You'd think that since I'm still on California time, and I only went to bed five hours ago, I'd be asleep for at least another three or four hours. No such luck. The clock on my bedside table reads 6:08 and for some unfathomable reason, I'm awake.
Throwing off the comforter, I grab my sweatshirt from the floor where I left it last night before I crawled into bed. The only thing I dislike about coming home for the holidays is the weather. It's disgustingly cold in this house, even though I know the heat must be on. My body is yearning for the west coast as I shuffle out of my room and down the stairs in search of coffee. Like radar, my brain registers the smell of fresh ground beans and I know mom must be awake already for work. I'm about to break into a sprint for the kitchen when it dawns on me that there are voices drifting down the hall. Dad must be up, too. I hesitate when I hear Dean's mother's name in the midst of the conversation. Why in the world would they be talking about her? I lean back against the wall and listen like I used to when I was a kid and wanted to eavesdrop on the adults' conversations:
"I'm sure, Pidge. She said it clear as day: Kathy Annenberg."
"How do you know it's the same family though, Trav? I mean, it's not the most common last name, but I'm sure there's more than just one set of them."
"Come on, how long have you known me? Don't you think I checked last night when it struck me as odd? She's his granddaughter. Basically one of seven heirs to the Annenberg legacy, including a shit-ton of money and a hell of a lot of prestige in the political and publishing community. We're not talking lottery money or lucky investing money. This guy has two presidential medals and was knighted for Christ's sake. That's some heavy shit, Pigeon."
"That's…that's a lot to take in. Do you think Jessica has any idea?"
"No clue, but I doubt it. She'd have mentioned it, at least to you. You know Jessie, she's not concerned about stuff like that. But this isn't exactly information you sit on if you're in a relationship with someone. This kid should've come clean about who he is, who his family are, and what our daughter is getting involved with."
"Travis, you and I both know that it isn't always easy to be up front about certain parts of our lives. Don't condemn the boy before we know anything about the situation. Maybe he doesn't want to be judged based on his family's name and accomplishments. Maybe he wants to make his own way. Are you really going to begrudge him that?"
"You know I wouldn't hold that against the kid. But, my hand to God, if he hurts my baby he's a dead man."
"So protective. That's why I love you."
"Here I thought it was my amazing body and killer smile."
"Well of course, that's a given."
I stop listening because my head is positively reeling from all of the information I was just inadvertently made privy to. Suddenly coffee is the last thing I want. Instead, I climb the stairs quietly and slip back into my room. There has to be some kind of mistake here. I dig my laptop out of my carryon bag and settle back on the bed as it boots up. There is no way that this is the same family dad was just talking about. It can't be.
I google the words 'Annenberg', 'publishing' and 'Philadelphia'. Thirty minutes later I feel like I'm going to be sick. It was all right there. Publishing empire, philanthropist founder who rubbed elbows with the rich, famous, and powerful. Two communications schools, like entire schools founded by this family; one at the University of Pennsylvania and the other at USC. I wonder if that's why Danny is going to school there. Then I wonder why Dean isn't. Then I wonder how it's possible that Dean and I have been together for months and this information never came up in a single conversation. How can he be part of this family, this legacy as my dad put it, this empire, and I never knew? And now I'm supposed to go make idle conversation with his mother who runs charities and events for this foundation, and met me for the first time while I looked like I just rolled out of bed. How absolutely humiliating. There is no way that I'm going to fit in with these people. It's like a completely different world. Dean must know that. I mean, why else would he not tell me? But at the same time…how could he not tell me?
There's a buzzing sound from the table next to me and I look at the phone as Dean's name lights up the screen.
Dean: Morning beautiful :-) Am I gonna see you today?
I glare at the screen and want to reply by demanding to know how he could keep me in the dark about his family. Instead I take a deep breath, compose myself, and type a quick response.
Me: Can't. Sorry. Lots 2 do. Maybe tomorrow.
There is no way I can see him today and not explode, so I'm doing us both a favor. He lets me know that he understands and will miss me. I quickly return the sentiment before turning my phone off.
All plans of coffee and relaxing are off. I wait a safe amount of time, when I know mom and dad are safely at work and Jared is in school before I change into my gym clothes and head down to the basement to beat the shit out of the heavy bag.
I completely lose track of time. I have the volume cranked to earsplitting on my iPod and I'm surprised my earbuds haven't vibrated right out of my ears yet. It helps though. Pounding the hell out of an inanimate object isn't nearly as satisfying as a human opponent but it'll do for this morning. I'm circling on the mat, trying to walk off a cramp, when I notice Jamie standing by the stairs. He's saying something but of course I can't hear him with Chester Bennington screaming in my ears. Pulling off my gloves, I tap a couple of buttons on the iPod and take out the earbuds.
"What were you saying?" I ask him as I unwrap my hands.
"I said who the hell pissed you off already? We've only been home a hot minute and you're already tearing holes in dad's sand bag." I look over at the mat and notice the sprinkling of sand underneath the hanging bag.
"Didn't notice. It's not like he doesn't replace these damn things every other month, not a big deal." I avoid looking Jamie directly in the eyes because I really don't want to break down. I've worked up a really good mad and I want to hold onto it for a bit.
"Cut the shit Jess. What's going on?" He approaches me like I didn't just beat a hole into a hundred pound bag, placing both hands on my shoulders and forcing me to face him. I keep my eyes cast down and to the side, but Jamie dips his head, demanding eye contact. "Talk to me, Jessie. You were so happy last night. What happened between then and now?"
Our eyes meet and mine begin to fill. Jamie and dad both have the power to extract things from me with just a look. With dad it's my secrets, with Jamie it's every emotion that I would rather keep bottled up and shoved deep down inside, never to see the light of day. I sniff once and the first tear spills down my cheek.
"Shit. Come here." He wraps his arms around me and lets me cry on his shoulder, and boy do I let him have it. In between sobs I manage a few words here and there. When I finally cry myself dry, he pulls me to the couch in the corner of the basement and we both sit.
"Okay so I got 'Dean', 'liar', 'rich', 'ashamed', and 'ass'. I think I'm gonna need a little more to go on if you want me to put all that together." Leave it to Jamie to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry and scream.
"He lied to me Jamie. Not a little lie like 'Hey, by the way, I don't really like watching The Vampire Diaries with you as much as I pretend to'. No, this is like, some big shit Jamie. He's rich, or rather his family is rich. At least I think they're rich. They come from money, like big time money. His great-grandfather was this publishing big-wig, he was buddies with like two presidents, at least, he was an ambassador, a huge philanthropist, he was frickin' knighted Jamie. Like 'I dub thee Sir Hot Shit' kind of knighted. His mom is this big time heiress to the family fortune, along with her brothers and sisters. And the great-grandkids. That would be Dean. Dean is part of this whole world that he's never told me anything about. How can I ever trust him again when he kept something this big from me?" I'm gasping for air by the time I finish the explanation, but I feel oddly lighter having gotten it all off of my chest.
Jamie is just staring at me, a little slack-jawed. "Woah."
I huff a laugh at his reaction. "Seriously? That's the best you can give me?"
"Sorry. It's just…I don't think you've ever used the word 'like' that much." He laughs when I shove him into the arm of the couch. "Just trying to lighten the mood. How the hell did you even find out about this if he never told you?"
"Dad and mom were talking in the kitchen this morning. They didn't know I was around the corner, so I listened. I guess dad recognized his mom's name and looked her up. I couldn't believe it, so I went and googled them and it's all true." I sigh and lay back against the arm of the couch, plopping my feet across Jamie's lap.
"So I take it from the state of dad's punching bag and your stream of angry word vomit that you haven't talked to Dean about any of this?" He tosses me a knowing look and I narrow my eyes at him. "Right. So how are you planning on handling it?"
"If I knew that, do you think I'd be down here? I have no idea how to bring this up. What if he thinks I'm some kind of gold digger for asking him about it, or looking them up in the first place? What if he gets pissed because dad went poking around in their business? Not that it's not public knowledge. I mean literally, you type in the name and bam, there it is. What if the reason he never told me is because he doesn't see this going anywhere and he didn't want me getting any ideas?" With each question, I feel more and more horrible about the whole stupid situation. I feel like I've misread every look, every touch, every word for the last two months.
"Jess, does any of that sound like Dean?" Jamie asks, giving me a skeptical look.
"No, but—"
"Then don't you think there's probably a less fatalistic explanation for all of this?"
"Maybe, but—"
"So, shouldn't you go ask him about it and listen like a rational adult while he explains?"
I sigh again. It's becoming a familiar bodily reaction for me. "You're right. I won't know until I ask. And I can't ask if I'm avoiding him."
"That's my levelheaded sister talking. Now get your ass all prettied up, because you can't go into a conversation like this without your warpaint. Especially now, since you kind of look like crap. You can take the car, since I was fully planning to lounge around and veg all day before I got tangled up in your high-class boy toy problems." He's teasing, but it still makes my stomach turn a bit, thinking of Dean in this new light.
"Thanks Jamie. I still have no idea how I'm going to bring this up, but it needs to happen." I trail up the stairs behind him.
"No need to thank me. Just remember who your favorite brother is when you're a socialite living on the Main Line with all the other hoity-toities." I pinch his ankle and he tries to back kick me. "So not funny, jackass."
"Oh you love me," he replies as he heads into the kitchen and I continue upstairs to my room.
An hour and a half later, I'm sitting on my bed, wringing my hands in my lap and trying to find the courage to get in the car that Jamie and I share when we're home on break. I have Dean's address since he gave it to me before we got off the plane so I could get there on Christmas Eve. I already typed it into GoogleMaps and checked out the street view to prepare myself. He wasn't lying, it is in Philadelphia, just inside city limits in one of the fanciest parts of the city—Chestnut Hill. His house, scratch that, mansion sits on the largest lot on Rich Guy Row, as I've now dubbed it. It's not some townhouse in the heart of the city that I can just walk up to and knock on the front door. No sir, this place could swallow up my entire house just in the foyer. And we've got a pretty nice-sized house! Obviously he wasn't planning on keeping his secret for long since it would've been pretty obvious when I showed up on Christmas Eve that Dean's family is loaded. I don't get why he never thought to tell me about any of this.
There is no way that I can just show up to a place like this unannounced, so I decide to change tactics. I plan on texting Dean and asking him to meet me at a park not far from his house once I get there. It's large enough that if we get into a screaming match, the uptight neighbors won't be in earshot. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, but I've got to be prepared for anything.
I hear a whistle as I come down the stairs and turn to see Jamie reclining in dad's favorite chair. "Damn, I guess you're preparing for war huh?"
"What do you mean? You said get prettied up. This is all I have to work with that won't look ridiculous outside in December." I'm wearing my knee-high black leather boots with skinny heels, a pair of skinny jeans, and a gray sweater that comes down past my hips. My leather jacket is belted at the waist, I went dark on my eyes to disguise the evidence of tears, and left my hair down and wavy to provide some kind of warmth since a scarf doesn't really work with the look I'm going for; tough chick who isn't going to fall for any bullshit.
"No, it's fine. Just get out of here before dad gets home otherwise you'll never make it through the door."
"Any last minute advice?" I ask on my way to the door.
"Just let him talk. I know your first instinct is to distrust, but remember he hasn't given you a reason not to trust him in the past. Let him explain."
"Thanks oh-wise-one." I wave and am out the door before he can say anything more.
It takes less than half an hour to reach Dean's neighborhood from our house in Plymouth Meeting and again I am amazed that we've been living so close to each other for years and only happened to meet when we were both across the country. Then again, now that I know what I know it actually isn't so surprising. Dean probably went to private schools and hung out with a completely different crowd than me and Jamie are used to in our neighborhood. I scold myself internally because the fact that Dean is wealthy doesn't change the person he's been up to this point. I just need to know why he kept it from me. Maybe then I can start accepting the situation for what it is.
I pull up to the parking lot and text him that I'm at a park near his house and he should come meet me. Within minutes I get a response that he'll be there in twenty minutes, and I'm relieved that he doesn't ask any questions about why I just decided to show up without warning. I take this time to walk around and find a spot to wait. I decide to sit down by the lake that the ducks have long since abandoned for the winter. It's not frozen over yet, but it's a safe bet that the water is pretty frigid. I go over my approach in my head, tweaking things and anticipating what his answers will be. Finally I decide to stand up and pace because my nerves won't allow me to sit still anymore. When I turn around, I see Dean coming down the hill towards me. I take a deep breath, count to five, then let it out in a burst.
"Wow. You look amazing," he says as he pulls me into his arms for a kiss that warms me straight down to my toes. When he lets me go I look into his eyes and my carefully crafted words fly right out the window.
"Why didn't you tell me about your family?" I ask with absolutely no finesse whatsoever.
"Hello to you, too." He steps back and folds his arms across his chest, a gesture of defense.
"I'm sorry Dean, but I really need to know why you lied to me." I won't pretend everything is okay. I've started the ball rolling, might as well keep after it.
"When exactly did I lie to you?" He raises one eyebrow but keeps his face carefully composed. I expected him to explain, to have some kind of reason or excuse. I never thought he'd flat out deny it.
"A lie of omission is still a lie, Dean. When were you planning to tell me that you're part of this prestigious family, with all this…this stuff attached to your name. Isn't that something you think your girlfriend ought to know? Especially when you're bringing her home to meet your mother?" There. I said it. The ball is in his court now.
"First, my name is Wilkins. That name isn't attached to anything but shame and lies. If you're talking about my mother's name, I honestly didn't think it would make a difference to you Jessie. It doesn't change anything about me, or us, so why should it matter?" His face is hard now, revealing nothing of the man I've fallen in love with over the past two months.
"Of course it matters! Dean, we aren't talking about living in different neighborhoods. We're from different worlds! My dad is in advertising and marketing, my mom is a teacher. Your family built an empire! There are schools named after your family. Your great-grandfather was practically best friends with a sitting president. You live in a friggin' mansion for Christ's sake! Dean, how can you think this isn't something I need to know?" I'm raking my fingers through my hair in frustration because he doesn't seem to understand why I'm so upset.
"Well you've certainly done your research." He looks at my pointedly.
"Um, yeah. I overheard my parents talking. I guess my dad recognized your mom's name and put two and two together. I couldn't believe that you wouldn't tell me something like this, so I looked her up myself. Which I wouldn't have had to do if you'd just been up front with me from the start." I don't like how he keeps turning this around on me, so I try to keep my point in the forefront of this argument. He is the one who withheld information! I'm not the bad guy here.
He takes a step towards me and looks into my eyes, his own glowing an almost electric blue. "What would it have changed?"
"Nothing. I mean, it would've changed some things obviously, but—"
"Exactly. That, right there, is why I didn't come out and tell you the first time we met. Or when we went away together." He turns away, dragging a hand through his hair, then spins back to pin me with another icy glare. "It's just money Jessie, it's just stuff, just a name. It shouldn't change ANYthing. I didn't want you to base your feelings for me on something that I have no control over. I wanted you to fall for me, just me."
My heart is pounding in my ears and I have a hard time keeping my voice down. "And you think so little of me that you believe I wouldn't have been able to see past it all? You think I'm some kind of shallow, self-serving, silly girl who would let your bank balance influence my feelings for you?"
"Isn't that exactly what you're doing right now?"
His words cleave a fissure straight down the center of my heart. The ache is staggering. I never thought words could inflict this kind of pain. No fist could replicate this feeling. "So, that's what you think of me. That's what all these weeks together have amounted to." I curse my stupid emotions when I feel my eyes filling with tears. But I won't let a single one fall until I get this out. "I wish you would've made that clear before I slept with you. Before I fell for you. Before I threw my fucking heart at your feet so you could crush it." I spin on my heal prepared to run but there's one last thing I have to say. "You know what's really sad? I didn't care that you had money, that you lived in some fancy mansion. The thing I was most worried about was that your family wouldn't think I was good enough for you, when all I want in this world is to be good enough for you. Even now. Isn't that pathetic?"
His arms drop to his sides and his eyes soften, but I turn and run to my car—cursing the stupid boots the entire way—before he can say anything. I don't look back to see if he's following me. I doubt my heart could take it if he wasn't. Instead, I jam the key into the ignition, start the car, and drive away. Leaving my heart, bruised and battered, at his feet. Again.