93: Making Plans

October 4

“I don’t know if I can do that.”  Charlie dropped the fork into her plate of pasta, unable to eat now that Jon’s idea for resolving the Owen situation had been presented.  Her stomach churned with a nasty grumble, and she tucked one bare foot beneath a denim-encased thigh in the chair as she tried to remember something – anything – that the therapist had said about dealing with this anxiety.

“Yes, you can.”  The man she loved radiated quiet confidence as he reached for her hand across the dining room table in her Brooklyn brownstone so that he cold fold it into his. 

He’d come by after dropping off his boys with Dorothea an hour ago, wearing a rock star black leather jacket over his jeans and equally dark t-shirt.  The man looked more delicious than the dinner he came bearing.   The soft kiss of greeting that he delivered was far more appetizing, too, but Jon was insistent that they talk before getting naked. 

While serving up the salad and pasta from one of his favorite Italian restaurants, he had outlined his thoughts on resolving her marital situation once and for all.

“I…”  The roiling of her stomach was churning acid that ate at her esophagus, and she pulled her hand free.  “It’s too soon.”

“Counselor, it’s been fifteen years.  That hardly qualifies as too soon.”

Emptying her wine glass, she tipped the bottle up to refill it while shaking her head.  “I haven’t been actively preparing myself for fifteen years.  That’s only been about three weeks, and it’s too soon.  I still haven’t come up with a plan to pay the boys’ tuition or housing or the really hard part – how to tell them.”

Frustration etched into the handsomely angular features as he rested his fingertips on the rim of his own glass.  “I’ll pay the college stuff myself, and you’ve got at least two more weeks to work on the other.  We’ll fly out to Stanford together, and I’ll be there afterward for whatever you need.”

“Absolutely not,” she decreed, setting her jaw stubbornly and giving him her bitch lawyer look to prove she meant business.   His offer to be there for her was heart-warming, but in typical Charlie fashion, she focused on the point of contention instead. “I owe you too much already.”

“If you bring up that house one more time, I’m going to stuff a sock in your mouth,” was his growling response.  “You were right to demand that ownership be clear cut.  It is better for everyone in the long run.  I agree, so let it the fuck go.”

Flattening her mouth and cutting him with a glare, she snidely agreed.  “Fine, but I’m still not letting you pay for my sons’ educations, so you can just let that the fuck go.  I’ll take care of it, but I need time to work out the logistics.  This divorce is going to cost me half of all my assets.”

“Not if things go the way I have planned.  And even if they don't, he should contribute equally to the educational expenses.”

“Jon,” she sighed, pushing her plate away for good.  “The court can assign the responsibility, but nobody can make him pay it.”

“Chiara.”  She couldn’t help but notice the bulge of his bicep as propped his elbows on the table and regarded her sternly.  “You can find a million reasons to put it off, but why can’t you focus on the reasons to go through with it?  You’re not living life, you’re letting the world pass you by while you wait for the perfect scenario to develop.  Well, lemme tell ya something…  It ain’t gonna happen.  You’ve got to make your own breaks.”

Huffing at him, she snatched up her plate and rose to stalk into the kitchen and vow, “You’re going to be the one with a sock stuffed in his mouth if you don’t stop throwing song lyrics at me every time we have a disagreement.”

“I’ll throw every damn thing I can find until you start acting on your intellect instead of fears,” he called, following behind her and watching as she pulled leftover containers from the cabinets.  “Don’t you get that I love you?  Those aren’t words I throw around lightly.  It’s making me crazy that this motherfucker controls you like a puppet, and you won’t let me do a goddamn thing about it.”

“You think I throw those words around lightly?” The plastic bowl that Charlie held hit the counter with a clatter.  “There’s only one man outside my family that I’ve ever said them to and meant it.   And I’ll give you a hint – it wasn’t Owen!”

“Then why have you already decided you’ll never marry me?”

Her eyes went wide with complete shock and disbelief as he crossed his arms and expectantly awaited her answer.  Why was this even a topic of conversation?  They’d been together for a couple of months under somewhat extraordinary circumstances.  It had been exactly two days since either one of them had admitted to the L-word.  Talk about pushy!

“It’s freaking ridiculous that you’ve even brought it up at this point, but if you must know, then fine.”  Placing her hands on the edge of the island and propping the weight of her upper body on them, she tipped up a haughty chin.  “A marriage license has nothing to do with love, and one has been holding me hostage for a good part of my life.  Hostage, Jon.  That paper is nothing but a chafing shackle of control that I still haven’t managed to shake free of.  Why does it surprise you I don’t want another one?”

With her heart beating furiously at the fierce truth of those words, Charlie looked directly into Jon’s eyes and waited to see how he could possibly refute them.  What she saw was his resolve fade away, and the rigid set of his spine go soft with a sigh.

Skirting the edge of the island and padding silently over the hardwood, he put a hand on her waist to coax Charlie into turning toward him.  She did so, hesitantly, but rather than taking her on in a close-proximity showdown, both arms slipped into a gentle embrace and soft lips touched her forehead. 

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” he apologized quietly.  “Guess that choice wounded my pride more than I realized, and it shouldn’t have.  I don’t want you to feel like a hostage with me.”

Charlie melted into his strength as love filled her from head to toe.  “Thank you.”

“But,” he qualified, rearing back to look into her eyes.  “I also don’t want you to be a hostage to him any longer.  Work with me, Counselor.”

He only wanted her to be free.  To rip the scab off in one painful jerk rather than spending the upcoming months easing it off a little at a time.  He only wanted her to be whole and healed.  How could she fault him for that?

Before she had the opportunity to verbally submit to his wishes, however, Charlie’s phone pealed out from the kitchen counter where she’d left it when getting out the plates for dinner.  A quick glance at the screen didn’t make her happy.

“It’s Owen.”

“Answer it,” Jon encouraged, his arms sliding free to nudge her in that direction.  “I called him back earlier and told him I’d do it, so he’s probably ready to hit you with it now.”

“You did what?  Before even talking to me about it?”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m an arrogant son of a bitch,” he impatiently agreed, waving a hand at the vibrating, singing phone.  “Now answer it.”

“I swear to God, Bongiovi.  One of these days…”  Charlie swallowed a growl of frustration as she swiped across the screen.  She loved him, but how often was that going to be paired with the desire to pummel him?  “Hello?”

“Hello, Charlie.”

Sticky sweet syrup dripped from the greeting, alerting her that he was working an angle.  It’s the only time he bothered to sound like a husband outside the company of other people, and it turned her stomach.    

“What do you want, Owen?”  She kept her tone evenly modulated while rolling her eyes at Jon, who had hopped on a bar stool to watch and listen.

“Now is that any way to greet your husband?  Especially when he’s calling with an anniversary gift for his bride of twenty glorious years?”

Jon will make this go away if you’ll help him.  Swallow the vomit and get on with it.

“What am I buying me now?”

“You, my snarky bitch, are buying me peace of mind.  November first at the Crowne Plaza.  We will be renewing our vows before your family and my friends in celebration of our anniversary.”

Reclining her back against the edge of the kitchen counter, she focused on Jon, hoping he knew what in the hell he was doing when she responded.  “Why would I do that?  Nobody will believe it.”

“Again,” he huffed, the sweet syrup going dry and brittle.  “It’s your job to make them believe it.  All of them.  Including Jon Bon Jovi, who has graciously agreed to sing a touching love song to you on my behalf.”

Not a chance.  Charlie might be trusting Jon to help put this to an end, but he wouldn’t dare try and sing to her in that setting.  She wouldn’t allow it, and he’d agree to it or this whole thing would simply cease to happen.

Pointing a threatening finger at her boyfriend and scowling, she told her husband, “What’s the ulterior motive there, Owen?  Parade me around with my ball and chain so that every man in the world knows I’m tethered to you?”

“Not every man.  Just him,” came the sneering reply.  “I know you’d drop your panties and hump his leg at the first opportunity, but I don’t think he wants the media attention that comes with fucking a happily married woman.  This will make it perfectly clear that’s what you are – a happily married woman.”

She hated him.  Hated him.  Hated him.

“Whatever it takes to keep the peace.”  The appeasing words were forced through gritted teeth, but his smarmy obnoxiousness was exactly the push that Charlie needed.  Maybe he was no different than he’d always been, but it grated a thousand times more under Jon’s watchful eyes. 

“Good girl.”  Owen’s simpering approval made her queasy.  “I’ll get you a nice fat dildo and have it waiting in our Honeymoon suite after the event.  Who knows what fun we might have?”

Charlie’s eyes fell shut with the beginnings of a migraine. 

Honeymoon suite, her ass.  She wouldn't step foot outside that ballroom with him.  When the "event" was over, she would leave it holding the hand of the same man who would be in her bed tonight. 

“I have a penile army already, but thank you.  Oh, and Owen?  I’ll be inviting some friends as well.  If I’m paying for a party, I may as well enjoy it.”

“Suit yourself.  I’ll be home on Halloween.”

He didn’t have a home here.  He would never have a home here.  He would never set foot in her home here.

“You’ll be more comfortable at the Crowne Plaza,” she suggested.  “You know how you like room service.  I’ll make the reservation.”

“Excellent idea.  Now you’re acting like my wife should.”

“You’ve taught me well.  Goodbye.”

The phone slid from her fingertips to bounce on the counter, as Charlie fought the need to disinfect it and herself.  She felt slimy, gross, vile, used…

“It’s okay.”  Jon was there, enfolding her into warm and supportive arms that didn’t waver as he seared away the sheen of repugnance left behind by Owen’s disgusting words.  “You’re okay.  You’re the strongest fucking woman I know.  You can do this, Chiara.  I’ll help you get your life back.  I just need you to let me do it.”

This. 

This is what the future held past November first. 

Three weeks.  If she could get through the next three weeks and her fear…  This infuriatingly lovable man would be waiting for her on the other side – a gift from the Jersey gods.

“Check your calendar,” she murmured into his chest, smiling at that thought even though her throat was thick with emotion.  “Not this week, but after that.  I’m going to need to you to go with me to California when I talk to the boys.”