Classic Novel
Chapter 23: 23
Chapter 23: 23
I skirt his car and move to get in quickly, inhaling heavily to calm my rattled nerves, I slide in and put on my belt while he stows my bags in the rear then comes to join me inside. He looks me over for a second, a hint of sheer bewilderment, before starting the car. The frown and the sudden silence I know only too well. He is mulling it over and I can’t tell what conclusion he has come to. I also know him that if he doesn’t like a subject, he drops it fast and moves on quickly. I already know that’s what he is about to do.
“To the Hamptons,” he finally states as he maneuvers us back into traffic, not really looking at me. He shifts in his seat to get comfy, adjusts his mirror and fiddles with a couple of dials on the stereo without looking my way. Fidgeting is something he does rarely. Okay, never, and it only super sensitizes my already frayed nerves. That bite of anxiety and I take a long, slow, deep inhale to calm myself. I hate that these last few minutes of conversation has weirded him out this way.
We‘ve barely gotten up to speed when his ringtone shrills through the car, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a welcome alarm. He flicks something on the panel beside the wheel, hitting the dash button to answer it on speaker without checking caller ID, and carries on watching the road.
“Hello, Arrick Carrero speaking.” He answers brightly in his normal business tone. I relax back in my chair, trying to push all the tension forming inside of me away, and try to forget the last five minutes by brushing it off as nothing. This is a four-hour road trip, and we have enough to get through before I get home without starting out with awkwardness and strange ‘joojoo’ between us.
“Hey, Darling.” Natasha’s voice oozes over the internal speakers, a little too honey-like for my liking. Try as I might to warm to her, I just can’t. To me, she is the absolute worst for him, they are alike, yet she is also boring, anal, and far too prim. Like a nineteen fifties reject who dresses like a Stepford wife. We’re not that far apart in age, but she acts like she’s my mom’s age at times and she seems to make him forget that he is still young enough to have fun or freedom.
“Hey.” Arrick glances at me with a slightly raised eyebrow, warning me to behave, knowing that sarcasm is a swift reaction. Not that he can ever stop the crap that comes out my mouth when it comes to her, it’s impulsive, like breathing or throwing up when you drink too much.
“Are you on your way home already?” Over the phone she has the sort of sweet girly voice that is used in cartoons for romantic heroines and Disney princesses. I have to curb the urge to eye roll, picturing that bright curly brown hair and elfin-like pale face. I can almost see her in her baking apron decorating cupcakes as birds clean the kitchen and I slump down in my seat to rest my chin on my hand on the windowsill, staring at passing scenery in complete irritation. Natasha is the gray cloud to my sunshine, even on the brightest day.
“We just picked up Sophie’s things from her apartment; she didn’t have a whole lot and heading there now. Did you want something before I left the city?” Arrick is relaxed again, seriousness passed, sitting back as he effortlessly controls his sporty car. I, on the other hand, am squirming to get comfy and trying to ignore the urge to cancel his call via the middle button, just so I can kill that shrill voice. My stomach aches with the sheer need to swear at something.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you when you get back. I just left something at your place, but it can wait. I will miss you, Darling.” That nauseating sweet tone oozes with sickly emotion; she obviously knows she is on speaker, so I don’t get the over the top ‘lovey-doveyness’.
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“You too, Tash.” Arrick frowns as I eye roll at him, a bad habit I can’t curb even when I try really hard. He lets go of the wheel to roughly shove my shoulder and gives me another warning look. I stick my tongue out at him in response, annoyed that he always takes her side, even though there isn’t actually anything to defend right now. It just annoys me that he can’t see how god-awful she really is, or that
she always wears the wrong shoes with just about every ugly dress she ever puts on. An occasional belt or nice accessory wouldn’t go amiss, or even a heel that is above an inch.
“Have a nice trip and say hi to your family for me. And you, Sophie. I hope you have a nice trip too.” That super gaggy sweetness gives me and stick my fingers down my throat. I pull a face of utter disgust and mouth a mock repetition of what the girl has said, Arrick shoves my shoulder a little harder and this time glares my way hotly. I have the urge to shove him back, as that one actually hurt my arm. Tossing my frostiest glare instead and stick my finger up in a very classy bird. I narrow my eyes, warring with the silent scolding he’s giving me before I relent with gritted teeth and a pasted on ‘uber’ fake smile he has always hated. I’m doing it for that reason.
“Thank you, Natasha. I’m sure I will have a thrilling time,” I reply cattily. Arrick lifts a palm in question, another narrowed frown my way and mutters something at me through his own gritted teeth. I raise my eyebrows at him snootily and go back to staring at the scenery with an irritated surge of anger building inside. I hate that girl more than any of his last girlfriends, not that I met many, and I wouldn’t care if she choked to death - on one of her overly pink cupcakes I am sure she makes with gluten-free flour, and organic fat free, flavorless sweetener!