Just Business

Chapter 2.

"I should start packing." I huffed for the billionth time after crying in the shower and just about every inch of the home I shared with my grandmother. I eventually gave up trying and tried to drown my sorrows in two tubs of ice cream. Yes, I'm lactose intolerant and yes, this was a bad idea. I don't know how long I spent in the bathroom but I felt as light as a cloud when I was done. I was getting out of my bedroom when my grandmother's open room caught my eye.

The tears came rushing down faster than I could wipe them and soon I was on my knees crying. "I'm sorry mama." I cried into the carpeting. I can't believe I let me crying over Dylan be the last memory you have of me. "Fuck." I wailed. That morning it was clear that something was off about her but I was too Dylan crazy to see it. It all came to a head Monday—I don't remember what started the argument between Dylan and I and frankly it doesn't matter. We were arguing since 3 am and my grandmother came to defuse the situation.

Her presence distracted me long enough for Dylan to grab his suitcase, which I was keeping out of his reach, and storm off. She yelled after him pleading for us to talk it out but it fell on death's ears. She spent the rest of the morning trying to comfort me while I made a fool of myself by crying hysterically over Dylan. How did I become so pathetic, mama? When you and mom raised me better. It must have been embarrassing to see me like that. If mom was there she would've slap some sense into me after she tossed the rest of Dylan's things on the street or in the trash. I guess I should have counted my blessings that you were always more understanding and patient.

I sighed. No more crying, I need to start packing before it gets any later. I kept my eyes low when I closed her door. I knew one look inside will open a world of tears and screaming. I let out a deep breath and went downstairs. I got some boxes from the cupboard and dropped them on the floor of the newly renovated living room. I let out another harsh breath as I struggled not to look at the large frame photo of my mother, grandmother and myself over the mantle. We were at Black River in Jamaica, being silly. I was seven at the time. Damn, look how red my hair looked in the sun. My hair colour was the argument my paternal grandmother use to convince my father I wasn't his. That and my eyes and nose which I got from my mother's side of the family. Well fuck them, my life was great without them. I collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him sometimes. Going fishing, hiking and going to his boring work dinner parties—

A knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Frowning, I checked my watch. It's 9:45. Who could that be? It better not be Dylan. I don't need him taking advantage of my vulnerable state because I know I'll be too weak to resist pitiful, dirty make up sex. As nice as that sounds I can't let myself get sucked into that hole again. It's not healthy...or sensible. I looked through the peephole and froze. What is he doing here?

"Mr Vyas? W-what are you doing here?" I asked the moment I opened the door. He's wearing his navy suit from this morning minus a jacket and tie. My eyes fell to the duffel bag at his side. A strong breeze blew his hair into his face. He pushed his hair back, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Aston," he corrected, "we're 'engaged', remember?" My eyes widened. We are? But why are you saying engaged like it hurts? "People live together when they're engaged."

"They do but—you said you wanted no part of this."

"That hasn't changed," he cornered, "but it wouldn't be right to let them ship you off to a place you barely know....that and Lewis begged." Lewis made you?

"She did? W-why would she do that?" I asked in disbelief. I could hug her—and him but that look on his face scares me.

"She likes you, I guess."

I smiled. "Thank her for me—"

"You can thank her yourself...she has invited you to her baby shower."