She, Myself & I (34 page)

“She’s upset about that. She asked me why you’re avoiding her,” Sophie said. “Is this the coffee shop you two were talking about? Yup, that’s where Paige is turning.”

“Every time I’ve been to the house, Dad’s always there, and all they want to do is talk about the wedding. And I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want to hear about her dress, or be a stupid bridesmaid, or read poetry at the ceremony,” I said, slumping forward.

“I know, I used to feel the same way,” Sophie said, pulling into a parking spot and coming to an abrupt stop.

“But not now?”

“No. I’m okay with it. I mean, it isn’t really about us, it’s about them. And strange as it may be, they make each other happy now,” Sophie said.

“Why couldn’t they make each other happy when I was growing up? I had to shuttle back and forth between Mom’s house and Dad’s apartment like I was some kind of a pet dog. I had to deal with their constant fighting, and their dating other people, and all of the ugliness, and now that I’m grown up and on my own, they just
now
get it together? It sucks,” I said.

Sophie nodded. “I know, but we don’t have any more control over how they act now than we did back then. So there’s no point in getting upset about it. And at least the screaming fights have stopped.”

“For now,” I said bleakly.

“I think things will be different this time. Did I tell you they asked me to take photos at the reception? It will be my first wedding, and I’ll be able to start a portfolio. I think I’m going to shoot it all in black and white,” she mused.

“Great,” I said without enthusiasm.

We climbed out of the Tahoe, and Sophie untangled Ben from his car seat. “Mick, you really should tell them soon. I know you’re angry at Mom and Dad about the wedding stuff, but not telling them about medical school is just wrong.”

“What about medical school?” Paige asked. She appeared behind us.

“Nothing,” I said brightly.

“Mick,” Sophie said.

“Nothing,” I insisted, giving Soph the evil eye and mouthing,
You promised.

Sophie shrugged. “Fine. But you know my feelings on the subject.”

“You two are going to have to tell me what’s going on,” Paige insisted.

“Okay. We’ll tell you as soon as you tell us what happened between you and Zack,” Sophie said sweetly.

“On the other hand, sharing is overrated,” Paige said and she turned and walked into the coffee shop ahead of us.

Chapter Thirty-eight

“How come we never go anywhere?” I asked Oliver.

We were lying in his bed, naked, watching a boring Jackie Chan movie on television. Oliver was very still, and his eyes were slitted, so when he didn’t answer, I thought he might be asleep. I was wide awake, my body curled around a flat, musty pillow. I wanted to stretch my body against the length of his and slide the flat of my hand over the hair on his chest, but I didn’t want to risk waking him. Instead, I picked up the remote and changed the channel to an old rerun of
Friends
. It was the one where Rachel loses Ross’s monkey. A classic.

“I was watching that,” Oliver said.

I sighed and changed the channel back to Jackie Chan.

“Why don’t we ever go anywhere? All we do is hang out in your apartment,” I said.

“Where else can we go? I thought you said your sister moved back into your apartment,” Oliver said.

I gazed at him, thinking how beautiful he looked lying there. I’ve never thought men’s bodies were all that attractive—too much hair and weird dangling parts. But Oliver was lithe and muscular, and his olive-toned skin was supple to the touch. I rolled over and rested my head on the crook of his arm, and when he wrapped his arm around me, I sank against him with pleasure.

Was this love? I wondered. Sometimes, as I felt his chest rise and fall, the heat of his skin on my face, I thought yes, absolutely. Then other times, when we were at work and pretending not to know or care about one another, the charade would suddenly seem real.

Did Oliver ever think about me when we were apart? I wondered. Did the scent of rosemary remind him of my shampoo? Did he smile to himself as he recalled a joke we’d shared?

“She is. We can’t go there,” I said. “But I mean, why don’t we go out? To dinner, or a movie or something.”

“God, Mickey, what do you want from me? I spend more time with you than anyone else. We’re together almost every night, and we work late. What, do you want to go out to dinner at midnight?”

I could feel him shifting away from me, irritated, crowded. I panicked. That was how I used to feel when Nick would bring up getting engaged, or moving in together after graduation. It had felt like the whole world was closing in on me, and I’d be stuck staring at him for the rest of my life. Living in suburban Pittsburgh—his hometown, where he’d always been clear he wanted to return to—in a horrible split-level ranch with brown linoleum kitchen floors, a plastic swing set in the backyard, and Sunday-night pot roast at his parents’ house. And all the while, I’d just feel more and more trapped.

“No. I mean . . . I don’t know. I just thought it would be fun to go out. But we don’t have to, we can just keep doing this,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, wanting to placate him.

“Do you have any idea how much pressure I’m under right now?” Oliver asked. He sat up abruptly, bending over to retrieve his underwear from the bedroom floor. “I have to turn Versa around. You know the last chef nearly drove the restaurant into the ground.”

“I thought business was going well.”

“For now. But things could change just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And if that happens, then there goes all of my profit sharing. If I’m ever going to open my own restaurant, I need to take a profit out of this place.”

“I understand,” I said, reaching out to rest my hand on his sloping shoulder. He stood up, and my hand slid off, falling to the bed. “Are you going to open your restaurant here in Austin?”

“It’s not my first choice. That would be Miami, or even New York. But if I build a reputation here, I might stay,” he said. He pulled a T-shirt on over his head and then snapped on a pair of ratty blue sweatpants. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

I took a deep breath and tried to suppress the whine I could feel coming:
Why can’t I spend the night with you here?
We’d been over this one. I hated being dropped off at 2 a.m. It made me feel like a whore being deposited back on her corner. But Oliver had a demanding job, I knew, and he worked late and then had to get up early to meet suppliers or the owner of the restaurant, or deal with whatever crisis might pop up. And it seemed as though the restaurant was always having one kind of an emergency or another—staff was quitting, competition was edging in, profits weren’t up as far as expected.

Someday I’ll be handling all of this, I reminded myself.

“Maybe after you open your restaurant, I can come work there. After I finish school, I mean,” I said, standing and pulling on my bra and underwear, before retrieving my work uniform from where it lay crumpled in the corner. I’d once suggested bringing some clothes to leave at Oliver’s house—sweats or pj’s, something I could slip into after work—but he seemed irritated by the idea and dodged the question. I hadn’t brought it up again.

Sometimes I felt like my age was putting me at a disadvantage; I simply didn’t know the rules for dating a thirty-four-year-old man. All of my previous boyfriends had been my age. Nick would never have minded if I left every stitch of clothing I owned at his place, nor would he have ever asked me to leave in the middle of the night. But then, Nick didn’t have a real job, and he spent every afternoon playing Xbox games with his best friend, Fitch.

Now Oliver just laughed and pulled me toward him.

“You’re adorable,” he said, burying his head in my hair, his hands sliding down until they cupped my ass. I was wearing yet another new lingerie set, this one a solid purple satin, with a lightly padded demi-bra and matching thong bikini underwear. The thong had me wriggling with discomfort all night at work—I couldn’t get used to the feeling of a permanent wedgie—but it had really turned Oliver on.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and wondered if he’d want to make love again. I hoped so. That way I’d get to stay here with him for longer, and maybe it would get to be so late, I could just spend the night.

And then Oliver was plucking at the underwear, sliding his hands underneath the waistband. His mouth moved to my neck, kissing the soft skin of my throat in the way that he knew made me melt.

“I thought you wanted to get some sleep,” I said, testing him.

“I’m not so tired right now,” Oliver murmured. And then he was turning me around, discarding my bra, and leaning me forward, moving the thong to the side, while he pushed into me.

Chapter Thirty-nine

“I’m glad you’ve got the night off,” Paige said, pushing the shopping cart through Central Market. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I can’t take another night of eating alone.” She stopped and peered into a glass case filled with prepared food. “The mushroom lasagna looks good. How does that sound to you? We could get some garlic bread and a Caesar salad to go with it.”

I looked doubtfully into the shopping cart that already contained a six-pack of double-chocolate cupcakes, croissants, five containers of Yoplait yogurt (“The baby needs extra calcium”), three different kinds of jam, a bag of chocolate chips, two boxes of butter sticks, frozen waffles, and two cartons of ice cream—one strawberry, one mint chocolate chip. Also nestled in the cart was a vanilla-scented pillar candle and satin-nickel candleholder that I’d gotten for Oliver’s apartment, thinking it might warm it up. Last week, I’d given him a framed black-and-white photograph of a Paris grocer’s market to hang in his living room, and he’d seemed to really like it.

What was he doing right now? I wondered, checking my watch. The dinner rush had already started, so Oliver was likely at his normal station, a generous worktable in front of him, the six-burner cooktop at his back, where he personally made many of the entrées that were served at Versa. He’d be in his crisp white jacket, his hatless head lowered in concentration over whatever it was he was cooking or prepping. His dark brown hair would be curling down over his forehead, slightly moist with sweat while he worked.

“Who’s going to eat all of this food?” I asked Paige, making a good-faith effort to shake off the Oliver obsession.

“We are! Come on, Mick, you always have a huge appetite,” Paige said.

“I guess,” I said. “But maybe we should get something healthy, too. Aren’t you supposed to be watching what you eat?”

“No,” Paige said firmly. “This is the one time in my life when I can eat whatever I want. And don’t nag me, you sound like Zack.”

“I’m not nagging. I just think that maybe we should add in a token vegetable to soak up all of the grease and sugar.”

“Ha-ha. Oh, look, crème brûlée!”

“We already have ice cream and cupcakes,” I said.

“Maybe you’re right. Speaking of dessert, I talked to Kevin today,” Paige said in a too-casual tone of voice that I knew all too well. There was a lecture coming. “He said that you seem to be getting cozy with your boss at the restaurant.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me. You know what I’m talking about,” Paige said.

I knew exactly what she was talking about. The night before, after we thought that everyone had left for the night, Oliver and I made love in his office. It was incredibly uncomfortable, since he wanted me to lie down on his steel desk while he stood in front of me, and the desk had been hard and cold. And then Oliver couldn’t get any good traction, and every time he thrust his hips forward, the desk would slide across the floor, screeching loudly while my head bounced on the top.

After we had finished and dressed, and were walking out of the restaurant, Oliver said, “I’m going to just drop you at home tonight,” and I was silent, resenting this dismissal, when Kevin walked out of the back kitchen where he did all of his baking.

“Hey, Kevin. What are you doing here so late?” Oliver said.

“Just sorting out some stuff. I think I’m going to make bread pudding soufflés as a special for dinner tomorrow,” Kevin said. His eyes flickered from Oliver to me, and self-consciously I raised a hand to smooth down my disheveled hair.