Chapter 2
Normalize
AN: I wasn't planning on continuing this one, but this wrote itself. I thought I'd just post it as a chapter 2
"We can head to Harry Winston first thing in the morning." Jacob's hands were pressed against her back as she cried in his arms. "I can call Kim and we can have the store to ourselves."
Meredith sniffled.
"No."
This wasn't about the ring, but rather the tradition. It was about the four generations of Klines that the seven-carat emerald-cut diamond engagement ring had been passed through before it had found its way to her finger.
"I have to head into the city tomorrow. Will you be okay by yourself for a few hours?"
She was Meredith Moran. She was always okay, always their parent's strong girl. The dysfunction remained unspoken just as it had the night she'd nearly died from an untreated eating disorder. And on that overwhelming Tuesday in February when she'd accidentally overdosed on Valium her first year at Yale. But before the usual "I'll be fine" could leave her lips, she asked, "can't you send someone?"
"No." Jacob pushed back a strand of her hair. "It's my parents' anniversary. We're having dinner at the house. Remember?"
Right, the dinner that she was supposed to be attending.
"I remember."
Summer was always a busy season. After Memorial Day Weekend passed, right out of the gate, they dove into weeks of traveling, of scheduled events, and of parties.
Originally, they had been due to fly home from Paris on Monday. They would be jet-lagged at the Kline's dinner party, but that hardly mattered. "Summer is meant for long days." Making an appearance was more important than sleep. They were to head just East of the city on Saturday to attend the last leg of the Triple Crown, but now, after what happened at the apartment in Paris, she didn't feel up for it.
"I should go," she said.
"Where?" Jacob's hand faltered on her back. "To the dinner? Mer, my parents don't expect you to come."
She'd spoken to them over the phone on Monday. The conversation had been brief, but they'd been nothing but kind. She shouldn't have expected anything other than compassion, but her mind was ruminating. "I lost the ring." A seven-carat emerald-cut diamond that cost over a quarter of a million dollars.
"They understand," Jacob said as he stroked her arm.
She wanted to scream.
"How do I get past this," she whispered.
"We normalize."
We.
He always made it a point to assure her that she wasn't alone in this life. "We'll meet with the doctors together," he'd said after an untreated eating disorder had nearly taken her life. "We'll get you the treatment that you need," he'd said after that overwhelming Tuesday night in February when she'd stupidly overdosed. "We're together. That's all that matters," he'd said after he'd abandoned his friends in St. Tropez.
Suddenly, Meredith pulled away and moved to the edge of the bed. Poppy, the golden retriever, popped up from the floor when she began to cry.
"I'm okay," she said after the dog had laid its head in her lap. "I'm okay," she repeated as she stroked Poppy's head.
She was Meredith Moran. She was always okay, always their parent's strong girl.
When Jacob touched her arm, she had to remind herself not to flinch.
Her chest heaved.
God, this was Jacob! Jacob, the man she'll marry after graduating from business school. This was Jacob, and yet, she flinched every time he reached out.
Maybe she should go stay with her grandparents on Gull Island. They were there now and would be for the majority of summer. She, Blake, and her parents usually only spent the month of July on their family's private island off the coast of Martha's Vineyard, but she had to admit that the seclusion sounded appealing after what had happened in the apartment on Rue de la Pompe.
On Gull Island, there would be no internet.
There would be no people.
There would be no guns.
And no bullets.
Jacob gently pulled her into his side. "I love you," he said before he pressed his lips against her temple. "I promise that we'll get through this."
Although she'd barely been wearing the ring for two months, her finger felt oddly bare.
"A ring can be replaced. You can't," he'd said as he'd held her close in Paris. The seven-caret emerald-cut diamond engagement ring had been taken right from her finger. "A ring can be replaced. You can't," he'd said after a gun had been held to her head. "A ring can be replaced. You can't," he'd said after a man had demanded codes that she didn't know to a safe that wasn't hers.
What happened in the Kline's Paris apartment had been worse than seeing her parents in the office. Staring down the barrel of a gun had been worse than witnessing a bullet barely miss her father's head. Feeling the cold metal press into her skin had been worse than watching a bullet graze her mother's left arm.
"He held a gun to my head, Blake. And he—"
And he…
Meredith's breath caught in her throat.
She couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not to anyone. Not ever. It would be another secret that she took to the grave.
"Mer?"
"I'm fine."
When she sucked in a breath and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, Poppy returned to her spot on the floor in front of the air vent.
"No one expects you to be fine."
Only herself.
"He held a gun to my head, Blake. And he—"
She didn't want people to ask about what happened in the Paris apartment. She didn't want to explain it to her friends when they met for lunch. She didn't want her mother's 8 a.m. spin group to look at her with pity the next time she decided to tag along. And the last thing that she wanted was for the men who would one day work for her to misjudge her capabilities after rumors spread.
"It's okay to not be okay."
She could go to Gull Island.
On Gull Island, there would be no internet.
There would be no people.
There would be no guns.
And no bullets.
She could spend her days buried beneath blankets, wishing that what happened at the apartment on Rue de la Pompe hadn't. Or she could help the chef bake puff pastries with peaches. Or she could keep her grandmother company as she worked in the garden. Or she could play tennis with her younger cousins because certainly, she wouldn't need to pull out her aggressive serves to win the match.
"He held a gun to my head, Blake. And he—"
And he…
No, she couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not to anyone. Not ever. It would be another secret that she took to the grave.
Meredith anxiously pulled at her fingers.
"Jacob, one of the men t—" she began, but there was a light knock on her bedroom door.
"Mom picked up a key lime pie."
Blake stood in the doorway.
"We'll be down," Jacob answered for them.
Key lime pie was one of her favorite desserts.
Her little brother disappeared, leaving her alone with the man she would be marrying after she graduated from business school. The man whose touch made her flinch because of what happened in the Paris apartment.
Jacob touched her cheek before he stood from the bed.
"I know you can't turn down a slice of key lime."
"Jacob."
Her brain screamed.
"He held a gun to my head, Blake. And he—"
And he…
No, she couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not even to the man she would be marrying after she graduated from business school. What happened in the Paris apartment needed to be another one of her secrets that she took to the grave.
But…
"One of the men…" Meredith couldn't look into his eyes. "He touched me." Poppy found her side as tears built in the corners of her eyes and her vision blurred. "He um…" Jacob knelt in front of her and took her hands. "I didn't want to tell you."
She hadn't wanted to tell anyone because she was Meredith Moran. She was always okay, always their parents' strong girl. The dysfunction was supposed to remain unspoken just as it had the night she'd nearly died from an untreated eating disorder. And on that overwhelming Tuesday in February when she'd accidentally overdosed on Valium her first year at Yale.
"Tell me, how do we normalize after that?"
She would take other men's secrets to the grave, but it seemed that she wouldn't take this one.
