“People who can afford Louis don’t clip coupons,” she’d said loudly. “That’s how you can tell it’s a knock-off.”
“Maybe people who clip coupons save enough money to be able to afford name brand purses,” I’d snapped back. “Stop being so shallow and judgmental.”
She sulked for two days. Claiming I had attacked her rather than defended her. We fought about how she put things above people. It was a turnoff to me to watch someone place that much value on a thing. After she stormed out, I had two days of peace, during which I seriously considered ending things with her.
Until she showed up at my condo with a pie she’d baked, full of apologies. She brought one of her Chanel purses with her, and I watched in fascination as she pulled scissors from her purse and cut it up in front of me. It seemed like such a sincere and contrite gesture, I softened. She hadn’t changed. Neither had I, I guess. I was still in love with another woman. Still faking it with her. Still too unsure to do anything about it.
But, now I was tired.
“I have to go,” I said, standing up. “I have to meet someone for coffee.”
“A girl?” she asked right away.
“Yes.”
Our eyes locked. Where I’d expected to see hurt, maybe tears, she only looked angry. I kissed her on the forehead before I walked out.
I might have been doing this in the wrong way, the selfish way, the damn cowardice way — but I was doing it.
I drop Olivia off at her office. On the ride over, she barely says two words to me. After what just happened between us I don’t know what to say either. I know one thing for sure — Noah wants her back. I could almost laugh. Join the club, motherfucker.
He’s been gone for three months and is finally getting withdrawals.
It’s drizzling when we pull into the parking lot. She opens the door and gets out without a backward glance. I watch her walk toward her car, her shoulders not quite as stiff as they usually are. I suddenly throw my door open and run around the car, jogging to catch up to her. I grab her arm as she reaches for the door and fling her around until she’s facing me. Then I press her against the side of her car with my body. She is momentarily stunned, her hands pushing up against my chest, like she’s not sure what I’m doing. I put my hand on the back of her head and pulling her toward me, I kiss her. I kiss her deep, the way I would kiss her if we were having sex. Our breathing sounds louder than the traffic behind us, louder than the thunder overhead.
When I pull away from her mouth, she’s panting. My hands are planted on either side of her head. I speak softly, looking at her mouth as I do. ”Do you remember the orange grove, Olivia?”
She nods, slowly. Her eyes are wide.
“Good,” I say, running a thumb along her bottom lip. “Good. I do too. Sometimes I get so numb, I have to remember that so I can feel again.”
I back away from her and get in my car. As I pull away, I look in my rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of her. She is still standing where I left her, one hand pressed against her chest.
My competition is good. Undoubtedly he’s never lied to her, broken her heart or married another woman to spite her. But she’s mine, and I’m not giving her up without a fight this time.
I wait a few days and then I text her while I’m at work.
What did he want?
I close the door to my office, loosen the top button of my dress shirt and sling my legs up on my desk.
O: He wants to work things out
I knew it was coming, but I still get a pain in my chest. Fuck that.
What did you tell him?
O: That I need time to think. Same thing I’m telling you.
No
O: No?
No
I rub a hand over my face, and then type:
You’ve had ten years to think.
O: It’s not that easy. He’s my husband.
He filed for divorce! He doesn’t want to have children with you.
O: He said he’d be willing to adopt.
I pinch the skin at the bridge of my nose and grind my teeth together.
What I was doing was wrong. I should let them be together — fix things, but I can’t.
O: Please, Caleb, give me time. I’m not the person you used to know. I need to do the right thing.
Then stay with him. That’s the right thing to do. But, I am the right thing for you.
She doesn’t respond after that.
I sit at my desk for a long time, thinking. I am unable to do any work. When my stepfather walks in an hour later, he raises his eyebrows.
“There are only two things that can put that expression on your face.” He takes a seat opposite me and folds his hands in his lap.
“And what’s that?” I love my stepfather. He’s the most perceptive man I know.