Elizabeth Finn - Restoring Jordan

She’s staring incredulously, and I’m holding her gaze harshly, still unable to wrangle the emotions that have gotten away from me. She says nothing and eventually drops her gaze to her lap, but she’s not nearly as meek as most people believe her to be, and as her eyes slowly return to mine she shows her strength. “Your parents appear to bring out the worst in you, Jordan. I’m not going to pretend you had an ideal upbringing or I agree with the decision they made to be absent from your life. It makes me angry for you, and I’m sorry if that somehow offends you. You deserved better from them.”

My throat is tightening with her words, and tears I know nothing about prick at my eyes. I want to flee, to be away from her before she sees how human I really can be. Her emotion sparks my own, and it’s so unfamiliar to me I want to throw it in her face. Standing, I pull some cash from my pocket and toss it on the table. “I need to get some air.”

I leave without looking back, and the moment the door shuts behind me I regret it. But I don’t return. Instead I walk. I walk endlessly, trying to figure out why I got upset. Nothing she said was untrue, and I agree with every last word of it. But her pity and her anger made me feel inept. I hurt her, and I hate myself for what I’ve done. Is this the kind of man I am? Am I so lacking in assurance I lash out at her for seeing my weaknesses? She cares about me. Am I so incapable of coping with that fact I would push her away to avoid it? I love her, and she has no idea. I’ve already wronged her by withholding this, and I’m on the verge of losing her. I can’t imagine what it will take to keep her, but losing her isn’t an option.

***

As I walk to the site, I pass by Jordan’s car at the curb. I waited for nearly thirty minutes, and after paying our bill and getting his food to go, I left on my own. I’m hurt by his reaction, but oddly, part of me understands him. I imagine how I would feel if the tables were turned. Embarrassment raises the hackles; I know this better than anyone. Sometimes, biting back in anger is the only way a person can maintain some sense of control and strength. He was humiliated. I could see it in his eyes, and I know how humbling that can be. I also know how painful it can be.

When I enter the model, the foreman stops me, but I blow him off quickly, wanting only to look for Jordan. Once I’ve toured the entire condo and discovered he’s not there, I give up and return to the foreman. He brings me up to speed on what they’re doing. The trim is nearly done, the cheaper knockoff fixtures are installed, and they’ll have the hardware finished by the end of the day. Come Monday morning, it will be time to play decorator, and I want to be excited. I am excited; I just want to share it with him.

I meander about, killing time. I debate taking the ‘L’ back to the office, but I don’t want to miss him if he should arrive, but after an hour of waiting I grab my purse and my satchel bag with my samples and head toward the door. When I stop to tell the foreman I’m leaving, we both look as the door opens. Jordan enters, and his eyes find mine immediately. He looks wiped out, distraught even, and as he stares I prick with emotion, and tears threaten to spill. He approaches quickly, and he holds my gaze, saying nothing. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are dark. He pulls me out of the room and down the hall.

We enter the same bedroom we’ve already christened, and the moment the door is closed and locked behind us he pulls me into his arms. His breathing is ragged and desperate, and his hold on my body is harsh and demanding. He pushes me against the wall and attacks my mouth. Moving his lips to my ear, he starts undoing the hurt. “I’m sorry, Adeline. God, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Of course I forgive him, and nodding my head, I take his lips with as much haste as he took my mine.

Our kisses quickly lead to me on top of him on the floor. The hardwood beneath his body can’t possibly feel good, but his arousal buried deep within my body as I ride him isn’t concerned with anything but me. He sits swiftly to me with the skirt of my dress bunched between our bodies. Pulling my legs to wrap around behind him, he clenches the strong muscles of his bottom, driving his arousal further as I move my body with his. He looks only at my eyes.

The whir of the compressor, interrupted only by the sound of the air gun and miter saw, can be heard from the other room, but we focus on each other, and as his pelvis pushes farther up to mine and my hips drive down harder on his erection, we come together. I bite into his shoulder as I fight to stifle my cries, and he clutches my hips harshly in his hands, holding our bodies sealed to each other as he releases himself within me.

When our bodies have stilled and breathing calmed, he looks to my eyes. He’s still in my body, and I’m sitting limply on his lap. “I’m sorry, Adeline.”

He caresses my cheek with care and adoration. When he kisses me, it’s slow and gentle, and when he pulls away, searching my eyes, it’s in fear I’m still upset. I’m not in the least, and I shake my head, kissing him again. “It’s okay.” His eyelids flutter in relief, and his head sinks to my shoulder.

We stay sitting on the floor, listening to the sounds of our project around us, until his head lifts from my shoulder with one more gentle kiss. “We should go.” I stand as he does too, and as his seed runs down my thighs, he takes my hand and we leave together. The crew’s stares follow us as we walk by hand in hand with no regard for their presence, and once we’re back in his car he drives us to his house for the night.

“I’m sorry, was it Madeline?”

“No, Mother, it’s Adeline.”

I sit stiffly beside Jordan at our table. When we arrived, we waited at the bar for nearly thirty minutes for his parents to arrive. When they finally showed, their regard for me was absent. They didn’t even appear to notice I was the woman sitting beside their son, holding his hand. In fact, Jordan had to force the introduction upon them as they driveled on about their vacation plans. I don’t like them, and now his mother’s already managed to butcher my name. I can’t believe he’s been subjected to this treatment by them his whole life. I would never wish this on anyone. They’re a nightmare, and with every passing moment my sorrow for Jordan deepens. He looks like he’s in pain at their presence.

“So, Adeline, how is it you know our Jordan?” My jaw clenches at her possessive use of his name. Jordan belongs to me—not them. He deserves better than this, and my desire to protect him is strong.

“We met a couple months ago, Mrs. Ellinwood.” I give nothing more away, but it’s enough for her to use against him.

“A couple months? Wow. That must be some sort of record.” My face falls, but not in embarrassment. I’m livid. How dare this woman disrespect him—disrespect us. “You just seem a bit young, Madeline. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m twenty-two, ma’am. And it’s Adeline.” My words may be respectful, but the cool tone of my voice is most definitely not.

“I would appreciate it if you could pretend to be decent, Mother.” His eyes flash with my same fury, and under the cover of the tablecloth I take his hand, and he looks to my eyes as my fingers touch his.

Being decent isn’t on her agenda though. “I’m simply saying, you and relationships don’t mix. I mean, you know that. I thought you were the content-to-be-a-bachelor type now. Not the relationship type.”

“Mother, please.” He’s warning her, and his eyes are on fire.

Warning or not, she’s not finished speaking. “Don’t get me wrong, your whoring around isn’t good for my reputation. I actually miss the days when you were married and I didn’t have to worry what you were doing with half the female population of Chicago. I liked your wife. She was a very accomplished, delightful woman, and now what… a twentysomething… I mean, what is it you actually do, Mandy?”

“It’s Adeline, Mother, and she happens to be an amazing designer at my firm.”

“Oh, calm down, son. I’m sure Mad … Adeline is an amazing decorator.”

“Designer!” He’s seething, his jaw is set, and I wonder how it is he actually managed to speak the words between his teeth that are clenched so tightly together.

“Yes, Jordan. Of course. I’m sure it’s like calling a maid a servant. Some things offend people so. One must be sensitive to others’ self-worth issues these days.”

“Ah yes, dear.” Now it’s his father’s turn to weigh in. “We mustn’t call the help a slave. Terribly tedious all these rules about the working class.” Good God almighty, were it not so damn painful a situation, I could likely laugh at them.

Our food arrives at that very moment, and looking to Jordan’s dark and vengeful eyes, I’m guessing it’s a good thing. We eat in silence and are blessedly left in peace, and as cocktails are served and as people take to the dance floor, Jordan takes my hand and pulls me out with him. I’m thankful for the distance from his parents. They are as awful as I imagined they might be, and as we move through the throngs of people I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him close. His eyes are dark and serious, and he’s not smiled since we arrived. I want to be away from this place, away from these people. They aren’t him. He doesn’t say a word as we move around the floor, and I’m afraid to say anything. His eyes are distant, and he is definitely not here with me, at least not on any emotional level.

As we take our seats once again, it’s his father’s turn to torment him. “So you know Jordan’s ex-wife cheated on him, right? It’s why he’s now divorced. Divorce is such an ugly word, you know. We’ve had to do much explaining on his behalf for that one.” I nearly spit my drink across the table at his words. Not because of the words he’s said so much as the fact he would humiliate his son in front of me. I had no idea Jordan’s ex-wife cheated on him, and while my heart breaks for the pain this must have caused him, I’m just as furious with his father for being the one to tell me.

“I’m aware he’s divorced, yes. Just like the other fifty or so odd percent of adults in this country. Not really an impeachable offense these day, but certainly a scandalous affair indeed, if I do say so myself. Oh, the horror of it all!” I’m practically shaking my finger in the air in mock-exaggerated shock and disapproval—oh the horror of it all—where the hell did that come from? I’m shocked at my rude sarcasm, adopting their snooty accent and all, but as I look to Jordan, the corners of his mouth are ever so slightly pulled up. It’s no smile, not even close, but it’s a response.

“Well, I just think it’s important to understand such things early on. Wouldn’t want to get in too deep, if you know what I mean, just to be heartbroken later.”

And that’s when Jordan hits his boiling point. “Adeline and I are leaving. Thank you for dinner. I guess I’ll see you in another few years.” I stand too as his parents stare with slack jaws and mouths hanging open. As we turn, Jordan squeezes my hand gently and then turns to them once again. “Adeline knows me better than either of you have ever cared to. She’s well aware I’m not perfect and I’m divorced, and for the better part of a decade I chose to indulge in shallow, meaningless dalliances that fed my physical needs far more than anything else. I’m ashamed of you, and quite frankly, I hold you responsible for every last emotional shortcoming I now have the pleasure of trying to undo. Good night.” We turn and walk out of the restaurant hand in hand.

When we reach the valet, he hands them his ticket, and as we wait, we stand side by side. He’s not spoken to me, and while his words may have been protective and warm, he’s cold right now. It isn’t me. He is fighting a long-waged battle in his mind that revives itself every time he’s forced to speak to them, and so I give him space.

He tips the valet and holds my hand as I climb in before he returns to the driver’s side door and pulls out into traffic.

We’re silent as he drives, and I watch him. He’s distant, and I imagine him a small boy, being subjected to their tortures. They are cruel, and oddly, I doubt they even realize it. My heart cries for the little boy inside him who was so neglected by them, abandoned to survive alone in a mansion of loneliness. No child deserves such treatment, especially not the one who would grow to be the man I fall in love with. I want to fight his battle, but of course there is no real battle to fight. The war is long over and the damage is done, and yet looking to his hardened face and cold eyes, clearly the pain is not laid to rest.