Restoring Jordan (15 page)

But he’s a good sport as he replies, “They were always overseas. My father’s position as an ambassador required it, and by the time I knew any better I was in boarding school.”

“But who took care of you?”

“I had nannies. A number of nannies. And once I was older, I don’t know. It was just…” He looks embarrassed, vulnerable; he can’t hold my gaze and is fidgeting. Jordan doesn’t do nervous, but by the look of it he is exactly that. My mother is prying, which of course she’s good at, but it has me wanting to defend him. The sadness and humiliation in his eyes hurts. We are nothing but a reminder of everything he didn’t have in his family.

“But now … I mean … you must see them now. Right?” My mother still. She can be unrelenting. She means no harm, and by the compassioned look on her face her heart is breaking.

“Uh… Well … I mean … sometimes.” His speech is halted and lurching in his embarrassment, and it hurts me physically. His gaze flits away. “They usually call if they come to town.”

“Usually?”
The woman will not stop.

“Mom, please.” I’m begging as much with my eyes as my words. I don’t want to offend him. He’s so uncomfortable, it’s hard to watch.

But my mother can ignore me with the best of them when she wants. “But I mean, what about birthdays, holidays… They visited you then, didn’t they? Or did you visit them?”

“Mom!”

“It’s okay, Adeline.” He finally looks back to my eyes, but looks away quickly again. “Umm … no … I…” He clears his throat before continuing. “I just… They were… No, I didn’t see them… They sent gifts … sometimes…” He shrugs, still fighting the humiliation, but he’s being honest and forthright. He has no reason to be embarrassed, and I wish I could tell him; of all the things I would love to say to him, it’s the most important thing he needs from me right now. But that isn’t who we are.

He clears his throat as my parents continue to study him. As the conversation moves away from him and his sad upbringing, he listens to our interaction. He looks relieved to have the heat off him, and at times he even looks amused. He’s given up withholding his eyes from mine entirely and watches me. But I’m still stuck on his words. He grew up nearly alone. His parents were always overseas, and he stayed at home being raised by nannies before eventually being shipped off to boarding school. He admitted some of these details to me already, but the candor and pain in his voice as he delved into the true details of his life was eye opening. He tried hard to act as though it was nothing, but the embarrassment was so visible, his voice far quieter than usual. My God, how is growing up alone nothing? I can’t imagine my life without my parents being present and supporting, and yet he has nearly always been alone.

His words leave me wanting to touch him, to hold him, to be close to him in any way, but he keeps the conversation from coming back around to him. “So tell me about Adeline. What was she like growing up?” Oh here we go…

*

My gaze shifts to hers as I wait for their response.

“She was smart, beautiful, the perfect daughter really…” Spoken by her mother, Andrea.

“And occasionally good at making a fool of herself!” Spoken by Sam.

Sam gets my vote, and I can’t help but question him further as Adeline’s cheeks flush with my favorite shade of scarlet. “A fool, huh? How so?”

“Well, once when she was performing in the musical
Guys and Dolls
, she forgot to put a slip on under her skirt that she then had to tear off in one of the scenes… She tore… But there was nothing there but underwear… She screeched and ran off stage. Her mom and I weren’t sure she’d ever recover from that one…” Her father’s voice trails off in remembrance, and his brow is screwed up in fatherly consternation; her mother slaps his shoulder, and the flush in Adeline’s cheeks deepens with the heat of her embarrassment. Oh her dear, sweet, humiliating father; I like him.

My humiliation was difficult to swallow, but delving into her life eases my conscious considerably. I laugh as I imagine her mishap, but the part of my groin attached to my brain is throbbing with the visualizing of this scene playing out in front of me.

The silly tails of her upbringing and her ever present need to embarrass herself are as much heartwarming as they are a turn-on. She has an amazing family. Her parents love her dearly, and I can see why she’s so close to them. Most of the time, my less than favorable upbringing doesn’t bother me, but it’s times such as these I wish for such a relationship in my life. I’ve missed out by not having this type of incredible close relationship with my parents, but I can usually push it away. On this day, I can see the importance of it in her life, and I’m reminded however much I may want to be so important to her, they are her world, not me.

As the conversation shifts from one thing to another, eventually making its way back to Adeline’s internship, I join in the talk, not realizing until it’s too late I’ve just outed Adeline in a way she doesn’t appreciate. “Well you must be excited she’ll be moving back to Des Moines once she’s graduated?”

I thought it was an innocent question. It never occurred to me she might actually be hiding this wee bit of information from her parents, but I realize not only is she hiding our intimate familiarity from them—I’m not complaining—but she’s also managed to forget to tell her parents she’ll be returning to Iowa after graduation as well.

Her eyes widen considerably as she chokes on a drink of tea. “Well, I just haven’t gotten a job here yet, and I can’t imagine I will before graduation at this point. I can’t afford to stay with no job…” She’s desperate to reassure them as her words tumble out. She looks to me, and I flinch at the discomfort in her eyes.

“But, Addy, you can’t leave Chicago. You’ve told us a hundred times this is where you need to be for a career in design.” Her mother’s expression looks concerned, her father looks gruff, and Adeline looks damn near devastated.

I want to rescue her once again. I want to rescue her from the people who love her more than any other in the world, perhaps beside me, and I say the only thought in my mind. It’s desperate, perhaps inappropriate, and not just a little unethical. “You could stay with me if you needed a place while you look for a job.”

Every eye at the table snaps to mine, and I want to slink away. Adeline, or apparently “Addy,” watches me cautiously, Sam regards me with a sudden suspicion that wasn’t there before, and Andrea looks from Adeline to me curiously. She’s as suspicious as Sam, but with far more intuition to back it up. Sam is merely being fatherly and protective. Andrea sees deeper though, and the knowing expression that trails after her gaze as it bounces from one to the other of us is enough to have me paranoid she was watching every last touch, taste, and consummation I took of her daughter’s body.

But this is more than my simple need to own her body. I want her here as much for her career as my need to keep her close. She does need to be here for her career, and there’s that all too familiar need to see her succeed. She’s too good at what she does to leave, and she was speaking the truth when she told her parents this is where she needs to be. It’s legitimate, it’s necessary if she wants to make a name for herself, and I can help her with this … if she can stand to be so close to me.

She is staring at me as I study the table, waiting for her father to pummel me and for her mother to call me out for being the man who wants her daughter, but neither happen, and I hold her gaze with an intense need to have this part of her life locked down.

She gives little away when she comments, “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” as her gaze moves from my eyes back to her parents. Her mother’s eyes regard me for a moment longer before returning to Adeline’s.

“Addy, you know we just want you to be happy, and if this is what you really want, then we’ll support you.” My mind is screaming,
Don’t support her, don’t support her! Let me support her!
It’s my job to care for her!
But I sit stoically by, watching.

When the check is finally left at the table, I take it quickly, handing it back to our waiter with my card. Her father argues, but I stop him. “Please. I insist. It’s my pleasure, and you will have all the opportunity in the world to spend your money in Washington, which by the way, we should really get you both to the airport soon.”

Her father looks at his watch and agrees, and the business of the check is soon forgotten in his concern for getting them to O’Hare on time. Adeline sits in the front seat next to me on the drive to the airport. Sam and Andrea are speaking casually with each other about the trip while Adeline and I are silent, ignoring each other. When I pull to the curb, they exit, and while I unload their luggage from the trunk of my car, they say their good-byes. I’m awkward, as though I’m invading her life in some way, but I catch sight of the tears in her eyes, and I still.

“We love you, dear.” Her mother is crying as well while her father fights to hide his emotions.

“I love you too.” Adeline’s response is all that is needed for her tears to spill, and her mother pulls her into a tight hug. Her father hugs her as well. I shake her father’s hand and kiss her mother’s cheek once more before they walk away together. Adeline is watching them, missing them before they are even out of sight, and I run the back of my fingers down her arm to her wrist before clasping her hand within mine. When her mother turns to look once more, Adeline instantly pulls her hand from mine. The rejection and pain is swift as my hand registers the loss of her warmth, and my heart registers the utter loss of her.

The rest of our day moves quickly, and once back at the office she returns to her desk with little more than a quick, “Thanks for lunch.”

I want her back. I want her to want me back as well, and the fact she doesn’t or won’t allow herself to feel her want for me is painful. Her parents were such an amazing insight into who she is, and I’m more obsessed with her now than I ever imagined I would be. They are an amazing family that loves one another in a way I have never experienced. No wonder I failed so easily at my first marriage. Were I to have experienced this kind of love growing up, I would have understood the commitment needed to sustain a real and lasting relationship. For the first time in my life, I see the shortcomings of my shallow and pathetic existence. Her life has shown me what it is to truly commit to another, and I want to commit to her.

I want her in my life permanently and forever. I want to give her children and raise them together with her. I want our children to emulate her and the love she understands from her life, and I want to push out my shallow, self-centered past and learn to be like her, radiating warmth, compassion, commitment. She’s so perfectly genuine, and I want to be like her. I want to love her. I’ve spent the last six weeks pushing her forward, boosting her, teaching her everything I know, but I’ve learned so much from her as well. Perhaps I can love too. Perhaps I can love her. Perhaps I already do. Perhaps I can love her more than myself, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be damn good at it, and I’ll have her to thank for that. She’s taught me just as much as I could ever hope to teach her, and hasn’t she taught me this as well?

Having Jordan near my family was strange. I dreaded it the moment he asked us to lunch, but once there I enjoyed his interaction. My parents liked him right away. My father can be gruff, cold even to those who don’t know him, but he was none of those things with Jordan. On the contrary, his respect for Jordan was so very visible to me. My mother adored him, obvious by her inability to stop talking. She was saddened by his admission of growing up alone, hell I was too, and her heartstrings were instantly pulled. My heart broke with his tale of nannies and boarding schools. Jordan is strong, confident, intelligent, and demanding, but he was also a child once. He deserved a family that cared for him, that loved him, that was present in his life, and it’s difficult not to pity him and want to give him all of those things now in consolation.

I care for him. I shouldn’t, but I do. He’s off limits by my choosing, but I still can’t stop wanting him, caring for him, hurting for him, loving him… His embarrassment of his past hurt my body with a very physical pain that clenched my guts and stabbed my heart. My throat constricted in a desperate attempt not to cry. I wanted to erase his humiliation. He watched my family, and it didn’t escape my attention just how intensely he studied us. The small smile that passed his lips showed his appreciation for our dynamic, and that breaks my heart all the more because he didn’t have that dynamic in his family—never did, and yet he could sense it, see it, understand it in my family. He deserves it in his life, and I want to give it. I know how to love, and I love him. Could he ever love me?

I’ve wronged him by withholding myself. It was never what I wanted, and I hurt him by pushing him away. I rationalized it as though I was protecting us both, but from what? My career will sink or swim on the merit of my talent, and it may or may not be impacted by my relationship over the remaining month of my internship. His career is equally threatened by our relationship, but it was of no concern to him. He was willing to risk it to be with me. He was ready to divulge it all out of concern for me. He never confessed his care for me, but he cares. His actions have made this clear.

He deserves more from me. He deserves the same compassion, passion, care, and love he has shown me in his own misunderstood way. He confessed to me at his home the day we ran into Mark, and I can still hear the words he spoke and the gentle tone of his voice. “I can’t stop with you.” Those words have stuck with me since that night as much for the warmth they bring to my heart as the reassurance I’m different to him in some way than other women. This is the man who doesn’t do “next times,” but he did with me, never tiring of our time together. What did I need, a damn bulletin board? He cares! And I turned my back. And it’s with the confidence I owe entirely to him I leave my emotionally safe and secure sanctuary and make my way to his.

I may have only been in his home twice before, but I have no problem finding it on this evening. His car is in the driveway, and I’m excited for the first time since I ended us. When the doorknob turns, my body turns to liquid fire, the heat of my need pulsing through my body in waves. I’m trembling in the want and need I’ve denied for the past week and a half, and as the door opens I have to restrain myself from forcing my way in and attacking him.