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This is a bit irritating and insulting.
“You’re being ridiculous, sweetheart. It seems to me that you’re allowing your silly sense of pride and independence get in the way of good decision making. We’ve already begun the menu collaboration. How did you think we would keep going with that? Via a chat room online? I have plenty of space, and you can have your own bedroom and bathroom, for god’s sake. I like you because you aren’t like other women, but this little fit is fucking annoying, Whit. Why are you creating a fight where there doesn’t need to be one?”
That was the wrong move. She doesn’t say a word and stomps up the stairs like a petulant child before slamming a door somewhere on the second floor. I take my coffee and my phone to sit out on the balcony in the early morning sun and check my email. I should just let her go home and sulk alone, but I want her here. I tell myself it is the logical thing for us to do at the moment; quarantining together will be productive.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s all because of the pandemic, right? I’m bored, and I have the extra space, and besides, it’s good for my business. But somehow, I know that’s not all.
I take my time and finish my coffee, giving us both time to cool off. I guess this would be our first fight. It’s odd, because I rarely argue with women I’ve been involved with romantically. I find myself trying to recall a memorable disagreement in my past relationships, and I can’t. It’s sad, but I’ve never really cared enough to feel very strongly. I just let the women have their way, and then walk away when things get out of hand.
I suppose my previous relationships were disposable. I don’t mean that the women were trash, or I thought of them as having no value. They were all beautiful, but really quite shallow. In the back of my mind I knew they were temporary and so I never cared enough to put any effort into correcting a misunderstanding. I guess that would make me shallow, too.
But now, I realize that I do want to smooth things out with Whitney. She’s worth it, and the sassy girl gets under my skin like no one else. Resolute, I seek her out on the second floor of the penthouse, and lo and behold, the only door closed in the long hallway is the library.
I knock, even though this is my property.
“Yes?” her voice sounds normal again, the signs of irritation gone.
I enter to find my traitor cat curled up on her lap and a leather bound book with tentacles snaking across the cover in her hands. There are so many books in this library that I can’t recognize each by its cover alone.
“What are you reading?” I ask, easing back into conversation with her.
“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It’s one of my dad’s favorites. We read it together several times when I was growing up. We’d read a chapter every night before bed until we finished the book. This is a beautiful copy you have here, by the way. The embossed leather cover is exquisite. Do you know where you got it? I’d love to get a copy for my dad for Father’s Day.”
I smile wryly.
“It likely came from an auction I went to. I tend to buy un-inventoried lots of books when I go to Sotheby’s. It’s like opening a treasure chest when I get them home.”
“Maybe I could write to the publisher to see where I can get a copy,” she suggests, leafing back to the cover page of the novel.
I close my hand over hers on the cowhide cover, and shake my head.
“Take this one and give it to your father, Whit. It sounds like this means a lot to the two of you and god knows, I haven’t touched that one in ages.”
“I can’t take this from you,” she protests, and I am again tempted to tell her she is being ridiculous.
“You can. Whitney, can you try to see that I like doing things for you? I have more money than I will ever be able to spend and you allowing me to do things for you doesn’t make you less capable or intelligent or independent. It just makes you objective enough to know how to accept gifts when they come your way. The benefits will trickle down to others too. Whether it’s keeping your employees in jobs or giving a meaningful gift to your father, refusing to take from me would ultimately make those you care for lose out too.”
She’s silent for a moment, looking down at her hands.
“It’s hard to be mad at you when you put it that way. I’m grateful for all you have done for me and those I care about. Maybe you could just pretend to let me make my own decisions?”
