Aidan jogged through the Public Garden, across Boston Common, then up and down the streets of Beacon Hill, pushing himself to run faster. There had been a break in the bitterly cold weather, but it was still only in the low to mid-thirties and the air sliced into his lungs with every breath. It was rough going, but he had needed the run in order to clear his head. In a way, he had escaped in the same way he accused French of doing. He understood her need for escape, her need to avoid dealing with things, a little better now. She accomplished escape through building walls around herself; he had escaped by running.
He had just had to get out, had needed time to think about what she had told him. It would have been impossible to do that with French screeching at him. He smirked to himself, thinking that she would kill him if she knew he thought she'd been screeching. Truthfully, he'd been about to lose it himself and had thought it better to remove himself than give in to the urge to punch something. He'd dressed in his running clothes that morning, thinking that later in the day, once it warmed up outside, he and French would go running together or at the very least for a walk. Neither of them was used to inactivity for more than a couple of days in a row and he knew they'd both be nursing a case of cabin fever after being indoors for several days leading up to and including Christmas. Lucky for him that he'd been dressed and had been able to walk out and hit the ground running, he thought. As he ran, he replayed their conversation in his head.
"Bullshit. Talk," he had said.
"Aidan, I'm telling you the truth. There is nothing going on," French had protested. The fact that she refused to meet his eyes and was fidgeting nervously had given lie to the words.
"Hello?" he'd said, waving a hand in front of her face, "I know you're lying. I can always tell when you're lying, you know."
"Aidan, just let it go. Trust me when I tell you that you need to just let it go."
"Let what go? You're starting to annoy me, Legs."
"Heaven forbid that you get annoyed." she'd flared.
"Stop trying to pick a fight," he'd told her, calling her out on what he knew was one of her avoidance tactics: picking a fight in order to avoid a difficult discussion.
"OK. Fine. You asked for it. The problem is that I cannot imagine that the day will
ever
come when I will be able to tolerate Patrick Hurst. He is the worst excuse for a human being I've ever seen. He apparently feels the same way about me, thus the check he wrote. He wants me out of your life for good and is willing to pay me handsomely to see me gone. I know how important the Hursts are to your family, Aidan. So, I think maybe we should just call it quits. Find someone else, someone your family, including the great Paddy Hurst, will approve of; it's probably the most sensible thing to do."
"You're not serious. Is this about the money? Please don't tell me you're going to take the money, French."
"Damn it, Aidan, I don't want Hurst's money! I don't have – nor have I ever had – any intention of taking it. I'm insulted that you think I would! In all honesty, I was planning to call it quits with you today anyway. There's no way we could work – we're too different. Insurmountably different."
She had made her grand pronouncement with such bravado and sanctimony that he had wanted to choke her. He had almost been convinced that she meant it, except that she totally overdid it. It was too grand a statement, too simplistic, too illogical, too calm. Too everything. If he had accused her of taking the money under normal circumstances, she would have taken his head off. She hadn't and thus he didn't believe her. So he had played along, pressed her for more information, knew that eventually he'd trip her up.
"French, our relationship would work just fine if you'd let it! But that's an issue we can discuss later. You're a grown woman, Paddy's a grown man. Both of you should be able to contain your dislike for each other. Your suggestion to break up with me in order to avoid him is ludicrous! Think of how long we've been together without you seeing him. It could very well be that long again. There's no reason for us to break up. Give this some time."
"Aidan, the man offered me money – lots of money – to leave you. Do you honestly think that he's just going to fade into the background? He wants me gone. I'm sure he'll make up a scandalous, salacious tale to tell your parents in order to turn them against me. How are you going to explain that to them?"
"My parents are not idiots. They met you themselves; they can make up their own minds about you. They already have. They like you. Hearsay, even from Paddy, isn't going to change what they think of you."
French's face had blanked with surprise. She hadn't known what to say to that, hadn't been able to come up with a reasonable rebuttal. She had seemed to be having an internal struggle about what to say next. He'd watched her face and seen the wheels turning in her mind. Finally, she reached her decision. She took a deep breath and said,
"Aidan, Patrick Hurst is my biological father." She had said it simply. She may as well have been saying, 'Aidan we're having roast chicken for dinner' there was so little emotion in her tone.
"What?" he'd asked, shaking his head as though to clear away cobwebs that were keeping him from hearing her properly. Whatever he'd expected to hear, it certainly wasn't that.
"He's my father. Patrick Hurst is my father."
"He can't be. He's got Paddy Jr, Pierce and Paige..."
"Don't you dare mention their names to me!" came her fierce reply. She didn't want to hear anything about her half-siblings.
"But, French, I don't understand. Paddy would never..." he was at an utter loss for words.
"I assure you, Aidan, 'Paddy' would and he did," she said angrily through gritted teeth.
"Are you serious? How can this be possible?"
"Let me break it down for you, because you seem to be confused," she said, then continued in a singsong voice, "Hurst is a man. Maman is a woman. They fucked," she said, trying to shock him with the foulness of her word choice and also because, in truth, that was all it had been. It hadn't been making love, it hadn't even been sex between two adults who had respected each other, were attracted to one another and sought pleasure together. No, it had been fucking, pure and simple. Each of the parties involved had been using the other to get something they wanted.
"They fucked," she said again, "
et voilà
