her loyalty no longer had a price. Shaking my head, I relinquished the last of my strength.
“Just take it, Tori.” I shoved the duffle bag in her direction, and she scowled like I’d attempted to throw acid.
It was better to cut my losses now than to wait until we’d logged a year, and she was packing her shit, and I was hurting at the prospect of her disappearing from my life. It was better this way. This was damage control.
“No,” she sniffed. “We cooked something better. Something real. I know this arena is outside your purview of specialties, but Saint, please hear me out.”
“Victoria, take the money and go.” I couldn’t stand to be this person, to feel this impossible pain. I needed her out of my face and out of my space so that I could grieve in peace.
“Fuck you and your money,” she groused, wearing the disgust I’d delivered on her frame like battle scars.
Away, she turned, leaving the final memory of her behind in the form of lavender and rose. The scent lingered as her frame drifted away from me. Violently, her dress whispered against the wind, all of it leaving my head in a tailspin. As she stumbled through the patio opening away from me, the bag with a million excuses not to love me remained unclaimed.
Victoria
The number gracing the screen of my phone caused an involuntary twitch of my facial muscles. Already, weeks had breezed by while I continued to ignore my friends following the brunch incident. I would eventually forgive them, but I wasn’t sure when that time would come. Even with me and Saint’s stalemate, their words were still felt. They’d been reaching out nonstop, but I wasn’t ready to extend the olive branch.
Now that things had gone awry with Saint, the urge to ignore them had slightly waned. Admittedly, it was still fuck those bitches, but I missed my girls. Swallowing my inflated ego, I pressed the button to answer the call.
“Robyn.”
“Tori, you answered.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” I warned
Placing the phone on speaker, I freed air from my lungs. Simultaneously, my stomach expressed its disdain for my neglect. The growl in my belly prompted me to seek out nourishment. There wasn’t much available in the pantry or the fridge. I hadn’t been to the condo in months. On my way home from the office, I grabbed a cartful of fruit, but that was the extent of my options. Armed with a bowl of blueberries and strawberries, I battled the hunger and waited for the purpose of Robyn’s call.
“Ahem. So, Dream, Luna, and I were hoping to sit down with you.”
Aware of my detest for small talk, Robyn arrived candidly to her point. Whirling my eyes, I released an audible sigh.
“The last time I sat down with the three of you, I was berated for my romantic choices.”
Recalling the last brunch I had with my friends caused my eyes to prick –not only over their hurtful words but the fact that I was alone and not laid up under the man who’d pirated my heart. I’d gone to war for him in a myriad of ways against my friends. The spoils of isolation were not what I expected.
“We don’t want to attack you. This is a peace offering,” Robyn clarified. “Please?”
“When?” I asked, removing the cap from a strawberry and placing it on the paper towel beside my bowl.
“When are you free?” She asked of my availability.
I could use a decent meal and the company of my friends. My condo looked and felt like a shell since I’d left it months ago. “This evening and the night after the show,” I said, looking forward to being in the presence of some type of company.
“Okay. This evening might work. What location works for you?”
“Are you all offering me the freedom to choose our next place to eat?” I tittered.
“Well, it only seemed right. We’re the ones that have to come to you all hat in hand,” Robyn tossed.
“Just bring takeout to the condo in South Pointe. Make sure mine is free of meat. Eight o’clock.”
Luna and Dream arrived first. Luna’s arms were full as she stepped off the elevator. The plastered grin she wore told me she was uneasy.
“Lu,” I smiled, collecting a bundle of flowers and a gift bag from her arms.
“Tori, I missed you so much! I’m so sorry for every terrible thing I said. It took me time to come to terms with my wrongs, but you didn’t deserve my treatment.”
“Can I say what she said because she stole my words?” Dream fussed.
“No, heifer, come up with your own apology,” I teased, toting an arm full of peonies and roses. Dream walked beside me while Luna led the way to the condo.
“I apologize sincerely, heaux. I didn’t know your absence would hurt me so deeply. I’m going crazy, crazy, crazy just thinking about you, baby.”
“Did you just? Did she really just quote KCi & Jo Jo?” Luna turned and asked.
“I did. And I’ll do it again,” Dream tittered. “I love you, Tori. I know it can be overbearing, but you were one of the first to entertain my foolishness when I moved to this state. I don’t want anything to come between our friendship. I apologize for my insensitivity.”
Wow.
She’d said a mouthful for someone who often used popular culture to communicate her emotions. I wrapped my arms around her, the horde of roses and all.
We all got situated inside, with me prepping the flowers for a vase of water and Dream setting out plates. Robyn was last to arrive. She brought the prosecco. By way of distractions from my sadness, it was nice.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have your back while these heifers tore into you, Tori. And I’m sorry I judged your situation before receiving all the details.” She made the teary-eyed confession.
“Oh, honey!” With my arms outstretched, I closed the space between me and my best friend.
“We love you, Tori. We just don’t want to see you down bad over one of these–”
“–So, tell us about this Saint of yours that you’ve been all cagey about,” Dream floated, cutting off Luna as she stuffed her face with crab cakes.
They’d gotten me the vegan version of the dish, courtesy of Homegrown. It was everything one could expect in a crab cake. The heart of palm that composed the meat was much more tender, but it still served as a delicious replacement, and the powdered bladderwrack incorporated into it gave it the perfect seafood taste.
“What do you want to know?” I asked as I tore into my food. I didn’t really feel like discussing Saint, given our current status. The pang in my chest reminded me of who still held my heart captive.
“Oh, don’t play coy, Tori. We want to know who this man is that has your heart in a sieve.”
Thinking of all the wonderful things about Saint made me misty-eyed. He was far from perfect, but he was everything to me.
Wistfully, my eyes shuttered, and I inhaled deeply as I recalled the scent of coconut and sandalwood. When I opened them, three sets of eager orbs were on me. Robyn pushed an open bottle of prosecco in my direction, motioning for me to have my fill.
“Well, settle in, girls. I’m about to share with you a love story of vast proportions…”
Divorce papers arrived in the mail. The waste of trees littered my kitchen island, making a mess of the usually immaculate space. Logged in my mental faculty was the reminder to return the documents to their sender. A signature would not surface them. Their purpose was obsolete. Instead of granting Saint an easy way out of our marriage, he would have to face me. I refused to believe a divorce was what he truly wanted.
Since moving out of his home, my time was split between assisting with the Miller Center and preparing for my spring show. The detour taken with Saint hadn’t discouraged my assistance in launching the center. In many ways, it further provoked it. Saint remained involved in the center’s conception, though he utilized a lawyer or an assistant to proxy his absence. The fact that he refused to face me spoke volumes. The man was deeply in love with me and couldn’t face me or the fact.
I wanted to be angry with Saint’s actions, but my heart failed to express the sentiment. His lack of emotional nutrition diminished my rage, activating compassion in its place.
Already, we’d obtained Paramour city’s approval of the floorplans, and construction had swiftly commenced. Mechanical, electrical, and plumbing were laid out underground. Cement was poured for the foundation, and Luna was contracted to supply lumber. The frame of the center was erected within a month, and we were waiting for the city’s verdict on its inspection. All the documentation for a 501(c)(3) nonprofit had been signed off on and approved. The only thing left was for construction to be completed.
Whether adjusting a design for the show or signing off on a contractual change to the center, my schedule was full. My days began at dusk and ended well past dawn. The tax of energy depleted me, but I was determined to see everything through.
Locating a pen and sticky pad from my junk drawer, I scrawled out my discomposed emotions on a note and slapped it onto the thick pile of divorce papers before shoving it back into the brown kraft envelope.
Liberal with my tongue, I never took issue with speaking from my heart’s depths. The fact taunted me, considering that when Saint asked me about the money, I choked. No, wouldn’t have been there if the money hadn’t played a factor, but I’d grown to love him, and I’d done so unequivocally. Those were the words I’d clogged in my throat. Berating myself for the shortcoming only deepened the hemorrhaging my heart experienced. Despite my initial malfeasant motives, I fell. Deep, raw, and rampant, I took the plunge into love, trusting that he would be by my side.
How wrong I was.
Still, I did what I considered to be right when I left the money behind. My friends would all likely call me foolish if they knew the extent of my situation. “Take the money, heaux!” It would have been Dream’s advice. The poignant fact was the reason why I still hadn’t told them that Saint and I were married. I didn’t take the money, though. Convicted to the belief that actions spoke louder than words, that should have been enough for Saint.
Again, he’d proved me wrong.
Curiosity made a dwelling deep within me as I wondered how far Saint would go to prove his invalid point. After seven months of marriage, I refused to accept that there was nothing between us. This break in our journey was an extension of his fear. He’d been disappointed far too frequently by people in his world. The distance he initiated from me was his way of intercepting the pain he expected to come.
I shouldn’t have left.
The inexplicable mistake I’d made was recognized on my first night away from him. I flipped across my Serta semi-firm king-sized mattress in full acknowledgment of the fact. Like a fish removed from its territory, my mind refused to locate rest. I didn’t belong in South Pointe. I belonged on Paramour Beach underneath the goatee of my man as I inhaled the scent of sandalwood and coconut. That was my home.
“Good morning, Ms. Jacob.”
“Hey, Tori.”
“Morning, Tori.”
A new day graced me, and still, the unshakeable knowledge that I was a shell of myself cloaked me. I went through the motions. Meetings, rehearsals, adjustments, whatever. Time escaped me as I continued on autopilot.
My workday was full. Bursting at the seams, it left no room for aimless unproductivity. Still, procrastination prevailed. Slamming my laptop shut, I gathered my things and headed out of the office.
My mind –the wrong one, not the right– had the notion to pull up to Paramour Beach and demand that Saint take me back. Demand that he speak to me. Demand that we iron things out. My right mind, full of pride and ego, said hell no. If he wanted me, he knew where to find me. I wouldn’t be the sole bearer of this cross to fix us.
My feet tapped against the concrete floors of Demure HQ, reminding me of the homier concrete floors I once frequented. Heavily, I sighed, piercing the air with my woes. The more I considered what Saint should be doing, the angrier I got. Bubbling over with frustration, I turned down the hall and entered the atelier.
My gaze landed on the current pieces outfitted onto the dress forms behind me. I scanned the space, doing a final overview of all the outfits we’d successfully completed. Everything had been prepared for the show, but a few minor adjustments needed to be made. Typically, seamstresses completed the task, but with our show date advancing, each of my hands would be on deck. Directing my focus to a skirt that needed resizing, I fought against the inclination to do something silly.
Like showing up at a man’s home who didn’t want me.
Saint
The handwritten note plastered onto the stack of divorce papers summoned my lips into a smirk that transformed into a chuckle. It was just like my Beauty to be snippy in a handwritten memo. She held no blockages with communicating. Her voice was always her superpower. The only day I witnessed it fail was the day she walked away from me.
Weeks had whisked by since that day, and I had yet to understand the error we’d both made. Considering our mistake at length often caused the irksome migraine embedded in my dome. The sea was much simpler. With tide charts favorable to me venturing out for a dive, I packed my boat and made my way toward the siren of the ocean.
In the ocean, the deeper you plunged, the more peaceful it got. In love, I had yet to discern if that were true. The waters of love’s abyss could be unpredictable, raging against a lone heart vessel. Survival required the strongest of its kind, anchored by tenacity, patience, and sensitivity. Often, I was uncertain if I held the traits in the arsenal of my possession. Instead of navigating through that uncharted sea, I navigated the one most familiar to me.
The view of what it looked like to be in four hundred feet of water over three miles away from land surrounded by two tiger sharks was immaculate. It seemed like a complete nightmare to most people, but it was where I located peace. Being in the water with sharks allowed me to be fully present in the moment. I didn’t think about the stressors in my life. I could focus entirely on being immersed with the amazing apex predators.
Tiger sharks gave amazing intimate interactions that often required deterring them physically. It was out of pure curiosity that one of the sharks approached me. Not splashing or flailing, I extended my hand, pushing on the upper jaw of the shark to redirect them as they approached. The powerful fish was so gentle despite its size, reminding me to always respect them.
On a free dive, I was able to move around the ocean’s depths without the weight of equipment. I plunged deeper until I was twenty meters down. Once satisfied with my location, I sat on the ocean floor. As my eyes scanned the area, I noticed a school of sea turtles migrating. Seeing them constricted my chest as I remembered the day I met Victoria cradling a tortoise. Unable to quell the unusual discomfort that invaded my happy place, I rose and swam back to the surface. Slowly, I restored air to my lungs and climbed back onto my boat.
