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Wrapping herself in the sheet, she stumbles around looking for her clothes. It reminds me of our first night, and for some outlandish reason the memory fills me with warm satisfaction. We’ve come so far, yet we’re still carefully discovering the journey.
“Indian it is, my lady.” I pull my T-shirt over my head, meeting London’s frown. She has her hands on her hips. I raise my eyebrows. “Chop-chop, get dressed. I don’t think your dad wants to see you like this.”
“Did you just manipulate me into having dinner with you?” She rolls her eyes. “God, I hate dating a lawyer.”
“Fake dating, baby,” I deadpan. She was scared enough already. I need to make her comfortable before I tell her about my plan.
We visit with Micah, who seems to do better tonight. “It’s great you are working together now, but don’t forget to enjoy life a bit as well.” He pats Chils’s hand. Sitting in a wingback armchair Bianca had delivered for him, he looks smaller than before.
Squatting beside him, Chils is trying to remain cheerful, but I can see she’s forcing herself to act that way. Today’s loss of Madeleine still hovers over her, but I think it’s deeper than that. She faces death daily, but she’s not ready to face her father’s mortality. It will break her.
More than before, I know I need to stay around to help her pick up the pieces. Though I hope that time is still far, far away, and I’ll be able to get us to explore this relationship for real before that ever happens.
“I’m worried about Gio,” Bianca says. She is sipping her tea on the sofa.
“Why? Because he hasn’t been glued to his screen?” London stands up and sits on the armrest, wrapping her arm around her father’s shoulder.
“No. Well, yes, but there is more. He’s stubborn and doesn’t want to talk to me. You need to find out what’s going on.” Bianca takes a sip. It’s funny how her request almost sounds like a plea, or a suggestion, but it’s said with such finality, no one would dare to protest.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him.” London shrugs.
“I’m going to get ready for bed.” Micah pushes to standing, but almost collapses. I rush to help him and accompany him to his bedroom. Fuck, the man suffers from his loss of independence more than from his disease.
The women follow us, and we say our goodbyes and return to my place for dinner.
* * *
“You’re insane.” London jabs her fork in my direction.
“Why? Didn’t you say you’d like to expand what you do to other cities? The building would suit us. And you can get the upper crust of Chicago to donate just like you do here.” I push my plate away.
There’s no reason not to expand her work to Chicago. I found the perfect property, suitable for a hospice and a support center with a legal clinic.
“Suit us? Since when has all my hard work, years of building something, become ‘ours’? You bought the building here to make yourself feel better, but I don’t want you to go behind my back and plan my expansion. I take on as much as I can handle. Sorry if it’s not up to your standards.” She drops her fork.
Glaring at me, she folds her arms across her chest. Can’t she see this is a great plan to help more people? Is she really going to protest on principle?
“What the hell are you talking about? What if I did do it to feel better? Who cares about my motives as long as they benefit others? Let’s not forget you started helping others to repent for what you foolishly believe was your failure.” I stand up, my chair rocking back on two legs before dropping back down with a loud thud.
The minute my words come out, I know I’ve pushed too far. But damn it, I don’t care. I’m not someone who commonly loses my temper, but this woman is infuriating.
She stands up, her nostrils flaring as she clenches her fists a few times. “Don’t you judge my motivations. I have done nothing wrong intentionally. Not something you can say.”
Here we go again. “Of course, I’m the villain here. Just like you, I can’t fucking change the past, but I can try to atone. Or whatever it is I’m doing. People will benefit.”
My breath is fast-paced and shallow by the time I finish. It takes all my willpower not to pounce on her. I don’t even know if I want to shake her, spank her, or just fuck some sense into her.
I’ve trod so carefully to keep her around, to make her see how good we are together, and now I may have lost it. If she leaves, I have only myself to blame.
“Chils, I can make a few phone calls and get people lined up to donate enough for you to get things rolling.” I lean against the counter to soften the combative stance.
“I won’t launder money for your shady clients.” Her face is flushed, the vein in her neck pulsing. “The means do not always justify the end. Regardless of how kind or generous the end is.”
Is she for real? “What the hell? Why is anger always the first weapon and shield you grab? Always so damn angry. A mask you put on to deal with shit. Here you go, all victim because you didn’t get that one last chance to say goodbye to your boyfriend. You pour yourself into all this noble work, but it’s all fake.”
Pushing off the counter, I throw my arms up. “Because while you spread hope on one side of the city, you make sure you spit fire on the other. Angry at everyone, cold to those who try to get close. A victim and victimizer at the same time. The polarity is kind of exhausting. Decide who you fucking want to be, Chils.”
I pace around, unable to look at her, pissed and… goddammit, disappointed. I don’t get disappointed. My therapist would be thrilled. Isn’t disappointment a direct result of desire? Mission accomplished. I came here to quieten down and re-discover my desire. It fucking sucks. All these feelings are horrible.
