115: Take Pity

November 2

“How much longer are you gonna work?” Jon asked grouchily while pouring his first cup of coffee.  Lack of proper caffeination was part of the reason for his irritability but not all of it.  Most of it was due to the ridiculously early hour he’d been forced to rise because of the counselor’s need for work clothes.

“Two more weeks.  I have a couple of cases I need to close out before I leave.”

He frowned at her with slitted eyes, trying hard to not be distracted how sexy her sex-rumpled mane of hair was.  Wearing nothing more than that and one of his t-shirts as one bare leg swung from the kitchen stool, she was any man’s waking fantasy.   

Now if only she was planning to fulfill that fantasy instead of toddling off to a job she no longer wanted.

“Then you need to keep some clothes here – and out in Jersey.  I’ll take a pair of jeans to your place, too, so regardless of where we spend the night, we aren’t traipsing the whole fucking city before sunrise to get dressed.”

“Why don’t you stop talking until you’ve finished that cup, huh?” was her exaggeratedly patient response, having told him not to get up in the first place.  He was the one who had stubbornly insisted upon pulling on a pair of shorts and fixing coffee.  “You’re not nearly as endearing right now as you were last night.”

“Last night was a once in a lifetime occurrence.  This morning is every day for as long as we’re together, so if you don’t like it…”

“Don’t you dare tell me to get out,” she retorted with a dagger-like finger in his direction, not giving him the chance to finish that thought.  “Stop being a jerk and drink your damn coffee.”

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Jon plunked his coffee cup on the counter hard enough to slosh liquid caffeine onto the marble and strode around to her side of the island.  He used both hands to lift her face and quietly apprise, “I was going to say ‘if you don’t like it, you better find a way to get used to it’.  I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Before coffee you are.”  When he bent to honor the silent demand of her puckered lips, they melted into something that at least resembled a smile.  “So we’re going to be randomly sharing three houses?  Is that going to be our version of living together?”

“For now,” he confirmed, sliding back around the counter to his coffee.  Until she got over this irrational fear of marriage.  By then, if they were still together, he’d be ready for something more traditional.  “How long do you think it will be before your divorce is final?  With the unusual circumstances and all?”

“Depends on how much of an asshole he wants to be.  If he signs the papers, probably four months.  Knowing him, he’ll contest just to prolong my agony, which means closer to a year.”

A year. 

The words echoed through his mind as rich coffee warmed his mouth, throat, then belly.  A year was a long damn time to drag out something that should be relatively simple.  She got everything, Owen got nothing and went to jail.  Cut ties and move on.  The end. 

“Hey,” she summoned him from his mental search of resources that might be able to shorten that timeline.  “Do you think maybe you should ask a woman if she wants to live with you before ordering her to park her panties in all your houses?”

He kicked one mocking brow high onto his forehead.  “I gave you a bed of roses.  Your feminine ego really needs to play this game, too?”

She kicked up a mimicking brow to unabashedly inform him, “This is the most significant commitment the two of us are going to make.  Don’t try and shame me out of my ‘proposal’.”

“This?” he inquired with disbelief over the rim of the coffee mug he was holding with both hands.  “This isn’t even our most significant commitment to date, Counselor.  I see I’m going to have to get you a goddamn rubber bracelet so you don’t forget the whole monogamy thing.  Your panty parking is nothing more than a ripple effect.”

Her chin tipped up, and sparkling eyes studied him contemplatively for a moment before Chiara nodded.  “I think I’d like that.”

“Like what?”

“A rubber bracelet – or some other trinket.  I always carry the men I love with me.”  Pushing back her mussed hair, she pointed out the dual pair of earrings that he had yet to see her without.  “The pearls are from Vince, the diamonds are from Luke and Joey.”  Fingering the simple gold cross at her neck, she continued with, “This is from Noah and Caleb and my watch is from Daddy.”

“What about Dom?”

She frowned prettily and admitted, “My briefcase.  He needs to get me something else, too, now that I won’t be using it.”

Jon sure as hell wasn’t going to put a rubber bracelet on her wrist to go along with those other sentimental pieces, but he liked that she carried a daily representation of the men in her life.  He liked even more that she wanted to make him part of it. 

The only problem was that he felt entitled to adorn the one spot that he wouldn’t tolerate anyone else embellishing.  The spot reserved for telling the world that she not only loved a man, but was in love with a man – and was committed to him. 

Her left ring finger.

What the fuck?

Which was currently occupied.

“You’re wearing a wedding ring.”

Startled eyes darted to the hand that was resting on the counter, and she immediately lifted it to tug at the simple gold band.  “I put it on so Owen wouldn’t realize something out of the ordinary was happening, and I just forgot to take it off.”

When she slapped it down on the surface between them, Jon would swear the damn thing glowed just like in that movie – The Lord of the Rings.  The difference being that this evil glow wasn’t tempting him to do anything but flush it.

Shifting his attention from the circle of gold, he addressed the counselor flatly, “As long as your panties are parked in one of my bedrooms, your finger will either be naked or wearing my ring.  I don’t wanna see that goddamn thing again.”

“Stop being so theatrical,” she sighed, pushing the offensive piece of jewelry toward him and rising from her stool.  “I never wanted it in the first place, so do with it what you will.  I need to go get dressed and get out of here if I’m going to get to work on time.”

Jon didn’t think he was being theatrical.  Uncharacteristically possessive, perhaps, but he’d discovered that about himself weeks ago when it came to her, so maybe it wasn’t even uncharacteristic at this point.  They were together, in love, in a relationship and all those other goofy phrases.  It wasn’t unreasonable to demand sole custody of her relationship finger.

Maybe, if the moons and the planets aligned properly when they went shopping for her “rubber bracelet”, he might even be able to subtly convince her to slide something on it.  Not an engagement ring, but…  What did they call those things?  Promise ring?  Commitment ring?  Something like that.

“Counselor.”  She paused in turning toward the staircase to silently question him over her shoulder.  “When do you wanna go pick out a trinket?”

“I don’t,” she said simply, leaving Jon on the verge of annoyance until she further clarified.  “If you see something you think I’d like, I’d love to have it, but this isn’t a task on your list of things to do or a means to finance something I’ve had my eye on.  It was just an idle comment.”

Great, he thought as her bare feet silently padded up the stairs.  It was one of those woman tests that men never had a chance in hell of passing. 

He loved those almost as much as he loved the fucking Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominating committee.

😊 😊 😊 😊 😊

“Here you go,” Jon said when bringing coffee and a croissant to Millie at one of the little tables in the food concourse of Grand Central.  It seemed friendlier than chatting on the street, since it was just the two of them with no place to go.

“Thank you, young man.  It’s a shame Charlie Girl couldn’t join us this morning.”

Chiara had ended up running later than she intended, so he kissed her goodbye on of the sidewalk outside the station – in front of God and everybody, fuck you very much Owen – before seeking out Millie.  That had him solo in entertaining the elderly woman this morning, but he didn’t mind in the least.  Jon enjoyed her company. 

There was something about the elderly that fascinated him.  Too many dismissed the senior members of the population as used and beyond their prime, but thanks to the upbringing he’d had, Jon didn’t share that view.  To him, silver hair and wrinkles were the trademarks of journeys traveled and adventures experienced, and he was always interested to hear about those journeys and adventures.

Taking the seat across from her, he leaned forward with forearms on the table to hold his own cup of coffee.  The second one at home had made him more tolerable.  This one would probably make him agreeable enough for selfies with fans. 

He loved coffee.

"That’s a nasty bruise you’ve got there.”

The counselor had told him about it, but seeing the evidence of Millie’s spill on the sidewalk was different than hearing about it second-hand.  Sitting across the table from her made it vividly real. 

“Is it?” she responded with wide-eyed innocence.  “I don’t look in the mirror much.  It’s a benefit of wearing a beret.  Plop it on your head and go.”

“Chiara was very concerned about it, and I see why now.”

Narrowing wizened eyes, her jaunty beret angled to one side when curiously cocking her head.  “Chiara?  Why don’t you call her Charlie?”

“I don’t like it,” he confided shortly with the realization that he was being led down a path that was totally opposite from one having anything to do with Millie’s well-being.  “She’s a beautiful woman, and her parents named her accordingly.  I like her brothers, but she’s not one of them.”

“I met the police officer.  He was as kind as our girl.”

With a wry twist of his lips, Jon thought of the hard-ass Vince and supposed that Millie’s statement was true in some regards.  “He’s okay.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I like him fine,” he countered, pushing the paper coffee cup around on the table.  “We’ve found mutual respect since he’s accepted that I want what’s best for his sister even more than he does.”

Skin with the consistency of vellum crinkled at the corners of both Millie’s eyes and mouth.  “It’s quite obvious to me that you love one another, but brothers tend to be overprotective.  I had a brother for a number of years, and he was fond of telling me that I had no idea what I was doing.  He always felt he knew best, but like our Charlie, I’m pretty determined that I know best for me.”

He could see the resemblance between Millie and the counselor, and had probably registered it on an unconscious level the day he first met the very charming vagabond.  It wasn’t hard to understand why Chiara had adopted the woman who could be her future self in personality.  

“Sometimes other people have a more objective view.  It doesn’t hurt to entertain other opinions,” he suggested gently.  The counselor was worried about the older woman with winter looming ahead, and Jon could honestly say that he shared that concern, especially after seeing the after-effects of her encounter with the sidewalk.  If there was any way they could convince her to go someplace warm and safe, both of them would sleep better at night.

“I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m going to offer mine,” Millie staunchly informed him, with her own objective in mind.  “Charlie Girl is a proud woman.  Don’t disregard what she has to offer, no matter how insignificant it might be to you.  It’s important to her, so accept it and thank her for loving you enough to offer it in the first place.”

It was obvious from the determined set of her chin and the deliberate way that she met his eyes that Millie spoke of something specific, but Jon had no idea what it was.

“You got any more to give me than that?”

“No.  You’re a smart man.  You’ll figure it out, eventually.”

The two engaged in a silent stare-down as he tried to read her mind, and Millie just as determinedly refused to allow it. 

“Okay,” he finally conceded.  “But I’m going to need something from you in return.”

She scoffed into her coffee.  “What do you need from an old woman like me?”

“The counselor says she gave you a business card a while back.  Do you still have it?”

After a quick delve into her coat pocket, she presented her palm for Jon’s inspection.  In the center was a heavy cream business card that plainly read “Charlie Del Vecchio” and looked just like the one that had been attached to his original divorce documents. 

“May I borrow it?”

“Of course.”

He removed it and quickly scanned the face before putting it on the table with the blank back-side up.  A quick dip into his own coat pocket produced a pen, and he spoke as he wrote on the card.  “I’m putting my phone number and address down here.  If you need anything – anything at all – you’re to call me or stop by.  You’re welcome to stay in my guest room, come by for coffee or just to say hello.  Day or night.  Okay?”

Pursed lips twitched thoughtfully as she considered what he said, and after a long moment, Millie’s beret finally dipped with a nod of acquiescence.  “Okay.”

“Good.”  Sliding the card back to her, he added, “Go see her brother for pizza in Brooklyn.  I know you have a standing invitation there, too.”

“Perhaps I will someday.”

Stubborn women were going to be the death of Jon, but he simply nodded with a tightly drawn mouth.  “What plans do you have for today?”

“Oh, every day is a quest to live life,” was her sage response, although it was lightened with a wink of one experienced eye as she tucked the card back into her pocket and the untouched croissant into the top of her cart.  “The city keeps things interesting, and have my friends here and there to visit.  Why do you ask?”

Jon drained the last of his coffee and offered the older woman a sheepish smile.  “Because I suck at picking out jewelry.  Would you considering taking pity on a mere man and help me choose something for Chiara?”