Page 78 of The Boss Upstairs
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“More?” I ask, on the edge of my seat.
“I suffered a pretty serious head injury when I wrecked my car,” he tells me, glass of wine in hand. “I suffered from amnesia for about a month.”
“Really?” I ask. This story keeps getting better and better.
Ethan is done with his donut, and officially fussing. I reach for him. “Please go on. I just need to get Ethan cleaned up. I can still listen.” There’s no way he’s not telling me the rest of this story.
“At first, I’d lost all memories of the previous five years, but eventually, day by day, memories came back, in fits and starts. I slowly reconnected with my world. I slowly remembered my life… and Mirella. I remembered the heartbreak and emotions that had led me to this moment. My body was still pretty messed up, and I was in physio, and it made me realize that as hard as it was, I had to let her go. I hadn’t remembered her when she first visited me in the hospital, and weeks later, she was already gone to Phoenix. I chose to let her be. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”
I’ve finally cleaned up Ethan, and I let him loose. He runs to his new toys. “God… I’m so sorry.”
Weston dips his head, staring down at his plate of food, remembering her.
“Can I clear your plate?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry. All this reminiscing has curbed my appetite. It was delicious.”
I take his plate. “No worries.”
I clear mine too, and clean up Ethan’s spot.
“I found an email from Bridget to Mirella. I was curious to read it because I was surprised by the sight of it since Bridget and Mirella were never great friends. My heart sank deeper and deeper as I read it.”
I wipe the table. “What was in it?”
“It was full of lies. She told her that we were happy, despite the fact that we were as miserable as ever. She told Mirella I still didn’t remember her, that I still suffered from amnesia. She told her that she’d ripped up photos of her and trashed our photo CD, which I know must have hurt Mirella. She even told her I didn’t remember my own child.”
“What child?” I ask, confused.
His gaze breaks from mine and his shoulders fall. “Bridget and I had a third child after Lizzie. A boy. His name was Jonathan. He died when he was six months old from complications from pneumonia.”
My chest constricts. I can’t imagine. I couldn’t have lived if I’d lost Ethan at six months. I don’t know what to say. “I’m so… so sorry.” All this time, I’ve thought Mr. Dark & Mysterious led such a charmed life in his beautiful penthouse. But he’s lived through as much tragedy as I have, if not more.
“I just don’t know why she had to write that letter. I’d already promised that I wouldn’t contact Mirella again. I’d promised her that chapter of my life was over. I was willing to work on our marriage. And then she goes and does something like that.”
I shake my head, not quite knowing what to say.
“I’ve always taken care of her,” he tells me. “It was never easy between us, and I wondered if she even truly loved me, or if I was just her caretaker. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Why did you need to take care of her?” I ask, remembering the woman in the photo, flawless. She seemed very self-sufficient and confident.
“Bridget has suffered from a serious eating disorder since she was about eleven,” he tells me. “I always made sure she took care of herself, that she didn’t relapse. She had a therapist and other support, but she also needed me.”
“That’s horrible,” I say, realizing that a picture does not reveal secrets. “Is she okay now?”
“She wasn’t when we first separated, but she’s fine now. A little slimmer than I’d like to see her, but she still sees her therapist and follows the protocols. She’s trying her best for the kids. And her boyfriend is a nice guy… he takes care of her now.”
“Yay, boyfriend,” I cheer, attempting to lighten the conversation. The evening has turned into a real bummer.
He smiles. “I’m sorry… I’m depressing you, aren’t I?”
“No… not at all,” I tell him. “I’ve actually been very curious about your past relationships and why they ended.”
He studies me for a long beat. “You’re not becoming infatuated with me, are you?” he says, his tone serious.
“Uh… no,” I lie.
