An Unlikely Deal

by Nadia Lee

  Anger courses through my veins like acid. “Are you shitting me? You’re actually trying to blame me for taking her to those events?” I clench my hands, resisting the urge to throw my water at him. “Would you have been okay if I’d taken a guy to a party because I didn’t want to bother you?” I ask, even though I know he’ll lie and say, Yes, I’d have been perfectly fine with it. A man like him always has a few slick words to justify what he does.

  He stares at me for a while, then finally says, “No.”

  “Sure, lie throu—” I stop abruptly. “‘No’?”

  “No.”

  I’m deflated…but only a little. “Well, then, that makes you a hypocrite.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. But I swear Faye and I are just friends now. Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing…” I cross my arms. “So you never slept with her? Not ever?”

  “Not while I was with you.”

  The bitter knot I’ve had in my gut since finding out about Faye eases a bit before I remember he hasn’t always been entirely honest with me. “Not while I was with you” sounds like he’s claiming he was faithful to me for our seven months…but it might also mean he slept with her during those months but when I wasn’t physically with him. After all, he did take her to those parties, and Faye is a seriously beautiful woman. Hell, I might be tempted if I were a man.

  I shake my head. “Well, none of that matters now. I made the right decision to leave you.”

  His eyes sharpen. “Ava.”

  “It’s been two years, Lucas. You can’t just,” I cast around for the right word, “unilaterally decide to come back and impose yourself on me.”

  A dull shade of red colors his cheeks. A vein throbs in his forehead, a clear sign that his patience is wearing thin. “Was it fair then that you unilaterally decided to dump me when I was at my most vulnerable? I have no idea what Blake said, but you never gave me a chance to explain.”

  “Because you were deliberately staying away from me.” If he’d come for me as soon as he was out of surgery… Maybe we would’ve ended up differently.

  “I stayed away because I didn’t want to look clingy and pitiable. I was waiting for you to come back.”

  “Then why now?”

  “Someone let me know where you were. Once I knew…I couldn’t stay away.”

  “Then pretend you don’t know anymore. That’s what I want.” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Lucas, I really need some sleep. Now that we’ve talked, can you just land in Osaka and let me off?”

  He presses his lips together. “We are not finished.”

  Every cell in my body tenses, ready for a fight.

  “But I’ll let you off in Osaka.”

  I sag in my seat. “Thank you.”

  This is a victory. I got to say my piece, and he’s going to let me go, contrary to his announcement.

  But somehow I don’t feel triumphant.

  Chapter Six

  Lucas

  I watch the taxi disappear into the early Osaka dawn…carrying Ava away. It’s an effort not to run after it. I hate that she’s vanishing right before my eyes.

  But she’s not really gone. You know exactly where she is now.

  The talk I planned to have with her didn’t go as anticipated. Truth be told, I’m still reeling a bit. I had no clue she’d met Blake—or found out about Faye and drawn the worst conclusions imaginable.

  It’s clear enough what Ava thought was going on between Faye and me. Clear…and fucking unfair because nothing’s happened between us. I haven’t touched Faye in five years.

  But Blake…

  I have no clue what he’s done. Thanks to his snotty mother, he’s related to the Pryces, one of the richest and most well-connected families in the world. He carries himself with a superior attitude, and being the oldest, he’s patronizing on top of everything else.

  I pull out my phone and call him.

  “Blake,” he answers.

  “What the hell did you do to—”

  “I do a lot of things. Be more specific.”

  I hiss out a breath. “Condescending asshole.”

  “I did something to a condescending asshole? Sounds like he deserved it.”

  “No, you’re the—” I tighten my hand around my phone, wishing it were Blake’s neck. “What did you do to Ava?”

  Blake’s voice is flat. “Ava?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” There is genuine bemusement in his quiet tone.

  Is whatever he did so insignificant that he doesn’t remember? It’s a real possibility with Blake. He’s excellent at compartmentalizing things, and a lot of those things go into a box labeled “beneath notice”.

  “She’s my…”

  It is now my turn to stop and consider. Exactly what was Ava to me back then? We were exclusive, fucked often and spent some time together although I made sure to return to my own place every night. I also paid some of her expenses, even though she wasn’t exactly “kept”. No. She was too independent and too angry about me paying for anything to be a kept woman.

  But she wasn’t precisely my girlfriend either. What we had wasn’t really dating…

  Finally I settle on: “She’s a woman I started seeing almost three years ago. She broke it off two years ago, and now I find out you’re the cause.”

  “She specifically blamed me?”

  “Yes. She did.”

  “I have no idea who or what you’re talking about. I don’t meddle in other people’s love lives. You know that.”

  I do, but… “She wasn’t lying.”

  “Neither am I.” Blake’s voice is cold and sharp. “I don’t know how well you know her, but I don’t appreciate either of you dragging me into your relationship mess.”

  I scowl. He is definitely not lying. He’s too self-righteously angry. Did Ava lie? Or maybe she misunderstood…

  “Why are you talking with this woman?” Blake says. “Are you going to propose to her?”

  I snort. If I asked her to marry me for a year, she’d brain me with that handbag she carries everywhere. “No.”

  “Then forget her and go after someone with more potential.”

  “I’m not going to marry for a year for the portraits. Dad’s not going to control me like that,” I say, feeling a wave of petty annoyance.

  “Not even for Elizabeth?”

  Trust Blake to hit below the belt. I could deal with my brothers not getting the damned portraits, but my half-sister is another matter. She’s just too damn nice to become collateral damage. After all, how do you look the other way from a woman whose goal in life is to change the world one hungry child at a time?

  “Not even for her,” I insist, just to be contrary.

  “You know Elliot got married, right?”

  I laugh dryly. My twin is the last person Blake should bring up if he wants to change my mind. “Oh yeah. Huge sacrifice for him, marrying a hot stripper. I bet he auditioned her—missionary, doggy style, up against a wall. Blow jobs. All the positions to get the position.”

  “I think you’re wrong. She didn’t look like some cheap ho you can buy with a few bucks.”

  I snort. “How the hell would you know? You have the sensitivity of a bull on Novocain.”

  He grunts in response.

  “Let’s say you’re right about the cheap part. I bet he still had to test her for STDs.”

  “You’re a cynical bastard.”

  “Pot, stop calling the kettle black.” This isn’t helping. “I gotta go.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Overseas. I have things to take care of.”

  “This Ava girl?”

  “Yes.”

  Blake sighs. “I’m not going to tell you to get hitched just for the portraits. Grandpa didn’t paint them so Dad could use them to leverage us around.”

  “But…?” There’s always a but with Blake.

  “But if you are goin
g to do it, find someone who understands how things are. A woman who won’t be hurt when you can’t give her the world on a silver platter in some garish romantic gesture.” He hangs up.

  An image of Faye flashes through my mind. She fits Blake’s requirements to a T. She’s widowed now, but she used to be married to a rich land developer. While he was alive, she hosted big events by his side, looked gracious and beautiful on his arm when the occasion called for it, and didn’t start or spread rumors. Most importantly, she doesn’t push or demand. She accepted my decision to end our affair with good grace, and we’ve remained friends.

  If I explain the situation to her and ask her to help, she’ll marry me, no questions asked. She’ll also sign whatever prenup my lawyer drafts.

  But a sixth sense tells me if I marry her, it will mean losing Ava forever. She won’t give me another look even if I divorce Faye once the year is up.

  Faye has nothing to do with anything, you dumbass. Ava doesn’t want me. If she did, she wouldn’t have dumped me the moment she faced Blake or learned about Faye. She would’ve stuck around until I was out of the OR and had a chance to explain.

  Much to my bitter bewilderment, Ava’s very presence made me feel something other than barren coldness, even when she was delivering cruel blows about how I was unworthy of her time and attention. If that makes me pathetic, fine. I’m sick of living an empty husk of a life. Until I met—and then lost—her, I was never, ever aware of this horrible chill that nothing except Ava can thaw.

  I want to be free of her so I don’t need to be around her to feel. That’s the least I deserve.

  Twenty-four weeks. One week for every month she left me. Surely that will provide enough familiarity-bred contempt to wash my hands of her forever.

  Plan fully formed, I make a call.

  Young Dreams

  “Hey sweetheart.”

  It’s a warm, soft greeting, but the girl doesn’t look up. Her father has missed her birthday again. He always misses her birthdays. School plays and Christmases, too.

  She’s sitting on the edge of her small worn bed. The mattress is so old it no longer has any bounce. He squats in front of her and puts a hand on her knee.

  “Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” He sighs. “Daddy had to work.”

  “You always have to work,” she whispers, her gaze cast down.

  He looks away, then reaches behind him and presents a glossy pink, black and white bag bearing a store logo. Victoria’s Secret, it reads. “Here you go.”

  When she doesn’t reach for it, he pulls a doll out of the bag. “Look. Isn’t it pretty?”

  It’s a girl doll with blank eyes. Her dress is pink and frilly, and there is a slight scuff mark on her right cheek.

  “She’s hurt,” the father says. “Nobody wanted her, but I thought you would want to be her friend.”

  She takes the gift. Her father can’t buy her anything new and nice, she knows that. He’s doing the best he can.

  They are poor. That will not change no matter what. This is not about her being a girl.

  Apparently interpreting her acceptance as forgiveness, he sits next to her on the bed and puts an arm around her skinny shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Daddy has to work or we can’t eat.”

  “I know.”

  Her mother has two jobs. The kids in her school call her poor even though most of them get free lunches just like her anyway.

  “I have to leave before dinner,” he says.

  “Work again?”

  He gives her a tired smile. “Yeah. But I’ll be back soon.”

  She nods. He’s always away. He says the money is better if he travels.

  She wishes he didn’t have to travel so much. But he said if he didn’t, then her mother might need to take on another job.

  Her mother is always so tired. The girl doesn’t want her mother to work more.

  Later that day, the girl clenches her hand around a few old and worn bills and coins. They’re sweaty from her palm.

  Six dollars and fifty-six cents is all the money she’s saved from her allowance. When she gets an allowance.

  Swallowing hard, she places everything on the scarred dining room table where her mother puts down two plates of PB and J sandwiches. Both have crusts since they can’t afford to waste even a crumb.

  “What’s this?” the mother asks.

  “Can you buy me some lottery tickets?”

  The mother stares at her. “What for?”

  “To win money. I heard Brian talk about it in school.”

  Brian is a jerk who loves to talk in a stuffy-nosed voice she hates, but he knows a lot of things she doesn’t. He said his dad was going to buy ten tickets. When his friends asked why he wasn’t buying any, he looked at them like they were morons. “Kids can’t buy lottery tickets.”

  Three hundred million dollars in the jackpot. She can’t count that high, but she knows it’s a lot of money. Enough to make her family really rich—millionaires, according to Brian.

  Millionaires don’t have to work so much. Millionaire dads can stay home and not miss birthdays and school plays and Christmases. And millionaire families don’t have to eat PB and J all the time.

  If her family just had more money, they’d be all right.

  Chapter Seven

  Ava

  I’m dead tired by the time I reach the small apartment I share with Bennie. Private jet or not, I didn’t get much sleep on the flight. I was too tense and too aware of Lucas.

  I reminded myself over and over about how he used me, but it wasn’t enough. My entire body was prickling like it was being enveloped in heat after being out in particularly grueling cold weather. Much to my mortification, the flesh between my legs throbbed as I remembered the decadent, insatiable things he used to do to me.

  I press the spot between my eyebrows and breathe out. I’m just tired. That’s the only reason I’m letting myself feel anything other than disdain for Lucas.

  I forcibly evict all thoughts of Lucas and concentrate on the present. Our apartment is a 2LDK—two bedrooms plus a larger area that serves as a “living-dining-kitchen”. Not that it’s really large; the place is tiny by American standards, actually smaller than some of the shared dorm suites in college. But space is at a premium in Japan, especially in a big city like Osaka.

  I step into the entryway, take off my shoes and call out, “Tadaima.”

  It loosely means “I’m home” in Japanese. Since it’s local custom to say it every time you come home, I’ve started saying it too.

  There’s no responding “okaeri”, so Bennie’s probably either asleep or out. He often sleeps in on the weekends, and on the rare occasions he gets up early, he goes out. He says hanging around the apartment feels like being stuck in a hamster cage.”

  I go to my room. Unlike Bennie’s, mine doesn’t have tatami-mat flooring. There’s a kind of synthetic, slightly cushy wood-like material instead. It’s actually pretty easy on the feet. There’s no bed in the room, just a low table with a seat cushion underneath. A small closet with sliding paper doors has my clothes and the futon set I pull out every night. I set down my suitcase, unroll the futon and pass out on top of the blanket.

  When I open my eyes, it’s semi-bright in the room. My thin curtains don’t block the sun very well. A good thing too; otherwise I would’ve overslept every morning I’ve been in Japan. I hate getting up early.

  I take my phone out to check the time. It’s a little after four p.m. I have an alert—a new email from my foster mother, Darcy McIntire. She lives in Virginia with her husband Ray. I lie back on the futon and read it.

  Subject: Holiday Plans?

  Ava,

  It’s been so long since we last saw you. How are you?

  We are doing fabulous. Mia is also doing well. We’re attaching her latest photos for you to look at. She looks a lot like you, especially the eyes and mouth. Ray keeps saying she’s going to break some hearts when she grows up. I agree.

  U
nable to wait, I click on the four photos she sent along with the email. They show a toddler who is a little over seventeen months old. She’s in a pretty pink dress with pink, blue and white ribbons in her dark hair. Mia is my foster parents’ adopted daughter and absolutely gorgeous. And Ray’s right about Mia’s eyes and mouth. I smile, tracing the adorable lines of her smiling lips, then run my fingers over her face lovingly. She looks happy, with fat cheeks and bright blue eyes. She’s perfect, raised by perfect parents.

  I go back to the email.

  We were wondering if you’re thinking about coming home for the holidays. If Thanksgiving is difficult, we wouldn’t mind Christmas or New Year’s. I know trans-Pacific isn’t easy, but we’d love to have you back. We miss you so much, Ava.

  If it’s difficult booking a ticket this late, we’d be more than happy to help.

  Love and miss you.

  Darcy

  Darcy’s offer to “help” sends a pang of guilt through me. When she asked last year, I told her I couldn’t go because it was too expensive to buy a ticket so late. It was a lie, of course. I just didn’t want to return to Charlottesville. Back then she didn’t push, obviously trying to spare my pride. But this time she isn’t going to be that delicate about it.

  After all, it’s been sixteen months since I left.

  Suddenly I’m wide awake. I rest the phone on my chest, screen down. Darcy and Ray don’t know I had the interview in Thailand. A job there would put me even farther away.

  A fierce longing pierces my heart. Why not just go home permanently? Who cares if I’ll be unemployed? Darcy and Ray won’t mind if I stay with them while I look for a job.

  But…

  I tighten my mouth. It’d be stupid to go home when I have a job in Japan and a nice offer in Thailand. The economy is horrible in the States. It’s better to stay where I am.

  Better to stay. Mentally repeating that a few more times, I get up and drag myself out of my room.

  The TV is on, its volume low. An old Bond flick with Sean Connery is playing on the flat screen.