Page 89 of Takeover

“Maybe you should remember that, but look at you,” I say. “You’re so pathetic. Living a sad life all alone. You’re so pathetic that you have to get in the head of a child and manipulate him because he likes my girlfriend. You’re so fucking selfish. Instead of being happy that the woman in my life actually cares about him, you do your best to mess with his head. Well, no more, Lindsay. That stops today. This instant.”

“What the hell are you going to do about it? You think you control me like you do the company you run? Well, fuck you, Ethan.”

Her bout of bravery is a false one. I can tell from the tremor of her voice and the small step back that she takes.

I give her a smile lacking any warmth and take a predatory step closer. “You’re done. Those monthly visits are finished. Those random calls from you where you ask to see Vincent? Forget it. In fact, lose my damn number, Lindsay.”

“Who do you think you are, Ethan? Your ego really knows no bounds. I could never stand that about you. I get visitation once a month. Try it, and I’ll have your ass in court so fast, your head will spin.”

“Yes, Lindsay,” I say, smiling again. “Sue me. I fucking dare you. I’ll have ten lawyers for every one that you have. I’ll tell the world what a shitty fucking mother you’ve always been, from your twenty-four-hour nannies, to your spa weekends away from your infant son because caring for him was such a drain on you. I’ll tell everyone how the one weekend a month you got was my idea, and that you asked for no time. I bet if I had asked you to relinquish your rights all those years ago for an extra million dollars you would have. Try me, please. And I hope you saved some money, Lindsay, because from now on, you’re responsible for paying your own fucking bills.”

She opens her mouth, inhales and looks around the room like a cornered animal.

“Go to hell,” she hisses.

“You first.”

“So, that’s it? I’m out of my son’s life because you declare it so?” She takes a step closer to me and says, “But what happens when he asks for me? When he asks to call me or to see me? What are you going to tell him? You goddamn liar!” She screams the last part. “I guess all that talk about Vincent having a relationship with me being in his best interest was just talk.”

She runs a hand through her messy hair, and tears fall down her cheeks. She takes a shaky breath before she speaks again. “I didn’t mean for him to hear it. I was venting to a friend on the phone, and he overheard. And I let him believe it. I’m just so hurt by your rejection. I’m sorry.” She closes the space between us and runs a hand over my chest. I push her away, and when she tries to touch me again, I hold on to her wrists.

She’s right about one thing. I only give Vincent a few days until he asks for his mother. And for the life of me, I don’t know what I’m going to tell him, or how I’m going to look him in the face.

“Well, you should have convinced him otherwise. You should have put your son above your feelings.” She twists her wrist out of my hands.

“Excuse me for not being as fucking perfect as you and your perfect girlfriend. He spent the entire weekend talking about her. I made him dinner, and he said it didn’t’ taste as good as hers. He ismyson!” Like someone in a rage, she stomps to me and shoves my chest and starts to pound on me with her fists. I try to grab her hands, but she manages to dodge me and slaps me hard across the face. “He’s my fucking son,” she sobs. “He’s all I have.”

“Then you should have been a better mother!” I yell back. “One who doesn’t manipulate and hurt the son she’s professing to love.”

“When did it get this bad between us?” she asks. I don’t answer. “We were in love once, Ethan. I still love you.” She opens her robe, revealing her naked body, puts her hands on my chest again and kisses my lips. I shove her before she can slide her hand through my hair. I furiously wipe my lips in an attempt to undo what she just did.

“Go to hell, Lindsay. I don’t love you. I haven’t in a very long time. You are selfish, petty, and small. The only thing good that you’ve ever done is at home right now with my perfect girlfriend, and you’ve even managed to fuck that up. I hope your memories will keep you happy.” I walk out of her apartment and slam the door with so much force, I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

The scene with Lindsay leaves me rattled, and all I can think of on the way home is the crazed look in her eyes. Then I remembered the sagging of my son’s shoulders and the hurt in his voice when he told me his mother said I would send him away, and I convince myself I’m doing the best thing.

When I get home, Vincent is on the floor in the kitchen playing with some of his action figures, talking Tara’s ears off while she wipes down the counter. I lean back and watch the scene. Neither of them notices me, and even though I can tell Tara is a million miles away, she answers all of Vincent’s questions. When she tells him the lemon squares are ready, he jumps up, gets on the step stool she got him, and they both look inside the oven.

“Hey,” I say, casually walking into the kitchen, Vincent runs to me, excitedly telling me about his baking. Tara ignores me and walks out of the kitchen.

“I’m going to go change, kiddo. You need to change too. Do you want me to help you?”

“Daddy will help me.” Tara messes his hair and walks out, not so much as looking my way. I put clean clothes on my son, and when I bring him back to the master bedroom, I leave him on the bed to play and join Tara in the bathroom.

I walk in without knocking, and when she sees me, her nostrils flare. She holds onto the sink and stares at herself in the mirror. She’s dressed in black pants and a purple button-down shirt tucked into her pants. Her hair’s done as is her makeup, but she’s standing in the bathroom, doing nothing.

“Are you ready to go?” I slowly walk up behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. “I know you don’t want to be late. I remember what a stickler your father is for punctuality.” I lean down and try to kiss the side of her neck, but she moves away before my lips can make contact.

“Let’s go.” That’s all I get before she walks out of the bathroom. As soon as Vincent sees her, he follows her out of the room. The ride to her parents’ house is filled with nothing but Vincent’s chatter and Tara’s fake excitement when she answers his questions.

She has no nice words or soft touches for me. When Vincent quiets down, she looks out the window. I reach over and place my hand on her knee. She doesn’t push me away, but she doesn’t put her hand on mine like she usually does, nor does she call me an ogre.

Soon my car is parked outside of the brownstone, and Tara grabs Vincent and runs inside, leaving me to carry the Tupperware box full of sweets. By the time I make it inside, Vincent is jumping excitedly into Alan’s arms.

“Surprise, kiddo,” Tara says to Vincent.

Tara goes straight for the wine and pours herself a glass full and drinks it down like it’s water. There’s a platter of cheese and crackers and she attacks, shoving cheese in her mouth. Vickie notices and arches her eyebrows at me. I shrug and take the scotch her father puts in my hands.

“What have you done to piss her off?” Vickie whispers to me. “Do you see the way she’s murdering those crackers?” Just as she says it, Tara puts two in her mouth. “I’d sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you.” She taps me on the shoulder and waits for me to talk. Her eyes are playful, as is the smirk on her face.

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