62 - Perception

“Good morning Ms. King.  Mr. Bongiovi.”  Jack’s smile was both warm and pleasant when the two of them emerged from the elevator in Sheridan’s building the next morning. 

Jon nodded obligingly at the doorman.  Bending his arm, he brought his hand to rest in the lower back of the amazingly, outstandingly, incredibly cool woman at his side.  Last night could’ve been a long-ass, knock-down-drag-out fight kind of night after what had gone down at his place, and he’d taken a big chance when he appeared, unannounced, on her doorstep.

Holding his breath when the doorknob spun, he was virtually flabbergasted when she didn’t pounce on him with both feet.  She’d only given him a tired smile and said she was glad to see him.  It was one of those things he didn’t really understand at the time – and Jon still didn’t fully comprehend the hows and whys – but he knew he was a lucky SOB to have Sheridan King. 

As a result, he was more than willing to shower the happiness hangover on anybody in his path.

“Jack, good to see ya, man.  You taking the early shift today so you’ve got the New Year’s Eve free to party?”

The older man smiled widely.  “Yes, sir!  The missus and I have the grandkids tonight so that my son and his wife can go down to Times Square and join the chaos.”

“What?” Sheridan asked, chuckling as they paused beside the desk.  “You don’t want to ring in the New Year with a million of your closest friends?”

“No ma’am!  I’ll take my grandkids over that mess any day.”

Jon laughed along with them both.  “I hear ya loud and clear!  In fact, we’re doing the same thing – staying in with the kids.”

“My wife says they keep us young.”

“Funny…” Jon mused.  “I always think they steal my youth for themselves, the greedy little buggers.”

Sheridan rolled her eyes and soft, blond waves slid over the shoulders of her artfully scuffed leather jacket.  “We should hurry then…  We’ve got stuff to do before it’s all gone.  Jack, since you’ll likely be off-duty before I get back, have a happy New Year.”

Jon grinned and nodded his echoed sentiment as the doorman returned the well-wishes.  Zipping his coat those last couple of inches at the top, he then used a gentle hand to guide her out the front entrance to hail a cab.  He had no idea what she was going to do with all the groceries she’d dumped at his place, but he was anxious to find out.  Cooking was a novelty in the penthouse of 158 Mercer. 

“Thank you!” Jack called after them.  “And that’s a very pretty scarf, Ms. King!”

Jon looked down at her with a smile as she fingered the black and white patterned silk at her throat.  It was one of the only things he could attribute to her continued silence on the subject of yesterday afternoon.

I guess it didn’t hurt that I came bearing a gift.  Or that SHE came… wearing my gift. 

§§§

“Grab that pan out of the oven,” Sheridan instructed Jon, busy cutting tomatoes and onions for homemade salsa.  “I put a towel on the counter beside it.”

“Okay.”  The oven door clanked open and a fresh-bread smell invaded the kitchen.  “What’s in these things again?”

“They’re pepperoni rolls.  Just pepperoni and mozzarella in bread, but there will be marinara on the side for dipping.”

The cookie sheet clattered on the top of the gas stove and he tossed the towel aside, turning to ask, “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.  Won’t they get cold?”

Scraping the latest batch of diced ingredients into a bowl, she smiled.  He was totally clueless in the kitchen, and she was smart enough to realize that was by intentional design.  Take-out was easier, and he kept his mind occupied with enough other things.  Like anybody else, he took the easy way out when it was available.

That includes not questioning why you didn’t pitch a bitch fit over Dorothea and that episode yesterday.

She’d been ready to rip him a new eye-socket when those elevator doors had sealed shut yesterday.  Frustration over Dorothea’s snobby high-handed attitude and his complete lack of reaction to it – and Sheridan – had combined with a harried grocery shopping experience, an annoying haggle with the doorman and a rabid case of PMS to make her toxic. 

An hour later, though, as she decompressed in a mountain of bubbles scented with chamomile, lavender and geranium, she had an epiphany of sorts. 

Things weren’t fun anymore.

Ever since returning from California, it seemed like they fought an awful lot.  Sheridan understood that Jamaica was an exciting, responsibility-free time and it was followed by his clever pursuit of an encore performance.  Disregarding the LA adventure, there was nearly-idyllic Santa Monica.  It was fun on crack, full of carefree days and lots of laughter. 

After that, things had become… different.  She and Jon still had their enjoyable moments.  There was no doubt about that, but they were fewer and further apart now.

She understood why.  Truly, she did.  Real life brought with it real obligations.  When you got involved in a committed relationship, the other person’s day-to-day obligations became at least partially yours, and vice-versa.   You ended up scheduling ‘fun’ around family, appointments, work, the weather and a million other things.  Unfortunately, when ‘fun’ repetitively got the short end of the stick, the big end of the stick savagely burst the ‘honeymoon’ bubble. 

Sheridan was tired of being mad and she was tired of fighting.  It was at total odds with why she’d sold her business and become what Riley called a ‘hippie’.  And the woman on the airplane who’d made such a profound impact…  Well, the hard, cold reality was that she probably hadn’t made it to see Christmas.   

That single thought had smacked Sheridan in the face, giving her renewed determination to make the most of every day.  Real life had sucked way too much fun out of them lately, and she refused to stand by and allow it to happen anymore.

There would undoubtedly be battles that needed to be fought in the days, weeks or months ahead, but she would be far more discerning in choosing those battles. 

Jon’s ex-wife was not one of them.  If it got no worse than yesterday, then it wasn’t worth the negativity in her life.  As long as…

“Jon?” She sealed the bowl of salsa and turned to slide it in the fridge, alongside the bowl of homemade guacamole already chilling there. 

He snatched his hand away from the still-hot pepperoni rolls, sliding a guilty look in her direction.  “Yeah?”

“What happened here yesterday…”

Shutters went down over clouded blue eyes and she could plainly read the ‘oh fuck’ written in their depths.  “Yeah, somehow I knew we weren’t done with that.  I wondered when the other shoe was going to drop.”

Snickering softly as she wiped her hands on the towel he’d returned to the countertop, Sheridan tipped her head curiously to the side.  “There’s no other shoe, but I have to admit I was surprised you let it go unaddressed.  I figured curiosity would kill you.”

“Baby, I was shocked that you weren’t hissing and spitting mad.  No way in hell was I rocking the boat until after we get this party behind us.  But…”  He sidled closer, reaching out to hook his arm around her shoulders.  “Since you brought it up, I’ll tell you that shit won’t happen again.  Seeing the two of you standing in the same room screwed with my head for a minute, but Dorothea completely understands her place – and lack of authority – in my life now.”

Sheridan leaned into him as he punctuated his assurance with a kiss to her temple.  “Okay.  That's all I wanted to know.”

“Okay?”  He pulled his head back and squinted one eye at her.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she confirmed with a lackadaisical shrug.  “Yesterday was a turning point for me.  At least a reminder of a turning point I already had.  I’m not sweating the small stuff, and your ex-wife’s panties being in a twist are small stuff.”

“Not everybody would think so.”

Would it benefit him to hear Leslie’s story – or rather her story of meeting Leslie?  Would he be better able to appreciate Sheridan’s perspective if he knew? 

In the end she decided that, whether he benefitted or not, he should be brought into the loop.  That defining moment had built the skeleton for her current and future life and, if he was going to be sticking around for a while, he should know precisely what was that skeleton was made of. 

“I never told you about the day I left Jamaica…”

§§§

“Stephanie,” Dorothea lifted her head and called as her daughter breezed in and – almost – out of the kitchen.

Skidding to a halt, the teen turned expectantly, her thumb digging into the peel of the orange she’d just lifted from the counter.  “Yeah, Mom?”

Her knife hovered over the freshly made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that she’d just put together for the boys.  Bringing it to rest on the counter, she deliberated her words and was careful to maintain a neutral tone. 

“Tell me a little about your dad’s girlfriend.”

Stephanie smirked while absently removing the rest of the rind from her snack.  “You’re not jealous are you?”

“Seriously?  Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Mhm.  I did.” 

“No,” she stated flatly, staring directly into those damnable blue Bongiovi eyes.  “I am not jealous.  Why would you say that?”

The bits of peeling found their way onto a napkin and the girl freed a segment of the citrus with a shrug.  “Pretty.  Big boobs.  And ‘soul sucking siren’ sounds like something that would come from a bitter woman.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Dorothea had only said that once, when her sister called about that first set of pictures.  A little pissed at the situation, she had taken full-advantage of Linda’s sympathetic ear to blow off some steam at her ex-husband.  She’d certainly never dreamed any of the kids had caught wind of it. 

And now you look like a petty shrew when you’re supposed to be a stellar role-model for your teenage daughter.  The only thing you taught her was how to throw a temper tantrum, and she learned that from Jon years ago.

“Jesse heard you on the phone.”    Using her pinky finger, she caught the drop of juice that threatened to fall from the corner of her mouth.  “She’s dad’s first actual girlfriend since the divorce.  It’s okay to be resentful, Mom.”

Oh for the love of….  Now not only have you set a shitty example, she feels compelled to give you relationship counseling.  Sometimes I think it would’ve been less frustrating to stay married.

“Stephanie Rose!  I am NOT resentful,” she declared in her sternest mommy voice, folding her arms over her waist.  “She is  your father’s first girlfriend and I want to make sure he’s not exposing our children to someone I wouldn’t approve of.  That’s ALL.”

The teen cocked her head to the side and lifted one careless shoulder.  “If you say so.”

“I DO.  Now tell me what you know about her.”

“The thing is, I really don’t know anything.”  Another bite of orange disappeared in her mouth and she chewed thoughtfully, eyes narrowed in thought.  “She has two nieces and a sister.  Jesse has a thing for one of the nieces, and she can ice skate.  That’s about it.  Oh.  And she has twin nephews about Romeo’s age.  I found that out from Jesse.  I guess they’ll be at Dad’s tonight, too.”

“Wait.  The girl that Jesse’s into now is this woman’s niece?”

“Mhm.  Mandi.”

Well, that explains why it’s ‘their’ party.  It would have been nice if he’d told me that.

Eighteen years of living together had made her face as decipherable as any Tweet or Facebook post, she supposed, because Stephanie frowned.  “Mom…  He likes her and, from the one time I met her, she seems nice.  Nobody’s psyche is going to be scarred by spending the evening with her.”

“Then why aren’t you going to be at Dad’s tonight?”

Swallowing the last bite of her orange, Steph rolled her eyes.  “Uh, hello?  I’m in college.  I have no desire to spend the biggest party night of the year with my little brothers.  Sorry, but it has nothing to do with Dad’s girlfriend.”

Of course it doesn’t, Dorothea.  What the hell is your problem?  Why are you painting this woman as Mata Hari?  It’s not bad enough that Jon has to ream you about his girlfriend and the kids.  Now your daughter is in on the act.  Don’t you think it’s time to admit he isn’t a bad judge of character?  He doesn’t collect and dispose of people at will.  When he brings somebody in they stick around.

Unless they walk away… like she had. 

This didn’t mean she wasn’t still going to tread with caution.  There was no such thing as being too careful when it came to your kids, but she would…  show Sheridan the same respect she would offer to anyone on the street.  It was the right example to set for her children.

It was just right.

And – if he could manage not to show his ass – she would try not to be such a harpy to Jon.  She had asked for the divorce.  All he was doing was moving on with his life, and perhaps it was time she did the same.  Maybe she should reconsider accepting one of the party invitations that had been extended to her for the evening. 

“Okay, I was just curious.  When you go back upstairs, stick your head in and tell the little ones that their sandwiches are ready, would you?”