Page 102 of Now That It's You
Meg’s attorney sighed. “As I already explained, we’re hoping to avoid going to trial. We believe what we’ve brought with us here today will allow us to settle this whole matter out of court. My client has made a generous lump sum offer, which you’ll see spelled out on the last page of the packet I handed you at the start of this meeting.”
“We’re not even going to discuss it until you show us what you have.” Albert gestured at the briefcase, then folded his arms over his chest. “Your move, counselor.”
“As you wish.”
Meg watched as Franklin reached into his briefcase and pulled out a plastic baggie. No one said a word as he held it up, displaying the cocktail napkin for everyone to see. She dared another glance at Kyle, who squinted at the baggie from across the room, confusion evident on his face.
Sylvia scowled. Franklin stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of her, his imposing height towering above her in a way that almost made Meg feel sorry for her former-future-mother-in-law.
“Mrs. Midland,” Franklin said, holding the baggie behind his back for a moment. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I need to ask you—is this your son’s handwriting?”
He brought the baggie in front of her face, and Sylvia reached up to clutch the edges, holding it steady. Meg couldn’t see Sylvia’s face, which was a relief.
But she heard the gasp.
When Franklin drew the bag back, Sylvia’s cheeks had lost all their color. Her jaw clenched tight as a trap, and her eyes looked like granite.
“I can’t say for certain,” she said tightly, giving nothing away.
“But it does look like Matt’s writing?”
Sylvia gave a curt nod. “I suppose it might.”
Had she read all the words, or simply glanced at the handwriting? Meg wasn’t sure yet, but Sylvia’s stony expression told Meg she’d probably seen plenty.
Albert leaned forward, catching the edge of the baggie. His eyes skimmed the cocktail napkin, too, and Meg watched him digest the words. She’d committed them to memory already. She’d almost forgotten it existed at all until she’d held it in her hand the other night, its edges creased from two years folded inside that book of poetry.
Albert gave a snort of disgust, and her own lawyer drew the bag back and turned to look at Meg. A wave of shame washed through her, hot and sour. She closed her eyes, wishing she could be anyplace but this. She opened them again when Franklin’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“Ms. Delaney, Mrs. Midland, I apologize in advance for the language I’m about to use, but we’re all adults here.”
Across the room, Meg saw Kyle stiffen. She stared at him, willing him to look at her, to meet her gaze one last time before he read those words. His eyes swung to hers, and Meg drew a sharp breath. His gray-green gaze looked cold and expressionless, and Meg drew a shaky breath.
“What does it say?” Kyle folded his arms over his chest and tore his gaze from Meg’s. “Are you planning to read it aloud?”
Franklin gave her a questioning look. She nodded silent consent, then closed her eyes again. The room fell still for a few beats. Then Franklin began to read.
“I, Matt Midland, agree to take photos for Meggipoo’s smutty cookbook,” he read. His voice went up on the word smutty, and Meg tried not to flinch. She could picture the words in her mind, the drunken blur of Matt’s handwriting on a stained napkin, the memory of crumpling those words into a ball and throwing them at him.
You never take me seriously, she’d shouted. I’m a professional, too, dammit.
Franklin kept reading. “In exchange, Ms. Delaney will provide a minimum of twenty-five sloppy BJs between now and June 26. Signed, Matt ‘Big Bone’ Midland.”
The room was silent. Meg kept her eyes closed, and she entertained a brief fantasy that everyone had stood up and left the parlor. That none of this was really happening—the humiliation, the shame, the ridiculousness of this whole case coming down to blowjobs and a goddamn cocktail napkin.
But as the silence drew out, she forced herself to open her eyes again. Everyone sat staring at her. Meg heard her own heartbeat hammering in her ears, and she looked down at her hands as she wiped her palms on her jeans.
Her attorney was the first to speak. “I think it’s clear from this note that Mr. Midland was not inclined to take this project seriously. As you can see, the only compensation he requested was?—”
“BJs?” Sylvia stared at Meg, then looked at Kyle. “I don’t know what those letters mean. Is that what I think it is?”
Kyle stared at his mother like he’d never seen her before. He nodded once, then looked away, his expression conveying nothing more.
It was the Midland family lawyer who came to his rescue. “I believe that’s slang terminology for fellatio,” he said to Sylvia, the tips of his ears glowing tomato-red as she frowned back at him. He turned to Franklin and cleared his throat. “If we’re to believe that note is authentic, it appears Mr. Midland was suggesting his photography skills could be purchased at a rate of twenty-five occurrences of oral stimulation, which is preposterous.”
