Available to Chat

by Sutton, Jacy

  She dabbed at her eyes once more. “No, I guess it’s not.” She set the Kleenex box beside her on the small walnut end table.

  “Want to tell me about it?” Daniel asked.

  “Not right now.” She patted his arm. “What are you up to?”

  “I was planning to go to Becca’s to study for the chem midterm, but I can stay here with you if you want.”

  Her hand still rested on his forearm. He didn’t often allow this kind of gentle Mom touch anymore. “No, sweetie. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m up to a B minus now in chem.” He gave her a bold smile.

  “Ahhhh.”

  “When will I hear, good job?”

  “How about at a B plus?”

  “Done,” he said. “Well, Becca’s coming to pick me up.”

  “Should we hold dinner for you?”

  “Not tonight,” he said, getting up, forcing her hand to retreat.

  She followed him to the door, marveling at his finesse in the walking cast. Then she succumbed to her urge to play on Daniel’s sympathy and asked for a hug. She wrapped herself around him, squeezing him like a nearly empty tube of toothpaste, her chin pushing against his collarbone, her arms around his skinny frame. He returned the hug with a loose, half-hearted hold.

  They stood like that for a long moment, then he said, “C’mon now, Mom. Becca’s waiting.”

  She released him and watched him walk out the door, leaving with a casual, too-quick wave over his shoulder.

  Olivia’s gaze fell on the half-made marinade, surrounded by garlic peels and Asian sauce bottles. She had to remind herself she’d been working at it just over an hour ago, not the lifetime that it felt. She grabbed the bowl, holding it at arm’s length, the pungent garlic and soy sauce scent overwhelming her. At the sink, she dumped the marinade down the disposal, letting it wash over the last of the nearly invisible, remaining shards of glass.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  THEY AVOIDED EACH OTHER all last night. When she’d gone to sleep, carrying her alarm clock into the guest bedroom, she’d seen Mike eating leftovers off a small plate over the center island, his ragged jeans hanging far too low on his hips. Neither spoke.

  This morning, both Mike and Daniel left without a word, although Daniel was quiet, she assumed, because having passed age twelve and not yet reached twenty, he was hormonally predisposed to morning silence.

  The solitude of the empty house felt like a respite, and Olivia called in sick to work, telling Sarah her head hurt. Not so far from the truth.

  In the family room, Olivia turned the club chair so it faced the picture window rather than the television. The view matched her mindset. Muddy brown grass peeked through patches of late March snow, the color of dingy fog rather than bridal white.

  Olivia’s thoughts whirled in a jumbled circle. She weighed the security of her marriage against its tedium and indifference. She rehashed Ruth’s compliments to her writing in light of the end of her association with Stinger Publishing. And she thought of Daniel, the Piglet to her Pooh. She wondered when she’d started thinking of family as just the two of them.

  A memory struck her. Daniel at five. He’d been obsessed with animals, demanding Olivia read him books on monkeys and African jungle creatures. She and Mike had brought Daniel to the zoo one sweltering, August morning. The moment they’d passed through the gates, Daniel ran in an awkward, childish gait, shouting back to them, “Let’s go see the giraffes. Giraffes have four stomachs.”

  Daniel had loped around a corner, and when Olivia and Mike, following him leisurely, rounded it, Daniel was gone. “We’ll find him,” Mike had said, answering her unvoiced panic. They’d each taken different paths; Mike strode toward the primate wing, while Olivia followed the paved path to the gift store. She’d tried to remain calm, but after a few minutes she realized she was only taking tiny, shallow breaths. She started to double back to the lobby, when she heard Mike call her name. She looked and there stood her husband, Daniel riding his shoulders. In that memory, both their faces were bathed in light, like angels.

  That day, family was the three of them. Walking afterward with Daniel’s small, soft hand in hers, Mike’s hand around her waist, she'd felt a sweet, quiet sense of bliss.

  When had the so subtle unraveling begun? She wondered if there were any words, any advice she could give her younger self. Keep loving Mike. Keep making him feel loved. Olivia rubbed at the corner of her eye.

  “But I’d tell him, don’t take me for granted," she said aloud. "I'd tell him, it’s not just you, it’s us three.”

  But, no one had ever said those words, and now, family meant only Daniel. She was certain their bond, so visceral, could never be broken, no matter what happened with Mike. But then she considered Beth’s friend, the woman she’d met at the movie, whose relationship with her daughter fell just this side of civil. And Olivia thought of all the times she’d been absolutely certain of something until proven completely wrong. Jake came to mind.

  He’d become a thought now, rather than a feeling. She could remember that first kiss out in the parking lot, but no longer experienced the cold air mixing with the heat from his body and the delicious taste of him, sweet and oaky from the beer. When she did think of Jake, much less than she used to, she didn’t need to corral a few quiet minutes alone in her bedroom. This offered the distinct advantage of giving her more time for household chores, like dusting or vacuuming. Not such a trade-off, really.

  It occurred to Olivia she might soon forget their lovemaking entirely. And she didn’t know if she could deal with that pain. She was becoming exhausted from losing people and things.

  Thinking just of Jake, Olivia reached for her laptop. She found a hidden folder of pictures, ones she’d copied the last time they’d spoken, as Jake had said good-bye and closed his Facebook account. Olivia found one of him standing on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi, hands on hips, grinning wildly as though he’d just summited a mountain, instead of a moderate hill. He wore a Fred Flintstone T-shirt.

  With his dishwater-blond hair and lopsided grin for inspiration, she wrote of their night together. She began with the first gentle kiss, more because they were unsure than from tenderness. She described his invitation to come into the room—an extended hand—and how she’d sparked to the touch of his fingers, first as they were locked with her own, then traversing her body during that next kiss, which was again not so much tender as heated, passionate…desperate.

  She wrote how she’d removed his shirt, button by scintillating button, so she could touch his naked skin. She’d rubbed her palms across the broadness of his chest, exploring, feeling the slight beat of his heart. She told how she’d raised her hands, so willingly, as he pulled her sweater over her head. The way his eyes had caressed every naked inch of her, then his hands, then his lips. She described the ecstasy when finally there was nothing at all between them but the thrilling feeling of trying to catch her breath.

  Depicting his tongue making lazy circles against her nipple was easy enough, but sharing the sensation of him lapping at her petal-soft core was harder. She wanted her reminiscence to have just the right blend of fact and fervor. As her prose captured the heat, she tucked her foot tightly under her bottom while she typed. When she described the moment when all the wanting became truth, she gave a soft gasp.

  The only detail she manufactured was that this Jake, as he’d brought her to the brink, answered her whispered “I love you” with his own.

  Her story finished, she headed for the bedroom, her heated memories still burning. Mike intercepted her, his unexpected entrance through the side door interrupting her, and everything fizzled, like a rainstorm opening up on a Fourth of July sparkler. She noticed he was late enough that he could have spent time somewhere else, with someone else.

  “Hello,” he said, his tone as flat as day-old Coke.

  She wondered if she should pick a topic that was mundane—was he hungry for dinner?—or explosive—had he screwed anyone this aftern
oon?

  Before she could choose, Mike asked, “Do you think it was your childhood that made you so uptight?”

  He had recently developed the ability to completely silence her. “Maybe if you’d dated more when you were younger…” he began.

  She lifted her hand up as though she were a school crossing guard. In her mind, the rebuttals flooded like a tsunami. It’s you. You’re selfish. Distant. Rigid.

  She lowered her eyes to gain some equilibrium and gather fortitude, and noticed the laptop, the sexy story still open in the Word document. That was me, she thought. For one brief, magical evening, that had been her real life.

  Olivia shut the laptop and looked unhesitatingly at Mike. “It did work with him,” she said. “It worked like fucking magic.”

  Gathering the laptop to her chest, she pushed past him toward the bedroom, already planning what to pack, and wondered if she should call Nancy on the drive or simply show up at her friend’s door asking for shelter, a glass of chardonnay, and a Snickers.

  THE FOLLOWING SPRING

  NANCY LOOKED STUNNING. She wore a champagne taffeta shirtdress with a portrait collar. Her hair was styled in a simple updo, a mahogany tendril escaping in front of the gold hoop earrings she’d given to Olivia almost two years ago. Something borrowed.

  Liza stood proprietorially next to her mother, fussing at the bride’s small bouquet, a mixture of roses and tulips in cream and Tiffany-blue hydrangea. Jackie stood a few feet away, talking with Nancy’s college roommate, Tonia. Tonia and Olivia had bonded a few months back over martinis and shared friendships when Olivia was in New York working with Ruth.

  The wedding crowd was small, just over fifty people. Olivia knew nearly all of them. Several families from school and a few of Nancy’s coworkers were there. Nancy’s sister, along with two distant cousins Olivia had met on a long-ago weekend trip to San Francisco.

  Mike stood off to the left by the champagne fountain, his arm possessively draped around a woman’s waist—wider, Olivia noted, than her own. She watched Mike’s fingers knead at the woman’s hip bone and, for the briefest moment felt the familiar sensation of her skin prickling. Unconsciously, she shifted her weight to her far foot, the way she used to whenever Mike pawed at her.

  Mike’s date, however, seemed to enjoy the attention. She leaned coquettishly into his side. Olivia had met her before; she was Jo’s aunt. In fairness, she bore a slight resemblance to the beautiful intern. Olivia watched them dispassionately, as though she were viewing a mating special on the Nature Channel.

  A stir rippled through the crowd. The music began signaling everyone to take their seats. Olivia turned away from the couple. At some point later she knew the three of them would chat, and based on previous meetings, it would be civil and likely brief.

  The ceremony was short and tender. Love after loss. New beginnings. The minister’s words were so spot-on that once Nancy and Brad had been announced as husband and wife, Olivia required a moment of solitude. She’d walked away from the crowd and stood on the periphery of the garden. She closed her eyes and just allowed herself to feel. The breeze was gentle and surprisingly warm for this early in May, so close to sunset. Olivia let the sweet scent of the flowers surround her, then opened her eyes, reveling in this gathering of friends.

  Marti and Gary stood chatting amiably with Brad, who every now and then gave Nancy a sidelong glance. When he caught her eye, Nancy would look at him and beam.

  Daniel sat about ten yards away at one of the small, round tables, adorned with a vase of magenta oriental lilies in the center. Several other high school students surrounded him: Marti’s daughter on one side, Becca on the other. They talked casually as they ate cake. Olivia was amazed at how relaxed Daniel looked. She was sure she hadn’t been able to speak so comfortably with the opposite sex at that age. Although it was possible she judged her younger self too harshly.

  She did remember a wedding the summer before her freshman year in college when she’d flirted quite admirably. So much so that a young man had remembered her years later. And then, at least for the moment, Olivia set Jake’s memory aside, a skill she had become more adroit at.

  “Lydia?” someone said behind her.

  Olivia continued watching the young person’s table, hoping she might catch Daniel’s eye. He’d driven to the wedding with Mike, and she wanted a chance to just say a few quiet words to him. Tell him how handsome he looked. But he was coming back to the house with her tonight, and if she had to wait till then, she would.

  “Lydia Jakes?” the voice said again. And Olivia thought the name sounded familiar, like someone she’d gone to high school with.

  “Oh. Me!” She turned suddenly.

  “You’re Lydia Jakes, the author. Aren’t you?” a woman asked.

  She looked to be a few years older than Olivia. Her hair was cut short, a simple shade of brown. She had one of those figures where the breasts and stomach, if one wore the wrong outfit, as the woman unfortunately did now, kind of melted into one another without any real definition. She smiled exuberantly at Olivia.

  “I am,” Olivia said, startled.

  “I recognized you right away from the back cover of your book. I keep it on my nightstand.”

  “Really?” Olivia clasped her hands together delightedly. “You liked it, then?”

  The woman turned, as if to see if any eavesdroppers lurked nearby, then told Olivia, “I loved it.”

  “Oh.” Olivia let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

  “Sometimes, my husband and I read bits of it out loud to each other. Just before bed.” She raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

  Olivia gave a good-to-know chin bob and said, “How did you hear about it? In a bookstore? Online?”

  “I get e-mails from Lush whenever they have a new release.”

  “Do you buy all their books?”

  “Not all, but a lot. Yours is one of my absolute favorites.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia said. “I hope it will sell to a few more people.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” the woman said, but her eyes were friendly.

  “True,” Olivia conceded.

  “My book club couldn’t even agree they all liked To Kill a Mockingbird. So—”

  “Your book club?” Olivia interrupted. “I’m always happy to come speak at book clubs if you’d ever want a guest author.…”

  In turn, the woman cut Olivia off. “It’s not the kind of thing I’d suggest to them. I’m sorry.” But she said it so kindly, Olivia could only nod agreeably. “It’s sold some, though, right?”

  “Yes,” Olivia answered. “Enough for me to take a weekend getaway to Chicago next month.” “Good for you,” the woman said. “Virtually Yours was wonderful. Just a joyous, sexy read.”

  “Thank you.” Olivia gave the woman’s hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Are you writing anything new?”

  “I just published a middle-grade novel. It’s coming out this fall. It’s about three boys who time travel to the Revolutionary War and meet a woman serving in disguise as a soldier.”

  “Does she fall in love with one of the boys?” the woman asked expectantly.

  “No,” Olivia said quickly. “It’s for kids. Middle school kids.”

  “Ah.”

  Not wanting to disappoint her, Olivia added, “I am just wrapping up another book for Lush.”

  “Tell me about that one.”

  “It’s a romantic story, but it’s also about the free-fall of life’s possibilities, you know?”

  The woman nodded slowly.

  “It’s that absolute. When there is simple purity of choice. That moment when nearly anything is possible.”

  The woman nodded again, but she shifted her stance as though she were about to step away.

  Hastily, Olivia added, “It’s the story of a woman who’s newly divorced. She dates a lot of men and has lots of amazing sex. I guess you could say it’s a coming-of-age story.”

  “Oh, that sounds fantastic. Whe
n will that one be out?”

  “I’m hoping just before Christmas.”

  “I’ll make a note.” The woman reached for her phone.

  “Thank you for telling me you enjoyed my book.”

  “Loved it.” The woman corrected her.

  They grinned at each other, and then Olivia said, “I have to go congratulate the beautiful bride and groom now.”

  “Go on, dear.” The woman stepped forward and gave Olivia a quick embrace.

  I have been recognized, Olivia thought, walking toward Nancy.

  When Nancy saw Olivia approaching, she reached out her hand and said, “Come take a picture with me.”

  “Me too.” Marti surprised Olivia, stepping behind her. “Where did you get that hot little dress, Olivia?”

  “Liza found it for me.”

  “Sexy looks good on you,” Marti said, wrapping her arms around Nancy and Olivia’s waists, then turning toward the camera.

  Olivia laid her hand on Marti’s wrist. “Thank you, Marti.”

  Olivia turned to the photographer. As she stood next to her friends, she made a mental note to get the shot printed and framed, rather than just posted and tagged on Facebook. When the photographer finished with them, Nancy kissed each of their cheeks. “Thank you, both. Thank you for helping me plan this amazing day and for staying with the girls while we’re gone.”

  “And when you get back,” Marti said, in a low voice, “you’ll thank me for packing your toy. I put it in the suitcase this morning when I grabbed your pashmina for you.”

  “Marti,” Olivia chided, shaking her head.

  “It was just sitting out. I thought it might be fun.”

  Nancy smiled at her indulgently. “What wonderful friends you are.” She gave them another squeeze.

  “Yes, we are. Now I’m going to be an even better friend and get us three glasses of champagne.” Marti sashayed purposefully toward the refreshments.

  “That was kind of personal, don’t you think?”

  “What?” Nancy asked.

  “Packing your sex toy. A bit bold.”