When Fates Collide

by Isabelle Richards

  He wipes his mouth. “She saw some pictures of me undercover in… let’s just say ‘a compromising position.’ I don’t blame her for being pissed. There’s no way I could be with someone that disappears for weeks at a time doing God only knows what. I’d lose it.”

  Thinking about me and Gavin, I say, “It must be hard for both of you to be apart for so long.”

  “She’s a DC cop, so she understands why I do what I do, and for the most part, she’s okay with the tough schedule. But deep down, she’s still a broad, with a broad’s heart and a broad’s emotions. Right now, the broad is winning out over the cop. She always gets over it, but she needs some time.” He looks down at the table with sad eyes.

  “That must be tough,” I say as sympathetically as I can.

  A light bulb seems goes off in his head, and he suddenly jumps up. “That reminds me, I’d better have Greene talk to her. She won’t take calls from me right now, but if I don’t let her know about you staying here, boy, my goose will be cooked!” He grabs his phone and starts texting.

  I collect our plates and bring them to the kitchen. “I’m happy to talk to her, if you think meeting me would help,” I offer while I’m rinsing off the dishes.

  Max brings in the leftovers and puts them in Tupperware. “Once Greene tells her you’re Gavin’s girl, she’ll settle right down. She already knows all about you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask. Is there anyone Gavin doesn’t know?

  “Yeah. That boy’s got it baaad. Me and Sabrina, my girlfriend, we were with him the night you went missing. Damn, he was a mess.”

  I let out a quiet laugh, but don’t respond. What am I supposed to say? That night wasn’t a picnic for me either.

  “Sabrina’s probably your biggest fan. She hated Brooke—hated that show she was on, hated what she did to Gavin. Brina comes from a family of junkies and has no respect for them. No tears were shed by her when Brooke died, I can assure you that.”

  Sabrina sounds like a tough customer. “I hope I get to meet her,” I lie.

  Once the dishes are done and the counters are wiped down, Max tosses the dish towel on the center island. “On that note, I’m going to hit the hay. Good night new, short-term roomie. See you manãna.”

  When I get into bed, I check my phone and see I have a text from Gavin:

  Max just pinged me and said, ‘Holy Hell. Lily is enfuego. Especially naked! Hot damn! On top of that she has a helluva baseball swing. P.S. Cricket is for pussies.’ Care to explain?

  I respond:

  Nope, my naked stories are my business :) And cricket is for pussies. Glad to know I have an ally in my war against the UK.

  G: I may be rethinking how happy I am that you’re staying with Max. If I didn’t know firsthand how madly in love he is with Sabrina, I would be more concerned. Now that I know that you’ll be walking around naked with each other, my confidence is waning.

  L: Don’t get your panties in bunch, Oxford. It was a harmless mishap, and he was a perfect gentleman. He and S are on the outs, though.

  G: I’m still not happy. Have to stop thinking about you naked and start thinking about my call. Talk to you tomorrow.

  L : What? You can’t focus on work thinking of me lying here naked?

  G : NO!

  L: What if I told you I was lying here naked and very wet?

  G: Lily…

  L: SO, so wet. I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm. Can you remember my last orgasm?

  G: That’s not fair

  L: No? Why not? I’m the one that’s all wet with no one here to help. Whatever is a girl to do?

  G: Lily, if I break some sort of international diplomacy rules because I’m distracted, envisioning you lying there doing naughty things, I will be in deep shite. I have to be a grownup here. Want to call me in an hour? We can pick up where you’ve left off.

  L: Relax, Oxford. Like I’m coordinated enough to masturbate and text. I’m just trying to get you all hot and bothered.

  G: Mission accomplished.

  L: Go back to your call. Don’t cause an international incident. Goodnight, Oxford.

  G: Goodnight, luv.

  A minute later he sends me a picture—of him, completely naked and clearly aroused. So much so that my girly parts actually tremble at the sight. Game, set, match to the Brit. A text follows:

  G: I play to win Lily. Don’t you know that by now?

  That limey brat! I turn the light out, go to bed, and have very steamy dreams.

  Nineteen

  Over the next few weeks, I fall into a comfortable pattern of working all day, then dinner with Max most nights. Since I’m trying to work on giving my life balance, I’ve signed up for Bikram yoga and painting classes at Glen Echo.

  In the mornings, I run to Politics and Prose, work all day, and run back home. It’s been a great place to work, and the exercise has been great for me. There are many regulars who use the bookstore as their office, and we’re all friendly to one another. It’s like an office for we self-employed schlubs.

  I start each morning working on my blog. I couldn’t be more surprised at its success; more and more readers every day. I have no idea how they’re finding me, but they keep multiplying. In addition, my readers have been making great comments that have spurred fascinating discussions. I’ll admit that, originally, I didn’t think the blog idea had any merit, but it seems to be taking off, and it’s very satisfying.

  Em’s idea for the article series is also proving to be brilliant. The research has been captivating, and as I find people to interview and highlight in the piece, I feel both obligated and privileged to tell their stories. Every day, I’m waiting at the door to the store when they open and staying until the sun goes down.

  When I run home, my pepper spray is always firmly in my hand. I never see anyone, but I feel eyes on me. Each day, I try to ignore it, telling myself that it’s all in my head, but I can still feel someone lurking in the shadows, watching me.

  Max’s gone this week, and after an unsettling run home, an empty apartment only accentuates how alone I am. I know I should just take the Metro or hail a cab, but the stubborn streak in me refuses to let them win. If I let them scare me out of living my life, I’ve let them win. Whoever they are.

  On Friday, the streets are abnormally crowded for a summer night in DC. A storm is expected this weekend, so maybe everyone has decided to stay in town instead of escaping to the beach. My invisible sidekick is there too. I can feel it. Each time I’m bumped, I nearly jump out of my skin. I feel the world swirling around me. I look around, and while I can’t make out any faces, they all seem like they are watching me. My heart races. No matter how deep a breath I take, it feels as though the oxygen isn’t getting into my lungs. Panting, I sprint as fast as I can home and bolt the door behind me, collapsing once I’m inside. Is there really someone there or am I just losing my mind? Panic sets in as I start to question my grip on reality. I’m not sure what’s worse—that there may be someone after me or that I’m imagining that there is.

  Jumping at every sound I hear, I grab the bat and position myself in the farthest corner of the bedroom. Desperate for human contact, I call Gavin, but I can’t get words out, just hard sobs.

  He’s gentle and doesn’t push for answers. He whispers soft, soothing words into the phone until I start to settle down. “Lily, please tell me what’s happened.”

  I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I don’t know. I felt like someone was after me again today, but it’s probably all in my head. This whole experience is just killing me. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m seeing shadows and boogeymen.”

  “I’m so sorry, luv! Is Max there?”

  I pull my knees up to my chest. “No, he isn’t. I haven’t seen him all week.”

  “I’m sorry you’re alone at a time like this. I wish I could be there.”

  The sobs start again, and my words are garbled by my exaggerated breathing and sniffling. “I wish you were here too.”

  �
��You could… Never mind.”

  After carefully making sure the coast is clear, I slink to the coffee table, grab the box of tissues, and blow my nose. “Just say it Gavin,” I say in a nasally voice.

  “No. I won’t. It’s not productive.”

  “Just say it,” I insist.

  “If you came here, you’d be safe. I’d protect you,” he proclaims.

  “You can’t guarantee that. Whoever is after me could follow me to you, and then we’d both be in danger.”

  “I don’t think that would happen, and even if it did, I can keep you safe. You’d be safer here than you are there. Alone.”

  “Do you have a crystal ball?” I shout. “I sure as hell don’t. I’m safest near the FBI. And even if you could keep me safe, this’s my mess. I need to fix it. I don’t need to bring it across the pond and drag you into it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You don’t have to handle this on your own. I’m not telling you to move here. I’m suggesting you take an extended holiday until we can figure it out together.”

  “I don’t need you to figure it out for me. It’s my problem to solve. I do not need you to save me.”

  “You’re so bloody stubborn. Why won’t you let me help you?”

  “You don’t want to help me. You want to take care of it. I don’t need you to take care of it. I need you to be there for me while I take care of it. If you want to help me, back off. I told you I can’t run away with you. I told you I’m not ready, that I need to work on me. Pushing me to hop on a plane to London is not helping me. It’s suffocating me!”

  “You’re being melodramatic. I’m offering you safe haven.”

  “Some safe haven. Because of you, I’ve lost my privacy. I’ve been humiliated on national television. If I were to come to London, the press would come after me even harder. I can see the headlines now: Whore Moves into Brooke’s House. Won’t that be a nice clip to send with Christmas cards this year? If you are so desperate to save me, Gavin, why don’t you save me from that?”

  There’s dead silence on the other end of the line for nearly a full minute before he speaks again. “This isn’t productive. I’ve offered to help, but you don’t have to accept it. It’s your life. Good night.”

  Before I can say anything in response, my cell phone beeps, telling me the call has ended. Infuriated, I get into bed and stare at the ceiling. Now I’m paranoid and pissed off. A horrible combination.

  The next day, I go my through usual routine. Run, work, run. After my fight with Gavin, I’m more determined than ever not to let my fear get the best of me. I will not be a victim. I will not be intimidated. I refuse to hide. Fortunately, I don’t feel my shadow followers today, so I’m breathing a little easier. Perhaps even they can see they shouldn’t screw with me today.

  I ignore Gavin for the whole weekend. I’m still too angry to be “productive,” so there’s no point returning texts or calls. I don’t know why he can’t understand that I need support, not a savior. When I allow my mind to wander to darker places, I wonder if our relationship is really about us or about his need to make up for what happened with Brooke. Like he’s trying to salvage something from the ruins of his past failures. In my less-estrogen-influenced moments, I tell myself that I’m making something out of nothing, but the thought’s still there, in the back of my mind.

  On Monday morning, I wake to a knock on the door. A florist delivery man stands there with a gigantic potted plant full of beautiful white flowers. Who the hell is sending me a potted plant? I thank the man for bringing it in and open the envelope. There’s an information card stuck among the blooms that tells me the plant is a peace lily and how to take care of it. Behind it is another envelope.

  I’m waving the white flag. I understand you need time, and I’ll do my best to give it to you. I won’t stop offering, because I always want you to know that I’m here for you. But I promise to do my best not to push.

  Can we call a truce?

  Gavin

  Well, I give him bonus points for creativity. I’ve never heard of a Peace Lily, which is surprising because my mother was obsessed with lilies and grew every type she could get her hands on. The flowers are beautiful and I don’t want to keep fighting with him, so I send a text:

  Truce accepted. Thank you for the beautiful flowers. Let’s try to talk tonight. I promise I’ll play nice.

  He calls me around three thirty. I’m in my writing zone, so it’s a horrible time to break away, but I do it anyway. I throw my laptop in my bag and step outside the bookstore to take the call. The traffic from Connecticut Avenue is oppressively loud, so I walk around the back of the building.

  “Hey there,” I answer. “Thank you again for the flowers. They make the whole apartment smell beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome. I figured out you weren’t going to return any of my communication attempts, so I needed to try a different approach.”

  I kick a pebble across the parking lot. “I needed some space. I—”

  “You don’t need to explain,” he interrupts. “Let’s just let sleeping dogs lie, okay?” It’s the best thing he could have said. I have no interest in rehashing this argument since I know we’ll never agree.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I think a part of it is that I miss you,” he explains. “I’m going through a lot, and I wish I were with you. You’re going through a lot too, and I want to be there for you as well. It’s hard.”

  “I thought we were letting it go,” I reply. He’s not wrong. I miss him more than I ever expected to. He’s the first person I think about when I wake up and the first person I want to share good news with when I get it. When I’m scared, I crave his comfort and reassurance. I need him, and I don’t want to. It makes me bitter that he’s not here, angry that he had to leave, and I take it out on him.

  “You’re right. Sorry. Look, I have to hop on a plane to Berlin in about five minutes, so I must go. I wanted to at least call and make sure we’re okay.”

  “We’re okay. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, I’ll always worry. It’s who I am. That’s part of my package.”

  “Thank goodness there are so many other wonderful parts to your package. I can overlook your hero complex. Just because you look like a superhero doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

  “I look good in a cape. And really, there’s no other situation in which a cape is appropriate.”

  This makes me smile for the first time in days. “You in spandex and a cape… Hmmm, happy thoughts.”

  “Good to hear that smile in your voice. I’ll call you when I can. But probably not until late tomorrow. I’m swamped with work.”

  “Okay, Oxford. I’ll talk to you soon. Safe travels.”

  I let out a deep breath full of tension and relief. I’m glad to not be fighting, but nothing has been resolved. The issues are still there. He can’t leave London. It’s simply not an option for him. I know I want to be with him, but I’m not ready to move across the ocean, and I’m not sure my heart can handle this long-distance relationship.

  Fortunately, Max gets back into town on Monday night and is home the rest of the week, which takes my mind off things. From what he tells me, it sounds like Sabrina isn’t budging on their breakup. His heartbreak is my gain. I’m relieved to come home to a person instead of an empty apartment. We get along well, and having such a good cook to have dinner with is very nice. Life is much less lonely with him.

  *******

  Max wakes me up by blasting Jane’s Addiction from the kitchen as loud as possible. I struggle to get out of bed and walk out to tell him off.

  “Whoa, angry zombie bitch is not a good look on you.”

  “Good morning to you too, jackass,” I bite back. “What’s with the morning serenade?”

  He flips the eggs he’s cooking without a spatula. Just one smooth flick of the wrist sends the eggs flying into the air, and he catches them effortlessly with the pan. “We’ve got to talk.”

  “Real
ly? I figured you woke me up just to torture me.”

  He ignores me as he futzes around, cooking his breakfast.

  “Yo! Max, want to share?”

  “Are you done being an angry zombie bitch? ‘Cause I can wait.”

  “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Whatever do you wish to discuss, dear?”

  He slides the eggs onto a plate and hands it to me. “That’s better. So, the news is we have to move out.”

  “Max, you must be kidding me. I just got here!” I know I shouldn’t shout at him, but I can’t believe what he’s telling me. Greene had led me to believe I’d have a few months here before I had to move.

  He cracks two more eggs into the pan. “I don’t make the rules, sweetheart. I just enforce them. Meredith has been transferred, and she’s got to sell the place. It goes on the market today. I wonder if she has to disclose that someone was kidnapped here. Or is that just with murders?”

  My stomach grumbles, but I can’t eat. I push the plate away. “Max, I do not love you right now. Stop trying to be funny. I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do.”

  “Well, I know what I’m going to do. Sabrina has agreed to let me move in!”

  “Ah, so that explains the annoying happiness. When did all this happen?”

  He puts three pieces of bacon on my plate, ignoring the fact that I’ve made no move to pick up a fork. “The law sleeps for no man, Lily.”

  Picking up the bacon, I move it to his plate. “What fortune cookie shit are you selling me? The sun isn’t even up yet. English please.”

  “Mer and Sabrina figured this all out yesterday. I got a text twenty minutes ago.”

  “So you’re out of the loop, huh?”

  Max stomps his foot. “Shut up, I’m in the loop,” he says like a whiny child. “Well, I’m moving in with someone in the loop.” He does a ridiculous happy dance. “And the sex embargo has been lifted!”

  What a dork. A dork with a place to go—while I’m back to square one. The money from the sale of the land has gone through, so I guess I should just buy a place of my own. The thought’s a little intimidating. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. However, it does make more financial sense than renting.