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I shook my head. “When my dad and I left, it just gave her an excuse to be unhappy. And something to crucify us for.”
“Well, that’s understandable, don’t you think?”
I was silent. Was it? She’d left us no choice, but Bill couldn’t understand that. “Does that mean you think I’m cold?”
“Sometimes, yeah,” he said thoughtfully, touching his chin.
“Oh.” It wasn’t an entirely unfair assessment, but it was nonetheless painful to hear out loud. I didn’t mean to be cold.
“You blame her for the divorce, and she knows it.”
“You’re being a little harsh.”
“Sorry, babe. I just hate that you guys fight. I want you to be happy.”
“I am. And we don’t fight. But maybe that’s the problem,” I admitted.
He didn’t speak for a beat. “Could you tell if she was drinking? On the phone?”
“No, but I don’t think so.”
“You know we can send her some money.”
“Dad doesn’t think we should. I believe the word he used was ‘enabling.’”
“Liv, she’s fifty-something. She’s not going to change.”
“She could change, but not until she admits that there’s a problem.”
“Well maybe there isn’t. As far as we know she only overdrinks once in a while. I don’t think that makes her an alcoholic.”
“I don’t know Bill, maybe - ”
“You’re too hard on her. So she’s not a perfect mother. Who is? Don’t make something out of nothing.”
I nodded, not wanting to start another fight, but I couldn’t help but feel annoyed. I always did when we discussed my mother. He took her side every time, and I wanted to yell that at him, but it wasn’t even worth bringing up again.
There were things he didn’t understand about our relationship, things that nobody ever could. Except maybe John and Gretchen, who had stood by me through the divorce and everything that came after.
So why didn’t he try to see things from my point of view? I looked over at him as he flipped through his book, trying to find where he’d left off. How I could make him see that I wasn’t always the bad guy? If I tried to get him to understand, and he didn’t . . . would that mean he was right? That I was to blame?
I opened my mouth to tell him why my relationship with my mom was strained. To explain how it had felt to live through the divorce of my parents knowing that she cared more about losing my dad than me.
Don’t make something out of nothing. Maybe I was. Maybe it was overdramatic. I decided to drop it rather than risk the chance of an argument. “I’m going to take a nap,” I said, popping up. “Whoa.” I steadied myself on the armrest and groaned as Bill laughed.
“All right. Go sleep it off, champ.”
~
I woke up later in a daze, confused by the setting sun and the warmth of a heavy blanket draped over me. “Bill,” I called from the bed. Silence.
I closed my eyes again, ready to give in to a second round, when he responded from the doorway. I opened my eyes and reached my arms out from under the blanket, feeling more amorous than before. He climbed in next to me, tented the blanket and kissed my naked shoulder.
“Do you still think I’m cold?” I whispered, looking up at him.
“No,” he replied, rubbing a smooth cheek against me. I lazily pulled him on top of me and ran the soles of my feet over his long calves. The inside of his mouth was hot and soft, and when he pulled away, I almost pulled him back. Instead, I told him to get a condom, promising it would be our last.
We made love under that too-hot blanket, sweating and groaning into each other. After a second time, we lay panting on the bed until I heard my phone faintly singing from the couch.
“Birth control.” I swung my feet over the side of the bed and went to leave, when Bill caught my forearm. I turned to meet eyes that were asking me to stay. The moment stretched as we stared at each other in the almost-dark that was punctuated by the recurring chimes of the daily alarm. I bit my lip in consideration. Slowly, I slid my arm through his hand and left to take the pill.
CHAPTER 13
I RAKED MY EYES over the e-mail again, trying to decide how to respond.
From: David Dylan
Sent: Mon, May 7, 2012 08:23 AM CST
To: Olivia Germaine
Subject: RE: Chicago M - Meet & Greet Invitation
Olivia,
Thanks for the invitation. Of course I will be there. I’m headed over to my latest project in a few hours. Come along & we can discuss my bachelor status.
DAVID DYLAN
SENIOR ARCHITECT,
PIERSON/GREER
I checked my watch for no reason at all. I had things to do, but the interviews took precedence.
From: Olivia Germaine
Sent: Mon, May 7, 2012 08:31 AM CST
To: David Dylan
Subject: RE: Chicago M - Meet & Greet Invitation
I’m all yours, just name the time/place.
Olivia Germaine
Associate Editor,
Chicago Metropolitan Magazine
ChicagoMMag.com
He was somehow just as commanding over e-mail. Or was it me? I was letting him get to me. I reminded myself to have a talk with him about boundaries. I was losing control of the situation and it frightened me. Between his reckless text and working with Lucy, it was getting out of hand. What is though? I asked myself. Is it all in my head? Almost immediately, his response came through.
From: David Dylan
Sent: Mon, May 7, 2012 08:33 AM CST
To: Olivia Germaine
Subject: RE: Chicago M - Meet & Greet Invitation
That is music to my ears. I’ll be by at 11:30. Lunch is on me.
DAVID DYLAN
SENIOR ARCHITECT,
PIERSON/GREER
~
I started when Jenn
y alerted me to David’s arrival, surprised to see the time. Eleven thirty on the dot. I’d been engrossed in research all morning and had meant to meet him downstairs. In a rush, I smoothed a self-conscious hand over my hair. I was thankful for my conservative outfit of a short sleeve white button down and dark navy high-waisted pencil skirt. A swipe of pink lip gloss and I was all set. Clutching my briefcase to my chest, I entered the lobby, where Serena and Beman talked giddily with David.
“Olivia, you didn’t mention an appointment with Mr. Dylan today,” Beman said airily. He gave me a nod when David wasn’t looking. “We’re so thrilled that you’ve agreed to be a part of the piece this year, David.”
He responded with an uncharacteristically sheepish look as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope it doesn’t turn out too bad.”
“Oh no,” Beman started. “It will be quite the opposite. I expect you’ll receive an emphatic response,” he said, batting his eyelashes shamelessly. “You know, I’ve followed your work since that piece in the Tribune years ago. I’d love to come along and see the space,” he ventured.
“Mrs. Germaine and I will use this time for our interview. With my hectic schedule, this is the only time I could spare.” I smiled secretly.
“I completely understand. Please consider Liv at your disposal,” he said with an over the top laugh, as though it were a hilarious joke.
“Ready?” he asked, looking at me with his hands on his hips.
“After you, Mr. Dylan,” I said, holding my arm out for him.
“No,” he chuckled, swinging the door open with ease and gesturing for me to pass through. “After you.”
Once we were in the hallway, away from prying eyes, I felt myself relax a little in his presence. How he managed to both wrack and calm my nerves baffled me.
“That guy tells anyone you’re at their disposal again, and I’ll throw him through the wall.”
I searched his face for a hint of teasing but found none. I was alarmed by the excitement it stirred in me.
