Just a Number

by A. D. Ryan

  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

  Confused 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.

  “He sounded loaded,” Mom explains, reaching over and gripping my sweaty hand in her cool one. “My guess is he likely doesn’t remember the call.” She pauses, smiling, and her eyebrows knit together with concern. “Amy, honey, I came here because I was worried. I needed to know if the things he said were true—what sense I could make of it all, that is. I honestly thought I’d misunderstood the entire thing. All I knew was that he sounded distraught, and I figured I should make sure he was all right.”

  “I confirmed her suspicions when she arrived,” Owen confesses. “I wasn’t going to lie to her or keep the truth from her. It’s only gotten us into trouble thus far.”

  Relived that he didn’t go to her without my knowledge, my posture softens, and I relax into my chair; I hadn’t even realized I was sitting so stiffly. “I see.” My eyes flit between the two of them again. “And you’re not mad?”

  Her laugh is all the assurance I need, but she’s sure to offer me more. “Of course not, Amy. As I told Owen earlier, I’m the last person who can judge a relationship with a substantial age gap. I’m not a hypocrite, and I won’t hold you to some ridiculous double standard.”

  I laugh humorlessly. “Well, at least I’ve got one parent who’s against double standards.”

  Confused, my mom prods me to elaborate, so I do. She seems pretty shocked and upset to find out that my dad was fine with Owen seeing a much younger woman—before he knew it was me—while I was being made to feel shame for seeing an older man.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Mom croons. “He’s always been such a stubborn son of a bitch. He’ll come around.”

  I nod, finally picking up my fork and pushing my vegetables around. “Yeah, I know. It just sucks right now. I don’t think he’s ever been this mad at me.”

  There’s a moment of silence, and I can feel the tension in the air; they want to know how my talk with him went today. So, instead of waiting for them to bring it up, I decide to just bite the bullet. “Today went okay. It started off a little rough, but we eventually talked.”

  “And?” Owen asks, his voice thick and laced with worry.

  “He needs more time,” is all I say. “And, after talking to him, I can understand and accept that.” I take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. “Now, can we talk about something that doesn’t make my stomach knot up?”

  “Of course, honey,” Mom agrees, and we all focus on our dinner while changing the topic.

  Mom asks how school’s going, and I fill her in on my classes and grades. She asks about Liz, so I tell her she’s doing great and how she just got back from Mexico. The conversation then shifts to her and Will, who are looking to sell their current house and buy one on the beach in Florida. She’s always loved it there.

  After dinner, Owen offers to make a pot of coffee for all of us, but Mom declines the offer. “Actually, I’m pretty beat, and I still have a long drive ahead of me in the morning.”

  “Y-you’re still going out there?” I ask, stunned.

  “Of course, Amy. I’d still like to talk to your father. I’m not going there to push him into accepting your relationship, but I do want to let him know I’m here if he wants to talk about it. I just want to make sure he’s all right,” she explains. “Now, I should head out because I still need to find a hotel with a vacancy since I immediately went to your apartment and then here once I landed.”

  I look over at Owen, using my eyes to tell him what I’m thinking. Naturally, he understands and nods once. “Mom, why don’t you stay with me at my place?”

  Confused, Mom looks between us. “I thought you were staying here?”

  “Well,” I say. “I was…um…going to, but that was before you showed up.”

  Looking grateful for the offer, Mom lays her hand on mine. “That’s sweet, honey, but it’s not necessary. You should stay and talk…but if the offer stands, I’d love to take you up on it and stay at your apartment.”

  “Of course,” I reply, more than pleased with her level of acceptance. “And if you have time in the morning, maybe I could meet you for breakfast?”

  Mom smiles, standing from the table while Owen clears the dishes and leftovers. “That would be lovely.”

  Owen and
I walk Mom to the front door where we say our goodnights and watch her leave. Once she’s gone, I head to the kitchen to start on dishes, and when I’m elbow-deep in dishwater, I feel Owen’s hands on my hips, slowly moving around and resting on my abdomen. Next, he kisses the side of my neck and rests his chin on my shoulder as he watches me wash and rinse the dishes.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” he tells me, talking about dinner cleanup.

  I shrug, leaning my head against his as I rinse another plate. “You cooked. It’s only right I help tidy up.”

  After another light kiss, Owen grabs a dishtowel and helps me finish the dishes. Once everything is put away and wiped down, Owen refills our wine glasses and we head for the living room.

  We sit and talk while the sky grows darker and darker outside, a light winter rain picking up. Now that we’re alone, Owen inquires a little more about what Dad said, and I’m a little more forthright with the information. There’s no disguising Owen’s ire when I explain what happened when I’d first arrived at my dad’s place. He seems genuinely angry to hear that my father sat there and ignored me, but when I explain how Dad had tracked me down at the diner and we’d talked there, he relaxes a little.

  Only a little, though.

  “He doesn’t hate you,” I tell him, hoping to ease his mind a bit more. “Yes, he’s pissed, but he says he doesn’t hate you.”

  Stunned, Owen stares blankly at me. “Well that’s something, then.”

  “He even said he would never begrudge us our happiness. Even if we’ve found it with one another. So I think we just have to give him a bit more time to process.”

  “So, do you regret going?”

  I shake my head, setting my glass next to his on the coffee table. “Not at all. While it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, I think it was necessary to start rebuilding the damage. So, thank you for making me go.”

  Owen smiles, and I lean in to give him a kiss. “Amelia, you know as well as I do that no one can ‘make’ you do anything. I made a strong suggestion, and you agreed with it. That’s all.”

  I scoot across the couch, closing the distance between us until my knees rest against his thigh. “Well then, thank you for suggesting I go.”

  Out of nowhere, I release a yawn. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was this tired.”

  Owen kisses my forehead. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You’ve had a big day. Why don’t we head to bed?”

  With another yawn, I agree, and we head to the bedroom to get ready for bed.

  It doesn’t take long before sleep finds us both, and by morning, I wake up feeling more rested than I have in a few days—since before my dad found out about Owen and me the way he did, actually.

  Owen’s still asleep when I wake up, and I decide to let him sleep in for a bit while I go and meet my mom for breakfast. After getting dressed, I leave a note on my pillow and kiss his cheek softly before slipping out of the condo. I borrow his car again, knowing he won’t mind, and I drive to the restaurant to find my mom already there.

  She’s been seated in a window booth, and she’s sipping a coffee as I approach. Upon seeing me, she smiles brightly, always a morning person, and I wave back before slipping into the seat across from her.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Mom greets, her smile widening and her eyes glimmering with amusement. “You look extremely happy this morning.”

  The undertone of her meaning won’t stay hidden for long, but I refuse to even acknowledge it as our server comes over to ask my drink order. “Coffee, please.” With a nod, she hurries to grab the carafe.

  “Is there a particular reason you’re looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?” Mom prods. She’s always been particularly nosy when it comes to my sex life, and usually, I’m quick to talk to her about it. We’ve been close in that regard, even if we haven’t been close geographically. But this? Well, telling her about my sex life with a man she’s been friends with for as long as my father is…well, it’s weird.

  Still having not entertained her with a response, the server returns to fill my mug and take our orders. After thanking her, I pour a couple of creamers into it and scoop a little sugar in before giving it a stir.

  “My evening was fine,” I reply, watching the black coffee turn brown as it swirls around in the white mug.

  “Come on, Amelia. I miss these talks of ours. What happened to the girl who used to call me after sleeping with a boy for the first time?”

  Keeping my face down, I look up at her through my lashes, arching one eyebrow. I don’t get a chance to reply before she shrugs and starts talking again. “I’ve always imagined Owen to be a very giving lover. Is he?”

  My face scrunches up, a shiver of mortification and discomfort moving down my spine, and I drop my eyes back to my coffee. “Ew,” I mutter. “Mom…”

  All she does is laugh. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “I’ll leave it alone. But know you can talk to me about anything, okay? Even if it’s with Owen. Yes, he and I may have been friends, but I can separate my relationship with him from yours if I have to. It’s just a little harder for your father to do that.”

  “And if I don’t ever feel comfortable talking to you about my sex life with Owen?”

  Mom smirks behind the rim of her coffee. “You will.” She takes a sip, and I shake my head.

  The sad part is, she’s probably right. Eventually, everything will be back to normal.

  “So, you talk to Dad?”

  Mom nods. “Yeah, I called him when I got to your place last night. Told him I was in the city and that I was headed to see him this morning.”

  Folding my hands in front of me, I listen intently, genuinely curious about what they talked about.

  “He didn’t remember phoning me,” Mom says. “At first. As soon as I started telling him what he’d said to me, it all fell into place. Poor guy must have been beyond wasted.”

  Guilt. That feeling of a lead weight dropping and taking root in the pit of my stomach is definitely guilt. My stomach churns around it, and I feel shame starting to seep in as well. “Yeah, well, I can’t blame him. Not after the way he found out.”

  This leads my mom to ask about that night. I tell her everything, not leaving anything out. She follows along, never interrupting, always looking at me with understanding. After I finish, a part of me expects her to tell me how dumb it was of me to keep my relationship with Owen a secret, but she surprises me.

  “I get why you kept it to yourself. I would have done the same thing in your position. Had you told him, your visit over Christmas would have been strained.” She pauses then, seeming somewhat nervous. “But I also understand why he’s so upset, sweetie. You’ve never kept anything from him—sometimes, much to his chagrin,” she jokes lightly. “And Owen is his best friend. This isn’t easy for him, I know that. But I’ll talk him through it.”

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely.

  “This isn’t just for you, Amy. This is as much for him. I know he needs space, and I won’t pressure him, but right now, I think he just needs someone he can vent to about everything.”

  When our food arrives, we dig in and the conversation shifts to the party Owen took me to on New Year’s Eve. I recount the evening with so much excitement and zeal that it’s like I’m reliving it. After breakfast, Mom notices the time and decides that it’s time she get on the highway if she’s going to make it there for when Dad wakes up after working the graveyard shift last night.

  Mom pays the bill, and we stand up and hug before saying goodbye to each other. She tells me she’ll stay in Portland for the night, but will be back in the city tomorrow because her flight leaves tomorrow night. We make plans to meet up for dinner—this time inviting Owen along—and we walk out to the parking lot.

  I return to Owen’s place within the hour to find he’s awake and doing his breakfast dishes. I join him in the kitchen, popping up on my toes and kissing his cheek. “Good morning,” I say, hopping up onto the
counter next to him.

  “Morning.”

  “You got my note?”

  He nods. “I did. How was breakfast with your mom?”

  “Good. She’s headed to Dad’s now. I’m not sure how that’s going to go. I think she’s just going to let him get all of his frustrations out.” I shrug, dropping my eyes to my hands in my lap. “I don’t know, maybe it’ll do some good. He’s always been able to talk to her about things he can’t with me.”

  Owen drains the sink once his dishes are done and dries his hands before maneuvering his way between my legs, forcing them to part slightly. “I know it’s not easy, but why don’t we try not to think about it? That’s not to say it’s not important, but we’ve done nothing but stress about all of this, and I think we deserve for our last day before returning to the real world to be unforgettable and fun.”

  Quirking an eyebrow curiously, I rest my hands on his hips, looping my thumbs into the waist of his sleep pants and tugging them. “What exactly did you have in mind?” I inquire with a sly smirk.

  “Well, I was thinking we’d stay in. Close ourselves off from the world and just focus on each other.”

  “Um…isn’t that what we’ve been doing for a majority of the last month and a half?”

  Owen chuckles. “More or less, but I don’t think there are any hard and fast rules against doing it as much as possible.”

  “It?” I ask, my tone suggestive as I slip my hands into his pants to find him growing aroused.

  He moans when I wrap my hand around his length. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” I stroke him again, and his eyes close. “Okay,” he says, his voice shuddering. “New rule for today.”

  “Oh?”

  “No clothes. All day.”

  In seconds, our clothes are off and we’re celebrating what I hope is the first of many “Naked Sundays.” Naturally, though, with such closed quarters and a lack of clothing, it’s not long before we’ve started having sex in every room of his place and on almost every surface…but hey, the day’s not over yet. We’ve got time to cover every inch of this place.