Gavin looks at Amelia. “My wife wants everyone to have babies, as you can plainly see.” He wipes his hand against his jeans and offers it to her. “I’m Gavin, by the way.”
“Oh, eh, Amelia,” she says.
I watch her as she shakes Gavin’s hand. She’s distracted, only giving him a cursory glance, which is actually an impressive feat. Gavin is ordinarily such a magnetic and commanding presence that both men and women can’t help but follow his every word.
“Your children are beautiful,” she says, reaching out to stroke Hale’s cheek.
“Thank you,” Sophie says. “Looks like this little guy is ready to fall asleep. I’ll take him.”
I can see him fighting to keep his eyes open and losing the battle as he starts to nod off. “I can take him to his crib,” I offer. Seems to me making a handoff to Sophie will just wake the kid up.
“Oh, thank you. That would be great. I think I need to rescue the dinner from my distracted ‘helper,’” she says, giving Gavin’s arm a squeeze as she moves past him.
“Sorry about that, darlin’.”
She stops and moves back to him, giving him a kiss that isn’t quick but doesn’t linger too long either. “No problem,” she tells him quietly.
“Come with me?” I ask Amelia and she nods.
We go through the living area and down the hall, to the first bedroom on the right. Hale has his own room, but it connects with a bathroom to Daisy’s. The room is painted dove gray with blue and yellow accents. A small table lamp patterned with cutouts softly illuminates the ceiling with amber stars. I place Hale on his back in his crib and pat his little chest gently until he closes his eyes.
“How did you know to do that?” Amelia whispers. “Patting his chest like that?”
“Shay always liked that. Some things stick with you, I guess.”
“Oh, Daniel.”
When I look at her, I see her struggling with some emotion. But I don’t understand what’s behind it.
“You okay?”
She blinks rapidly and nods.
“Okay. Let’s let this guy sleep.
As I start to turn, she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Everything go all right with Sophie?”
“Yes. You were right. She put me at ease straight away. She’s a very warm person.”
“Told you. Let’s go get this dinner on, then.”
27
Amelia
* * *
The nanny materializes not long after Daniel and I return to the living area, whisking Daisy off for her nightly bath before bedtime. Daisy delights in going to each of us for a goodnight kiss and hug, making sure to include Roscoe. That leaves us with the freedom to have a glass of wine while Sophie finishes the meal she’s making for dinner.
We all hover near the kitchen island as she manages multiple tasks and while lively, jazz piano music plays in the background.
“Is that Fats Waller?” I ask.
“Yeah, it is,” Gavin replies. “I heard you like jazz.”
I immediately worry this means Gavin has been talking to Conor about me and drop my eyes.
“Had to tell him, baby,” Daniel says, “that you’re not into Rogue. That you’re into that old jazz.”
I’m able to breathe with that admission. I give Daniel a smile and then try to turn it into something apologetic for Gavin.
“It’s perfectly okay that you’re one of the minority who aren’t into my band,” Gavin says with a wink. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“He won’t hold it against you,” Sophie says, “but he also won’t stop trying to get you to become a fan.”
We laugh but I can see that there’s a determination in Gavin’s eyes that means Sophie isn’t really joking. I suppose that’s to be expected. He should be fully invested in his own band and want to indoctrinate new fans wherever he can. And now that I’m taking the time to absorb his presence, I can tell that he’s probably incredibly persuasive when he sets his mind to it. He exudes uncommon charisma. That, along with his unpolished good looks, is certainly enough to cast a sort of spell. I can see why he is the lead singer of the band. The girls must love him. I watch Sophie putting the final touches on four plates and the things I shouldn’t know flash through my mind. The biggest one being that I know Sophie cheated on Gavin several years back.
“Okay!” Sophie says. “Go ahead and sit down. We’re ready.”
We go to the formal dining area rather than sit at the breakfast nook where Daniel and I shared a drink that night I came to help him and Shay with Daisy. He and I never discussed whether Sophie and Gavin knew that I’d come to his aid that night, but we both seem to be of the mind to keep from referencing it, which I think is probably for the best.
Sophie apologizes for the “casual” meal, but the plates look gourmet to me. We each have an entrée of chicken paillard topped by an arugula salad with thin slices of tomato, parmesan cheese, and red onion. Lemon juice and a reduced balsamic glaze are drizzled over the top.
“So, how did you like San Francisco?” Sophie asks.
“Oh, I loved it,” I say. “We had the best time. I think we might have walked the whole city, but Daniel is right that that’s really the best way to see it.”
“It’s such a romantic city. I’ve always loved it.”
“Yeah, we got our romance on, that’s for sure,” Daniel says.
“Crass, Daniel,” Gavin says with mock admonishment, as I feel my cheeks go red.
Daniel laughs and takes a big bite of chicken.
“I’ll give him lessons, Amelia,” Gavin says. “He’s still learning to be human, after all.”
“Fuck off,” Daniel says good-naturedly.
“These two together,” Sophie says, with a shake of her head. “They turn into teenagers all over again.”
“Just making up for lost time,” Daniel says. “I didn’t get to be a teenager, really.”
“That’s interesting,” I muse.
“What is?”
“Just that this is the second time you’ve lamented having missed out on things.”
“Lamented? What are you on about?” he asks with a laugh.
“I just mean, that you’ve talked about having missed the band’s early days of touring and now this comment about missing out on being a teenager.”
“What’s so interesting about that?”
“Because it suggests a sort of resistance to something you might not want to deal with in the present, so you’re idealizing episodes of perceived good times in the past.”
“Idealizing is quite the psycho-speak, Ms. Patterson,” Daniel replies cagily.
The table goes quiet for an awkward moment.
“I just, eh, it might be helpful to think about why this is coming up. That’s all I meant. Analyzing your feelings, especially when something keeps coming up, is always a valid endeavor.”
He just stares at me and I can feel the weight of his confusion and disappointment.
With a sinking feeling, I realize too late that I’ve veered into therapist mode. I’ve done such a good job since we got together in keeping that out of our relationship. Now, I have to wonder what in my subconscious brought this forth at such an inopportune time.
“Amelia, you mentioned earlier you have a nephew,” Sophie says.
Her effort to change the subject is painfully obvious, but I’m happy to take it, and relieved when Daniel doesn’t object.
I go on to tell them all about Max and how close I am with my sister. The mood eases, but only by a degree. I can feel Daniel’s knee bouncing next to me. When I place my hand on his thigh to try to calm him, it doesn’t abate his nervous energy. Neither does he acknowledge my touch. I had hoped he’d take it as my apology, but he doesn’t so much as glance my way.
It’s incredibly uncomfortable and I am sure both Gavin and Sophie can see how angry Daniel is with me, but I’m at a loss over what to do.
Luckily, both our hosts are adept at moving conversati
on from topic to topic as we continue the meal. It’s only when we’re all on our third glass of wine that I finally feel Daniel relaxing. I want to reach out and touch him again, but I’m afraid he’ll reject me once more. As soon as Sophie stands to clear the plates and see about dessert, I jump to help her despite her insistence that she has it handled.
“Dinner was delicious,” I tell her when we’re in the kitchen.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“I, eh, I’m so sorry for that awkwardness earlier.”
She glances up from the dishes she’s rinsing in the sink. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just don’t know why that came out the way it did. Me questioning Daniel’s resistance, I mean.” I shake my head as if that will clear the unpleasantness.
Grabbing a tea towel, Sophie wipes her hands and gazes at me for a long moment. “I can see where lines might be . . . blurred sometimes with you two.”
I step closer to her. “That’s the thing, though. Everything has actually been so good with us since we got together.” I stop myself, realizing I have to amend that. “Well, except for the first couple days. But anyway, we’ve been getting along really well as just . . . people. Our past relationship hasn’t interfered the way you might think it would.”
“Okay,” she says. “So, it was just a slip-up. Because you’re wired to want to dissect things. It’s bound to happen, right?”
“Oh, Sophie,” I say, feeling way too familiar with her. I’ve only just met her and now I’m—what? Seeking relationship advice from her? She’s just so easy to speak with. And she’s so lovely to look at.
With this last thought, I realize that I am officially drunk.
“Will we have coffee with dessert?” I ask, desperate to feel some steadiness, some sobriety.
Thankfully, Sophie’s smile is sympathetic rather than patronizing.
“Yes, we will.”
I nod and stand there, staring at her like an idiot. I realize I crave her approval or forgiveness or acceptance—any kind of positive reinforcement because I know she’s Felicity’s best friend. I’m desperate for her to carry back a message to Felicity that will show me in a better light than what I’ve done for myself tonight. The way to do this is to be a pleasant guest and to stop appearing so needy.
So, of course, instead, I blurt out, “How’s Felicity?”
There’s only the briefest hesitation before she answers. “She’s good. She’s back at work in full force with all the planning for the album and tour.”
I nod. “That’s good to hear.”
“Just so you know, she didn’t tell me much about what all happened. Only that she was shaken. And disappointed to lose you as a friend.”
That brings tears to my eyes. “I made some mistakes,” I say and take in a stuttering breath.
When she speaks, her voice is so soothing, so kind, that I think she would have made an excellent therapist. “I know that feeling. It’s that thing that eats at you and colors everything about who you think you are,” she says. “But I also know that we are more than our mistakes. Felicity knows that, too.”
These words are so comforting that I feel the urge to hug her. I don’t, of course, but I can see now that she shares a certain magnetism with her husband. You just want to be around her, to bask in her warmth. And I can see why Felicity was so intimidated by her “perfection.” She sets, by all appearances and deeds, a high bar. I do, however, suspect that Felicity's feelings around this were heightened—understandably—by Sophie and Conor’s history together.
“Thanks very much for that. You’re a dear,” I tell her. “Can I help you with this?” I gesture to the dessert on the counter. It’s some sort of apple crumble garnished with fresh blackberries.
“Let’s have the boys handle this,” she replies with a wink.
I follow her back to the dining room, watching as she tells Gavin and Daniel where to find the dessert, including vanilla ice cream, and reminds them that we’ll need plates, utensils, and coffee.
They agree to the task and when Daniel stands, I step aside to make room for him. But instead of steering clear of me, he keeps close and lets his fingers graze across mine as he goes.
It’s the smallest of touches, but it feels like everything.
28
Danny Boy
* * *
Well, that was weird. Dinner with Gavin and Sophie, that is. We didn’t stay past dessert and then Amelia asked that I drop her home, so she could take care of household things she’s put off for too long.
Now I’m back at Shay’s with Roscoe, lounging in the Man Cave like the old days.
But the stillness is driving me crazy. There’s no use in watching Fair City, or surfing the web, or playing a round of solo snooker. This is the first night since I’ve been back in Dublin that Amelia hasn’t stayed over, and her absence is rubbing me the wrong way. Shouldn’t she be here trying to make up for what happened at dinner? What even was that? I mean, why would she go all therapist on me in front of my friends? Unless, she feels compelled to still manage me like I’m her fucking client. Like I’m still so fucked up that she has to examine every little thing I say and do just to try to make sense of me. And if that’s the case, it sure feels like shite because it brings me right back to that feeling I had right when she first showed up in San Francisco—the one that made me feel like I wasn’t capable of making her happy.
Besides all that, what is really fucking with me at the moment is that I didn’t even get a proper apology. Even after I was the one to make a gesture to her by touching her hand before dessert. And all because Gavin counseled me when we were on our own that I needed to be aware that I’d jumped into something with Amelia that was complicated because of our history. Because of him, I made the first move to smooth things over with her. But then she was distracted and quiet in the car, only giving me a quick kiss before rushing off.
Shaking my head at the absurdity of this relationship bullshit, I think of calling Conor to see if he would want to get a drink. Then I realize it’s just past eleven o’clock and reject the idea. He’s probably tucked in for the night with his family. I’m still itching to do something, though, so I ring Marty on the off-chance he’s even in Dublin. If I followed the tabloids closer, I’d probably have my answer since he and his movie star girlfriend are often featured, try as they might to lay low.
“Danny Boy, that you?” Marty answers.
He sounds in a good mood, which is a welcome start. “It is. I’m back here in Dublin. Where in the world are you these days?”
“The very same. Had my boys with me this weekend, but now they’re back off with Celia.”
“Lainey there with you?”
“No, she’s in the States. Has some film work to do.”
“Grand. Listen, fancy a drink? We could meet somewhere?”
“Eh, sure, why not?”
We debate what kind of scene we’re up for with going out. I lobby for something lively. I want to get lost in loud music and drink. I want to get numb and forget this weird thing with Amelia and the apology that went unsaid. In the end, Marty goes along with my wishes and we arrange to meet at The Button Factory to see who’s spinning.
When I find him at a corner table, he’s behind a curtain of women who are shamelessly fawning over him. I push my way through and take the empty seat beside him. Having spent a good chunk of time around the band, I’ve become accustomed to this sort of thing. Eager women ready to fall all over Gavin or Conor is the norm. Marty has been edging his way into that territory, too. My kid brother Shay is good looking enough to warrant the same attention, but he gives off such an intense “don’t fuck with me” vibe, that it’s only the brave few ladies who ignore his warning signs to try to flirt.
“Thanks for stopping by, ladies,” I say.
The brush off works, as they seem to turn away en masse, disappearing into the crowd.
I see that he’s got two pints of Guinness waiting for us and I’m delight
ed.
“Nice work,” I tell him, picking up the drink.
“Cheers.” He gives me a nod before raising his glass.
The music is throbbing techno with the DJ trying out a painfully obvious poor man’s deadmau5 impersonation as he’s got some sort of full head animal mask on. But it’s what I bargained for: loud and numbing. Especially when I make short work of my pint and signal the cocktail waitress for two more and shout for a bottle of whiskey as well.
“Slow down, yeah?” Marty says.
“No. I’m after just the opposite of that.”
“What got up your arse?”
“Relationships are shite, aren’t they?”
Marty laughs. “Not always. But they can be. Since when did you have one?”
“Since Amelia showed up out of the blue at Shay’s place in San Francisco.”
“Who is Amelia?”
“My ex-therapist,” I tell him with exasperation. I figured all the guys knew everything since they’re always fucking gabbing.
But Marty clearly didn’t know this. He sits back in his chair and contemplates me for a moment.
“Well, no wonder you’re in a state,” he says. “Who told you it was a good idea to fuck your therapist?”
Now I’m the one to laugh. “My therapist did, actually.”
We lock eyes for a beat before bursting out laughing. It’s just what I need right now because it puts me off the cycle of negativity that was starting to gain momentum in my head. The cycle that almost always leads to wild, destructive things.
“Must make for some interesting times,” he says. “Like, how do you separate the therapist from the girlfriend?”
“Funny you should mention that, Marty.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Had a fan-fucking-tastic example of that earlier tonight when we were having dinner at Gavin’s and she fucking started to analyze me in front of them.”
Marty winces. “That’s awkward.”
“As fuck,” I agree.
Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8) Page 14