Come Undone (15 page)

I
refused her money and told her she could get the next one. I watched as she
climbed the steps and disappeared through the doors. When we pulled away, I took
out my phone and read a text from earlier.

May 5, 2012 9:09 PM

Btw… killin me in that gold dress, honeybee.

My
insides tightened. I should’ve been indignant at the brazen comment, but the
thought of him ogling me sent my mind into a tailspin. I stared at the text
almost the whole way home until, with a swipe of my finger, I deleted the
entire conversation.

“No
charge this evening,” said the cabby as he pulled up to the curb.

“I’m
sorry?” I asked.

“No
charge.” He smiled into the rearview mirror.

I
narrowed my eyes at him. “Why not?” I asked.

His
face fell, and his eyes darted away. “No charge, ma’am. Thank you. Good evening.”

“Well,
at least let me tip you,” I said, looking back into my purse.

“No, ma’am. No, thank you. It’s all taken care of.”

I
gaped at him.
Refusing a tip? What?
“All
right,” I conceded finally. “Goodnight.”

I
exited the cab and watched him drive off, wondering which institution he’d just
escaped from. Then I remembered my conversation with David. He had orchestrated
this. He didn’t want me walking home. How had he known I would take the ride? Did
he think he knew me so well? I bristled at the thought.

~

I sighed
heavily, stretching out my legs. The wine had put me into a mini coma, and I
woke groggily. Bill’s hand reached out and pulled me closer, sliding over my
front. I felt him against my backside and panicked. He hadn’t attempted sex
since New York, when I’d been on my period. It meant we hadn’t slept together
since the night I first saw David. There he was again, infiltrating my
thoughts, when I should be focusing on Bill. I felt his face in my neck, and
his mouth on my jawbone.

“Bill,”
I said quietly. “I can’t, I’m so hungover.” And it was the truth. A wave of nausea
rippled through me, and I sat up. Bill flopped over and sighed, making no
secret of his dissatisfaction. I headed to the bathroom to wash my face,
letting the warm water momentarily soothe me. When I came out, he was gone, and
I was greeted with the comforting smell of brewing coffee.

“How was last night?” he asked, unfazed by my
earlier rejection.

“Nice,” I said, climbing onto a barstool.
“Spirits were high, and the food was yummy.”

“And the head chef?”

“Seems really sweet. Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance
against Gretchen, though.”

He laughed. “How does she do it? She’s a pretty
girl but damn, I wouldn’t touch her.”

“Why not?”

“She’s always dating someone new, who knows how
many guys she’s slept with? Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”

“Babe, she doesn’t sleep with all the guys she
goes out with, and if she did, who cares? That doesn’t make her a bad person.”

“I’m just saying, it would be a deal breaker for
me.”

“So if you’d found out I had a reputation, you
never would have gone out with me?”

“Probably not. I don’t want to know that half of
Chicago has seen my wife naked. I’m not going to find that out am I?” he
teased, grimacing.

“No.” I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Why should my history have anything to do
with the way Bill feels about me?

“Not only that, but she’s sometimes dating two
guys at once.”

“That’s not that unusual when you’re single.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Bill, come on. She’s your friend, don’t call
her disgusting.”

“Let’s be honest Liv, she’s a little slutty. And
one day it’s going to catch up with her.”

He was pushing me into an argument, but I set my
jaw and let it slide. I had no problem with Gretchen enjoying her freedom, and
I knew one day she’d meet a great guy who wouldn’t care about that either.

“Anyway,” he continued, “the chef may not last,
but I never thought I stood a chance with you.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Oh, please,” I said with a shy smile.

“It’s true. I thought you were way out of my
league. Guess I got lucky,” he said, winking.

“Bill, you’re making me blush.”

“All right. How do you feel about an omelet this
morning?” he asked, brandishing a pan.

“Sounds amazing.”

~

Later that
afternoon, I started when my cell phone hit me in the leg.

“What?
Where’d you get this?” I asked, retrieving it from the end of the couch.

“Your
purse.” I hadn’t even seen him get up, but my purse was in the kitchen. I
quickly escalated from confusion to panic when I remembered last night’s texts.
Had I deleted them?
Nothing is even going
on
, I thought as my heart raced.
Nothing
is going on. I’ll just tell him -

“You
should call Leanore.”

I
blinked. Relief flooded over me as tension melted me back into the couch. I pulled
a pillow over my face and asked myself, “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“You
can’t ignore your own mother on her birthday.”

“I’m
not ignoring her,” I said defensively. “And why don’t you call her if it’s so
important?”

“Liv.
Call her,” he repeated.

I
reluctantly pulled up her number and hesitated a moment. “I don’t know what to
say.”

“Just
wish her a happy birthday. Tell her you love her. Tell her you miss her.” I
made a face.

She
picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” she said cheerily.

“Hi,
Mom.” There was a pause on the line. “Mom?”

“Olivia?”

“Yes,
unless you have some secret daughter I don’t know about. Are you there?”

“Yes,
yes. How are you, Olivia?”

“I’m
fine, Mom. I just called to wish you a happy birthday.”
      
“I didn’t
think I would hear from you. It’s been months.”

“I
know, I’m sorry about that. How are you?”

“I’m
well. I keep trying to get in touch with your father. I could use some cash,
but he won’t take my calls.”

“Mom,
he doesn’t owe you alimony anymore, you know that,” I said, half rolling my
eyes at Bill.

“I
know, but I don’t understand why he can’t just help me out.”

“You
know why, mom. Don’t play the victim. Anyway, he has just finalized his divorce
with Gina, so he has his hands full.”

“That’s
what she gets for breaking up a marriage,” she muttered for maybe the millionth
time.
She didn’t break up a marriage,
I thought.
You did.

“How’s
the book coming?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“All
right.”

“Care
to tell me about it?”

“It’s
not there yet.”

“I
see. You’re keeping busy though?”

“What
do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,
I just want to be sure that you’re not . . . bored.”

“Olivia,
please stop insinuating things.”

I
sighed. “I’m not, Mom. You sound well.”

“How’s
Bill?” she asked with a lightened tone.

“He’s
working a lot, but he’s good,” I said, looking over at him again. He was
engrossed with something on his phone. “He says ‘hello.’”

“Good
boy. He works hard so he can take care of you. You got lucky with that one.”

I
pursed my lips at the backhanded compliment. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“I
should get going. I’ve had a long weekend. Thank you for calling, and give Bill
my love.”

“All
right. Happy birthday.” I hit ‘End’ and sighed. When I looked up, Bill was watching
me.

“That
was pitiful,” he said.

“You
know how she can be.”

“I
know how you both can be.”

“What’s
that supposed to mean?”

“It
means that this way that you are, you learned it from her. When it comes to you
and your dad, she’s cold even if she doesn’t mean it.”

“I
am not like her. She’s never been good at expressing herself, it’s always been
one extreme or the other: great indifference or irrational madness. I don’t
know how to make her happy.”

“It
sounds like she hasn’t been happy since you guys left. Maybe she wants you to
come back.”

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.