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“It just depends. I usually see them at least once a week, but I haven’t lately. Maybe I’ll get them this weekend. The girls like staying with Scott’s parents more than anyone else, so they get first babysitting dibs, unless they have something going on since they genuinely want them each time they’re asked.”
“That’s cool. I’m sure Stephanie will enjoy that if no one else. Do you want kids one day?”
So many answers rush forward, but none of them will do. What’s the best, most honest answer I can give him? Marc surprisingly doesn’t say anything when it takes me a minute to answer him. With a deep breath, I say, “I haven’t really given it much thought since Roger died.” That’s all I can say that’s one hundred percent honest. “You?”
“I love kids, but I’m not sure yet.”
“I think we’re supposed to have our lives figured out by now.”
He laughs. “I know you probably think I am, but it might surprise you that I’m just like you.”
“How so?”
“I’m not perfect either.”
That is what makes me grin. Maybe it’s because he didn’t add any more of his stupid lines, or because I don’t know. Maybe because that’s his way of admitting that he’s somehow screwed up, too. The thought makes me lose my smile. In what ways could he be screwed up? Maybe those stupid lines are a show. But, surely, his smile isn’t.
What if it sometimes is?
A trickle of fear begins to ice my veins. The reason I like Marc so much is because of those stupid lines and those smiles and that personality. What if there’s another version hidden underneath? I need to hold my breath and hope that he is perfect. I don’t know if I can handle someone else who is dysfunctional when I was drawn to seemingly overwhelming strength that I was sure could be found at his very core.
“Elizabeth? Are you falling asleep on me? You better not be, or I’ll be insulted and I might even cry.”
I force a laugh. “I’m not asleep. Yet,” I tease.
“I should let you go back to bed. It’s late here, so I know it’s late there. I just...” His voice trails off as if to confirm there’s a demon lurking behind his smile. “I just wanted to talk to you, and I’m glad I did.”
“Feel better?”
“Yes,” he answers simply.
“Me too.”
“I feel even better now.” I laugh, but he speaks again before I can. “Good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night, Marco Polo.”
I hear him chuckle before he hangs up, and I wish we were video chatting, so I could’ve seen his
smile. Surprisingly, I fall asleep with ease even as I realize just how much I’ve come to like a man I wanted nothing to do with.
I MADE THE mistake of answering a call from my father. It’s the worst decision I’ve made in a while. Sometimes I feel guilty for how I feel toward him because he did raise me on his own when he could’ve given me away, but at some point, the gratefulness fades and all that’s left is this plywood on my shoulders that carries the heavy weight of anger and hatred in one pail and helplessness and responsibility in the other. It’s hard to balance the two when it comes to Francis Polinski.
Thank fuck for Elizabeth. I’ve talked to her every night this week, and hearing her voice is all it takes to make me feel a little better. She tells me about her day. I’d thought she’d tell me the same thing every day based on how mundane she makes her job sound, but she talks about different regulars. There’s an older gentleman who likes to go in and flirt with her. He brings her a cup of sweet tea every time. There’s a woman who likes to talk about what’s going on with her children while her transactions are in progress. There’s a guy in his early twenties who adds “man” or “you know” as his every third word, she swears.
She’s supposed to get Scotty’s girls Saturday night. I’ve actually been a little worried that she’ll be too busy with them to talk to me. Which, by the time I can call after the game, it’ll be so late, I probably shouldn’t call anyway. With a glance at my phone, I realize I’m late to meeting Noah.
We’re in California. We had a “free” day that was spent mostly doing fun team bonding activities, but the night is ours to do as we please. Noah and I are about to grab some dinner. Well, as soon as I meet him down in the lobby.
Ian Rhett, aka Bruiser, is on his phone, which is no surprise. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so he hasn’t lowered his voice to make his conversation more discreet. “Why don’t you want me to take a day to visit, babe? You don’t want to see me?” There’s a pause as he pushes the button for the elevator. “Why the fuck not?” I step to the opposite side of the elevator doors and his eyes narrow when he sees me. He looks away as the doors open and we step inside. He pulls his phone away from his ear to stare at it. “Fucking bitch hung up on me.” With a huff, Bruiser folds his arms and leans against the wall. “What? She can be a bitch and if she hadn’t hung up on me, I’d let her know she was being one.”
“Probably would’ve gotten the same results.”
For some reason, that makes him smile a little. “You’re right about that.” Then he sighs.
That is a sigh I know well. That’s the kind of sigh I heard whenever Noah was thinking about Meredith and wishing she was here, but knowing he wasn’t going to have her anytime soon. Ian might be in a similar situation. It is definitely odd if he has a girlfriend, which I’m assuming based on the ‘babe’ comment, that she doesn’t want to see him. But then, if he’ll call her out for being a bitch, maybe she’s holding a grudge from the last time he called her that.
Elizabeth didn’t like me calling her uptight. I can only imagine her reaction had I called her a bitch. Honestly, I didn’t think any man could get away with calling his woman that, but it seems that Ian may be able to.
