"How could you?"
Mamma's words struck hard and left an angry, lingering sting, but Seph was determined to not falter in her resolve. This was it: she knew, deep in her bones, that this conversation would dramatically alter their relationship. She held her chin high; she was finally ready to face her mother.
"How could I? Mamma, how could you? I'm twenty-one years old: you can't keep me from going on dates, and you can't just—you can't just call the freaking police because I don't come home."
"You could've been kidnapped or killed or worse!" Her mother stood, wiry strength and dignity pouring from her straight posture. She's a hard woman, as world-weary as she is full of love for her daughter. Tough as her mother is, though, Seph feared that this would be the final crack to break her into a million pieces…a million pieces that Seph would have no hope of putting back together.
"I was on a date, Ma! I told you and a friend where I was going."
"Don't think I don't know who you were with, child! Hayden Underwood? I know that name, and I know it well. He's an older, rich white man: what in the world is he doing going on a date with a poor, black girl, who's young enough to be his daughter?"
Mamma saw right into her slowly healing insecurity and sliced the wound anew. Tears started forming at the edges of her eyes, threatening to fall. Seph's confidence was beginning to falter.
"Y-you don't know him. He's—he's not like that."
"You're right, baby girl, I don't know him," her mother nodded. "But neither do you. How long have you known him, Seph—a few days? Baby, I didn't raise you to be naïve. This man is taking advantage of you. You wanna be mad at me for calling the cops? Go ahead, but I did it for you: I called the cops, because when older, rich, white men bring poor, young, black girls home for the night, terrible things happen. Terrible, terrible, awful things. Baby, you know that…or at least you should."
Seph crossed her arms, hugging herself. She suddenly felt very small, and very, very stupid. Hayden…Hayden's not like that.
"I love you, Mamma," she said, desperately trying to keep her voice from stumbling. "But…but you're—you're wrong about him."
Her mother's trim brows drew together. Demi Primavera was losing her daughter's love to a stranger. Hayden Underwood: lawyer and heir to an incredible fortune. She saw him in passing years ago—Seph was around eight or nine—and she had still been working as a lobbyist for farmer's rights against Monsanto and Tyson. It was a losing battle, but she was still happily married and living in a comfortable home. She had Seph young, perhaps too young, but things were working out well, and Demi felt like she could do anything—even take on corporate giants.
On the steps of the Capitol Building is where she first saw his cold eyes. He was young, although still older than her, and speaking to the man who she would soon find out was none other than the founder and CEO of the Weyland-Brooks Corporation—one of the largest global conglomerates in the world. His name was Charles Underwood, and he had a long, angular face, with a large and rather sharp nose: the kind of face you would get if a horse had somehow mated with an eagle. His salt and pepper hair rested in perfectly-coiffed curls on his square head, and small, violet eyes squinted out at her in the sunshine of midsummer. On that day in the House of Representatives, he proved to be one of her greatest adversaries.
He was a man evil to his core, as far as Demi was concerned, and the adoptive father of supposed business prodigy, Hayden Underwood. Demi wasn't sure about the young Underwood being a prodigy of any sort, but she did know this: the two men certainly shared a similar coldness in their demeanor and countenance.
They were both her opponents in her quest to make a better world.
She walked past them, in a way that she thought was gracious and worthy of their respect, and caught a bit of the heated, private conversation they were having.
"I can't be a part of this anymore, Charles."
"You can't be a part of this anymore?"
"Your company is willfully destroying the world."
"Ah, I see," Charles Underwood said, holding back laughter. "A few years in college, and now you're a Marxist who wants to save the whales and the rainforests and the whole goddamn fuckin' world. Let me tell you how things are: we live in a planet of limited resources, and my company makes these resources available to 75% of the world's population at fairly reasonable prices, be it food or clothes or computers or what have you—we have our fingers in everything, you know. Do a few forests get chopped down; do a few whales lose their precious whale lives? Yes, yes they do…but this is business, Hayden, and in business, power belongs to those who take it.
People die in workplace accidents, people suffer in debt to the very company they work for, and the world keeps turning, never stopping, and if you are not the man with the good shoes—the man with the power—then you are the man shining the shoes or the man getting stepped on. This is how things are, and you should know that better than anyone.
But you say that you can't be a part of this anymore? You, who likes to shoot up dope before meeting with clients? Ah, ah, ah, don't say a word: I found out your little secret, that's right. But you're smarter than this, Hayden; don't look so surprised. I wouldn't mind so much if it were cocaine—I occasionally engaged in that, especially back in the 80's, but Jesus, Hayden, heroin? For fuck's sake, you're not some low-income inner city black kid; you can't be doing heroin.
Again, you say you can't be a part of this company anymore—well, if you keep doing drugs, you're goddamn right. I brought you into my home not only as a favor to your mother, but also because you have talent. My home. I paid for your schooling, I've made you my heir—I will not tolerate this stupid behavior from you any longer. I did not agree to raise a stupid boy; I agreed to raise a smart young man. That said, if I find that you've been doing drugs in my house again, boy, you're going to wish that I left you with that alcoholic father of yours. And enough with this liberal, hippy-dippy bullshit. Do you understand me? I'm serious, Hayden. Do. Not. Try. My. Patience."
The younger Underwood simply shook his head and turned. When she saw his face, Demi felt her entire body grow cold.
"Ma'am," he said, nodding at her. "Excuse me." He needed to walk past her, and she was in his way. She stepped down, and as he strode by, she could see the barely-contained rage in his eyes.
She had never felt so much fear and hatred before in her entire life.
The minute that her precious Seph told her that she was going on a date, she knew it was with him. Of all the men in the world, of all the men Seph could meet in the city, it was Hayden Underwood, and Demi knew this truth in the core of her heart. She shuddered: the mere thought of his name made her feel frigid inside.
"He will use you up and throw you away, just like your father did to me," she continued, determined to make Seph understand, determined to make her see. "Just like he did to you."
"You can't know that!" Seph yelled, tears streaming from her eyes. "Just because Dad left us, it doesn't—it doesn't mean that every man is garbage!"
"My God," Demi gasped, finally grasping the depth of her daughter's feelings, "you love him, don't you?"
Seph's eyes grew wide. "Wh-what? I don't—I don't know. You can't just—you can't just ask me something like that, Mamma."
"Jesus, you do. You love him," Demi repeated. "Oh, my poor, beautiful, baby girl…what bullshit did he tell you to make you fall this hard, this fast?" She tried to keep her tone sympathetic for her daughter, but inside she was furious. Hayden Underwood had dug his dirty claws deep into the most precious person in the world.
She would make him pay, and dearly.
"No-nothing," Seph stuttered. He was just himself. She bit the inside of her cheek; she was losing this battle. He was kind to her—genuinely kind, and gentle. Seph's eyes fluttered shut, remembering the way he held her. "He's just very sweet to me," she said finally, exhaling.
"He's very sweet to all the girls, child."
Seph wrung her wrists, stuck her chin out defiantly. "You're wrong about him, Mamma."
Back in his arms—that's where she wanted to be, and her memories took her there.
"What's this?" he asked, kissing the long scar that ran down her hip.
"I was…I was in a car accident back in high school."
He flushed. "I'm sorry, Seph. I didn't mean to—"
"No, it's fine. I…I just haven't talked about it in a while, is all. My mom and I were on the freeway, leaving Baltimore. It was late at night, around 10:00 or something like that, and a drunk driver swerved into us as we were getting off at the exit. I don't…I don't remember much after that. I had to have a few metal pins inserted into my hip, and the doctors told me that they had to give me a lot of anesthesia to knock me out. I stopped doing ballet because of it. My mom got the worst of the deal, though—partial paralysis in her left arm because of a spinal injury. She still works, but it's…harder now."
As she spoke, Seph knew that he was hanging on every word. He was actually listening to her, and listening intently, as if she'd just told him the most interesting story in the world. She ran her hands over his chest, noticing occasional circular discolorations.
"And these?" she asked, placing her palm on a small cluster near his clavicle. He flinched, looked away from her.
"…Do you really want to know?"
She kissed his cheek, and his beard tickled her lips. "I do, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
He finally looked back at her, open and scared, and she gave him another tender kiss. He sighed, bringing her close. Foreheads pressed together, he whispered, "They're cigarette burns."
"Hayden…" His words wound tightly around her heart, refused to let go. "I'm so sorry," she said, placing her hand back on his chest. She could feel his heart beating rapidly.
"I have them on my hands, too," he said, breathlessly. It was as if now that he finally started talking about this, he couldn't stop. "Not as many, but they're there. The Old Ma—I mean…I mean, my f-father was…well, he tried to be careful when it came to my hands. He didn't want anyone to know, but he wanted me to see them, so he was…cautious." Hayden swallowed, shutting his eyes. "Sometimes, when I smell cigarette smoke, they still burn," he finished. He was trembling.
"Oh my God, Hayden, I'm so…I'm so sorry." She felt terrible for bringing up such a painful history. A car accident was one thing, and awful in its own right, but abuse hurt in other ways, and she could see the pain on his face when he spoke.
"Don't be." He opened his eyes again, and she saw sadness and anger there, but she saw compassion, too. "It was a long time ago." He kissed her again. "Right now, I just want to be here, present with you."
Hayden was a fighter, a boxer, a warrior, but he was also awkward and intelligent and sweet and gentle and kind. And he was all of these things at once, in equal measure. Seph shook her head. Her mother had to be wrong. She had to be, or else Seph opened her heart up to someone the exact opposite of who she thought Hayden was, and that would destroy her.
"You're wrong about him," Seph repeated, because she needed to believe her own words. "Not every man is a monster. He's not."
"He's a drug addict."
Seph glared at her mother. "Bullshit. How could you—how could you possibly know that?"
Demi told her, and Seph couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So…you're telling me that you overheard a private argument that happened over a decade ago and you expect me to believe he's still addicted to freaking heroin? You expect me to believe that he was ever addicted in the first place?"
Demi's nostrils flared. Her daughter's foolishness was starting to make her very angry. "You need to listen to me, baby girl," she gritted through her teeth. "This man is not good for you. No men are, really, but this one in particular is bad for you. You want to be an engineer for Disney—how the hell you gonna do that if you in a serious relationship with him, hmmm? How, baby girl?"
Seph clenched her fists. The room was getting unbearably hot. "As if you'd ever let me leave to California or Florida to even fucking do that. Sure, you'll threaten to kick me out of the house, but when I actually leave, just to go on a freaking date, you call the goddamn cops and tell them that I've been kidnapped!"
Seph felt the sting of a sharp slap on both of her cheeks.
"That is enough," her mother seethed. "I've had it up to here with your disrespect, and I am done. You want to be a dumb, black whore for a rich man who you just met, and who's twice your age, you can get the hell out of my house. You can get the hell out, leave, and pay for school on your own, and be the adult you wanna desperately be, baby girl. Go fly. Throw away everything you want out of life for this man, throw me away, but don't expect my blessing."
Seph was wrong; her mother hadn't been the one in danger of shattering into a million pieces. It had been her all along.
"Mamma, I don't want to throw you away," she cried, trying to hug her. Demi would have none of it, though; Seph needed to learn, and she needed to learn the hard way.
"Get out, baby girl," she said, keeping her voice as level as she could. This wasn't easy for her, either. "Pack what you need and leave my house."
After that, neither one spoke to the other. Seph packed her things, holding tightly onto what was left of her emotional control. With lines of dried tears marking her face, she kissed her mother on the temple as a goodbye.
She would go to Jess; Jess would have her back, right? Fear made her falter. What am I doing? She wanted to hug her mother, she wanted to have a girl's night and drink cheap wine and watch Dirty Dancing with her. She didn't want this; she wanted anything but this. She looked back at the door of their small apartment, shut on her forever.
"If you're going through hell," Seph whispered, "I guess the only thing you can do is to keep going."
Many days have passed since then at Jess's house, without a word from Hayden, and Seph is starting to worry that her mother was right; that he was only using her for one good fuck, or two, or three, and now he's done. No, Seph chastises herself, the night would've gone much differently if that's all he was after.
Still…no texts or calls from him, and when she's tried to call or text, he hasn't answered.
"Maybe he's busy. The cops did show up at his house," Jess offers, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Maybe he's still dealing with that?"
"Yeah, maybe…" Please, Hayden, don't prove my mother right…
"You could always just go to his house. You know his address, right?"
"Yeah, but wouldn't that be super…I don't know…psycho or something?"
Jess shoves another handful into her mouth. "Goddamn, this movie is shit. And it would be totally psycho, but you're anxious A.F. about this, so I figured I'd offer you something to do. Another mojito?"
Seph's phone starts to ring. "Thanks, boo, but—holy shit! It's him! Hang on." Jess lowers the volume on the TV.
"…Hayden?"
"Seph. God, it's you. You have no idea how good it feels to hear the sound of your voice."
A rush of emotions flows through her. She's angry with him for not talking to her for so long; she's very upset about her mother; but most of all, she's happy that he did call her. Her mother can't be right about him. She can't be.
"Where've you been, stranger?" she asks, doing her best to keep the mood light. "I tried calling you a couple of times, but you wouldn't pick up."
A pause on the other line, and then he speaks. "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. Kind of lost in my own head for the past few days, you know? I'm sorry for not calling you. You have no idea how much I've wanted to see you again. I had some, ah, issues that I needed to sort out, but I've found that I can't stay away from you for very long."
She smiles to herself. "Is that so, Mr. Underwood?" His laughter soothes her wounded heart.
"Oh, yes," he answers, voice suddenly coming out as a husky growl. "When can I see you again?"
It's the same voice he had when he…
"Tonight," she replies, her cheeks burning. "Meet me at the Waterfront."
Somehow, she knows that he's smiling on the other end of the line. "Will do, Miss Primavera. See you tonight."
"See you, Hayden." She hangs up, holds the phone close to her chest.
"Wow, girl, you've got it baaaaaaaddd."
She smiles at her phone, thinking of his tender kiss. "Yeah, I really, really do."
The night that Seph left, curled into a ball and digging painful scratches into her skin, Demi cried, as she never had before. Through her tears, she released all the pain that she had been keeping inside for the last few years, and she wailed in her suffering until all that remained was a pleasant numbness. She would win her daughter back.
For her own sanity, she would have to.