Just a Number (36 page)

“What the hell is going on?” she demands.

I lead her through my apartment and into the living room where I offer her a seat. “It’s a long story. Would you like a glass of wine? Coffee, perhaps? Maybe tea?”

Samm ponders her options for a second before requesting wine. I go to the kitchen and pour her a glass, returning to find her with her legs pulled up comfortably beside her as she rests against the arm of my couch.

I sit on the other end of the couch, and she shifts slightly so she can look at me while we talk. “So?”

“What did he tell you?”

Samm sighs, looking down into her glass. “I don’t even know if I understood him. He sounded loaded. I’ve known him to drink and to even get a little carried away, but he sounded…”

“Destroyed?” I finish for her, my guilt over everything that’s happened overwhelming me.

“For one,” she replies. “He kept saying something about Amy dating an older man. Your name came up a few times, too.” Samm sighs, shaking her head. I can see that she’s come to the conclusion about Amelia and me dating, but she’s still confused and maybe in a state of denial. “I hate to even suggest it for fear of offending you…” She bites down on her lower lip, something Amelia picked up from her. “Are the two of you…you know…together?”

My silence is all the confirmation she needs. “Seriously? Didn’t you just get separated?”

“Almost two months ago, yes,” I reply, my voice hoarse. “Look, Samm, we didn’t intend—”

“To fall into bed with each other?” she asks, a disbelieving smirk on her face. “That doesn’t just accidentally happen, Owen.”

I have to bite back a smirk of my own and a quip about how that’s actually exactly how all of this began—our falling into bed while intoxicated being the event that sparked our relationship. Instead, I shake my head. “I get that, but that’s not what I was going to say. Neither of us saw this turning into something worth having to explain to anyone.”

“So you planned to just sleep together?”

“Don’t cheapen it,” I say defensively. “It was a mutual decision between two consenting adults.”

Samm sits across from me, staring at me in silence for a minute, and I can actually see that she doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Alan. Actually, she doesn’t seem upset at all. Just confused and curious.

“Owen,” she begins, “I didn’t come out here to give you a hard time. Lord knows I have no room to judge a relationship with an age gap, given my husband is seven years younger than me. Alan’s phone call was confusing, and quite honestly, it scared me. I’ve never known him to be that angry or hurt by anything—not even when we divorced—and I worried. I care about him, and I love Amy…and you. I needed to know if I was understanding him correctly, and if I was, I wanted to be there for him.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Mad? No. A little bewildered, maybe, but not mad.”

“Have you talked to him since?” I ask. “What about Amelia?” It’s probably a stupid question, because surely she’s tried to call Amelia.

“I called Amy’s phone earlier this morning, but she didn’t answer. I also stopped by her place first, but she wasn’t home. I figured, if I was right, I’d find the two of you together.”

After taking a sip of wine, I tell her, “She’s with Alan. I loaned her my car and told her to go talk to him.”

“Was that a good idea with him being as upset as he is?”

“He won’t hurt her,” I assure her.

“Not intentionally,” Samm says softly. “But you know as well as I do that Alan has two methods of coping: overreacting—which I’m guessing you’ve experienced first-hand based on that bruise—and withdrawing. His silence could hurt her worse than anything he might say.”

“Well, she’s had enough of his silence over the past few days. She needed to try and break through,” I explain, setting my glass on the coffee table.

Accepting this, Samm nods. “Is it serious?”

“I’d say the situation is pretty serious, yes.”

Samm laughs lightly. “No, doofus. You and Amy. Is it serious?”

It’s definitely weird talking to Amelia’s mother about our relationship. Though, I suppose as long as she’s not asking for details or punching me in the face, I should be okay.

“Yeah, it is. Like I said, we didn’t expect it, but it happened.”

“As long as she’s happy, then I’m happy.” A pause falls between us again before the mood in the room turns deadly. “But, so help me, Owen, if you hurt her, I will
end
you.”

Swallowing thickly, I nod, my eyes widening as I take in the serious tenor of her tone. “Noted.”

“Does Gretchen know?” Now there seems to be a lilt of humor in her tone, momentarily giving me emotional whiplash; Samm’s always hated Gretchen. I really should have picked up on this before marrying her. I probably could have saved myself a lot of heartache and money.

Of course, on the flip side, had I never married Gretchen, I could have met someone who made me happy and then I’d still be married and not with Amelia. Somewhat of a Catch-22, I suppose.

“Not really,” I reply. “She knows I’m with someone, even implied it was Amelia before we’d decided anything. But she doesn’t know who.”

Samm seems almost disappointed. “Pity.” Yup. That’s disappointment. “Can you imagine the look on her face when she finds out?”

I shake my head at Samm’s positive outlook. Her view compared to Alan’s is refreshing, yet somewhat off-putting; but it’s also very Samm. She’s always been a pretty free spirit, never seeing a person’s age as a reason why they can’t be with someone. Which I suppose makes sense given her husband, Will, is almost a decade younger than her.

“It should be interesting,” I agree before we fall into a comfortable conversation. Wanting to steer the topic away from Amelia and me—mainly because I don’t feel right having this discussion without her here—I ask about her vacation with Will, and she tells me that it was wonderful, though she hated not being able to attend Alan’s party. It wasn’t often she and Will took him up on the invite, but every once in a while, they were able to make it. I always admired that she and Alan had remained close after their divorce. I know this isn’t something Gretchen and I will be able to pull off, and it only makes me more thankful that we’d never had any children. It makes for an exceptionally clean break.

So long as she signs the damn papers without much more trouble.

We catch up over the next hour and a half, when suddenly we’re interrupted by the sound of a key slipping into the lock. There’s only one other person with a set of keys to my place. At first, I’m elated that she’s decided to come home tonight, but then I wonder if that’s a good sign or a bad one. Does this mean that her conversation with her dad didn’t go well?

I excuse myself from the living room and round the corner to the entryway just as Amelia slips through the door. She smiles upon seeing me, and there’s something in her eyes that tells me things must have gone well.

Relieved, I pull her into my arms and lift her up until I’m kissing the side of her neck. “You’re back.”

Slowly, I lower her back to the floor, remembering that her mother is just in the other room. I’m just about to fill her in as her hands slide down my chest and her fingers curl into my shirt, but she speaks before I get the chance. “I am, and I’m so happy to be,” she replies, moving up onto her toes to kiss me.

Then she hesitates, looking deep into my eyes, searching. She must see how nervous I suddenly am about our unexpected company.

Then, just as I’m about to try to tell her again, Samm enters the equation. “Amy?”

I can tell the instant her voice registers with Amelia, because her eyes widen and she slowly leans to the left, keeping her hands on my chest as she peers around me. “Mom?”

Her confusion is obvious as she looks back and forth between us, trying to assess the situation, but soon enough it disappears, and all I see is fear and anxiety.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asks, looking back to me for answers, but before I can say anything, Samm walks around me and pulls Amelia into her arms.

“Hi, baby. It’s so good to see you,” Samm croons.

Amelia’s arms wind around her mother as they embrace. I can tell that Amelia’s still stunned, her wide eyes looking up at me for some kind of explanation.

Before I can say something, though, Samm releases Amelia, holding her at arm’s length by her upper arms. “You’re not happy to see me?”

Instantly, Amelia’s worry disappears, and it’s replaced by guilt and remorse. “Oh, no. Just surprised. I’m sorry.” Nervous, Amelia eyes me and then her mother again. “And not to make it sound like I’m contradicting that, but…what are you doing here?”

Before Samm can answer, I rest my right hand on the small of Amelia’s back. She jumps slightly, almost recoiling. When her eyes meet mine, I see fear.

She still isn’t aware that her mother knows. Which only makes sense given she just walked through the door.

Offering her a warm smile, I rest my hand on her back again. This time she doesn’t pull away, but she does glance quickly to her mother to make sure everything’s okay. “Why don’t you and your mother go to the living room and talk?” I suggest. “I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”

“O-okay,” she stammers, still clearly confused.

From the kitchen, I hear them settle on the couch. One glimpse into the living room, and I see that Samm has picked the armchair while Amelia is sitting in the centre of the couch. I’ve just finished pouring Amelia’s wine when the timer on the stove goes off, signaling our dinner is ready.

Yes, I’d totally forgotten I’d started dinner when Samm showed up.

“Samm?” I call out. “Did you want to stay for dinner?”

There’s a pause, and when I peek into the living room, I see her looking to Amelia expectantly. “Well, I don’t want to impose,” she replies.

Amelia smiles, looking between us again. “You wouldn’t be imposing. Please stay.”

Once Samm agrees, I bring Amelia her wine and tell them to sit and visit while I set the table for three. I’m hoping that since Samm and I have already spoken that the conversation with Amelia goes as smoothly.

“So, Owen tells me you went to visit your father,” Samm begins, making me pause and listen in. I realize eavesdropping is impolite, but I’m curious to see how her talk with Alan went. She seemed in good spirits when she arrived home, so that’s got to be a good omen, right?

“I did,” she says, and I sense a nervous lilt to her tone.

“And?” Samm continues to prod. “How is he?”

“He’s…um…” Amelia clears her throat. “He’s okay.”

“Okay.” There’s a longer than normal pause, and just as I’m about to intervene, Samm carries on. “How okay is okay, Amy?”

Amelia releases a loud sigh, and when I look over, I see her sitting forward, her elbows on her knees and her hands buried in her hair. “Before I answer that, I think there’s something you should know.”

Ignoring the task at hand, I move away from the table and into the space between the living room and dining room, watching a little more closely as Amelia raises her eyes to her mother’s. Smiling, Samm leans forward, placing her hand over Amelia’s fidgeting ones. “Sweetie, I know.”

“Y-you know?” Amelia repeats, her eyelids fluttering as she shifts her gaze to mine.

Before she can get more information from either of us, I nod toward the dining room. “Why don’t we talk about it over dinner, sweetheart?”

26. Talk to Me

C
onfused and at a loss for words, I stare at my full dinner plate. Owen’s really gone to a lot of trouble to prepare this meal, and I feel awful that my appetite seems to have withered and died. I’m not the only one not eating, however; both Owen and my mom sit around the table with full plates and empty forks, watching me expectantly.

She knows
. This one thought repeats over and over in my head. I know I should just ask how she knows, but I’m terrified. Why? I’m not too sure. Could be that I’m afraid she’ll react how Dad did when he found out… Of course, this seems unlikely the more I consider it, especially since she doesn’t appear upset in the least. She seems at ease and, dare I say it, happy for me.

But why?

I decide I need to know now, so, with a sigh, I meet my mother’s intense stare and start talking. “So, you know.” She nods. “H-how did you find out?” I glance over at Owen, maybe looking for some sign of guilt. Had he told her? If so, what prompted him to do this without me? I don’t think I’m mad—shocked, sure, but not mad. I would have liked to have been here for this conversation. I’m pretty sure I deserved at least that.

“Your father called me.”

Huh?
Somehow, this doesn’t make any sense. It’s only been a couple of days since he found out, and only a few hours since I actually got to talk to him. He never mentioned talking to Mom while I was in town, and timeline-wise, there’s no way he called her after we talked and had her fly out here in time.

“When?” I croak, my throat suddenly dry. I grab my water and take a sip, hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t.

“New Year’s Day,” she replies softly, and I mentally stumble.

“What? He didn’t mention calling you… How is that even possible?” My palms begin to sweat, and my skin warms as I shoot my eyes back Owen’s way.