Pre-Approved Identity Theft

by Nellie K Neves

  He reads my mind and says, “None of these places were originally designed to be lived in. I built the loft after Rory was born. There was only one bedroom before that, and we’re terrible roommates.”

  It’s rough, raw, and masculine, but I’d like to wrap up in the whole feel of it and never leave because I feel safe in a place like this. He’s taken something cold and industrialized and made it a home.

  “I love it,” I say after a moment and I realize he’s staring at me, waiting for that response. “It’s like the city, different and unique.”

  Declan’s grin goes crooked and he loops one side of the tie around the other as if he might tie it. “Thanks, I really love it too. It’s not typical, but it works for us.”

  Like magic, as he says the word ‘us,’ I start to see the little bits around the room that belong to his daughter. The pink plastic tricycle that’s shoved behind the couch, the purple stuffed bunny discarded to the side of the kitchen bar, the dolly that sits in the window and then the blue eyes that watch me from the hallway.

  She’s gorgeous, possibly the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen. Dark thick hair with natural curl at the ends, round rosy cheeks and full pouty lips. But it’s her eyes, the eyes that are the same shade as her father’s that tell me he will have his hands full when she’s a teenager.

  Declan sees her and his face melts in adoration. “Come on, sweetheart. I want you to meet my friend, Max.” His knees crack as he drops to the floor and stretches his arms wide. As if it is the only invitation she needs, she runs across the floor and crashes against his chest in a giggly mess. Declan’s arms wrap around her and squeeze her tight in a hug. It’s instinctual, she’s there, so of course he’ll hug her. It takes all my willpower to smother the ache in my heart. Declan is standing and holding Rory and I need to play my part, even if I have no such memories with my father.

  “Max, this is my daughter Aurora,” Declan says to me, but he’s watching her to make sure she’s comfortable.

  Rory melts back into her father and covers her face with two chubby little hands. “Me so Rory,” she says as if it’s a big joke.

  “Yes,” Declan agrees, “you’re Rory.”

  The perfection of their relationship is drowning me in guilt. I’m standing in a spot that some other woman should be filling, someone who can stay with him, be the person he needs them to be, not disappear in five days when Indigo returns. Worse than disappearing, I realize, in his eyes Indigo will change overnight.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I say to Rory. “I love your dress.”

  Her hands slide down her face so I can see her eyes, and she giggles into her palms. “So pretty!”

  “Yes,” I agree, “you’re very pretty. You look like your daddy.”

  Her little nose scrunches up at the thought. “Daddy so pretty?”

  I can’t help but laugh gently at her confusion. “Daddy is very pretty.”

  Declan’s blushing is impossible to hide. He sets Rory back down to cover it. “Why don’t you go get your toys? Marissa will be here in a minute.”

  Rory pauses and looks back at me. Her nose crinkles up again as if she’s evaluating me, then she blows me a kiss and runs haphazardly for the back bedroom.

  “She’s wonderful,” I say as I watch her disappear, “you’ve done such a great job with her.”

  “Thanks,” Declan says, but I can tell he’s watching me, not Rory. “She likes you, I can tell. She’s normally pretty shy. Not everyone gets blown kisses, you know.”

  He picks up the end of his tie and loops it around the other side. Without thinking, I place my hand over his to pause his movement. “You don’t have to wear that,” I tell him.

  The instant electricity that runs through us is unexpected. I didn’t mean to start this storm, and yet here we are caught in it. My fingers wrap up in the silk and twist until his tie is in my hand, then on the floor. He’s trying to think of something to say. His mind is working like it does when we have a new account, but he’s coming up empty because how long can we deny what’s building between us?

  “I like your suspenders.” It’s hardly a whisper. It’s a stupid thing to say, but he’s not saying anything, and we need an alibi to explain why we’re this close and he’s still moving closer to me.

  “I like you,” Declan says and my fingers slip between his.

  He’s dying to kiss me, and what’s worse is I’m dying to let him, but this isn’t the time, not with his daughter nearby.

  “We shouldn’t,” I manage to choke out, “not while Rory is—”

  “Yeah,” Declan agrees, but it doesn’t dispel the heat charged between our interlocked hands. “It’s getting harder to move slow, Max. Every time we’re together, I mean, do you feel it? Can you feel the way the air changes? Like there’s not enough oxygen unless I’m close to you.”

  A knock at the door saves me from answering. Rory bursts from the back room, a princess crown teetering atop her head. She nearly tears the door open herself, but her father catches her. I know why it took him a minute to unlock the door because there are child locks at the top out of her reach. Declan pulls it open and lets in the babysitter.

  Marissa is tall, or at least taller than I was at fifteen. She’s in that ugly duckling stage we all go through. She doesn’t know quite how to use makeup and the baby blue eye shadow is doing nothing for her close-set eyes. But the way Rory throws herself in Marissa’s arms leaves me a little jealous and the babysitter’s smile takes away any awkwardness I might have seen before. This stage won’t last long and she’ll be a knockout.

  The teen looks up and sees me. There’s a quick glance back to Declan to nod her approval. Once more he has to turn away to hide his embarrassment. Marissa looks back to me and smiles, displaying a full rack of braces.

  “I feel like I should thank you. I used to get to babysit maybe once a month if Mr. Thorpe wanted to go grocery shopping alone. Now I’m making loads of cash.”

  I can’t stop my nervous chuckle. “You’re welcome,” I say, but it sounds more like a question.

  “No seriously,” Marissa continues, “he never dates, like ever, and now he’s like totes shipping on you and it’s bank for me.”

  “Okay, Marissa,” Declan stops her before she can say anything more, “I think we’re good to go. Rory has had dinner. We’ll be across the street.”

  Declan says a quick goodbye to Rory and kisses her goodnight. Once more, I’m struck by the way he dotes on her. I can’t help the pang in my heart at the loss of what’s never been for my father and me.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  He’s a regular at this restaurant. They know his name, he has a booth that appears to be assigned to him, and he never has to wait for service. The hostess asks about Rory, and the waitress wants to know the next time she’s coming in. They’re all clearly flirting with him, but Declan is clueless, so it’s not as if I can get jealous.

  “You’ve been coming here awhile, haven’t you?”

  Declan hears the teasing tone to my voice and shrugs as if he’s a little embarrassed by the truth. “When Sam walked out on me, I had this brand new baby and very little time for myself. I’d order takeout and come pick it up. Eventually, Melanie, the bartender, started walking it over to my place. As Rory got older we started coming here more regularly. She had her first foods here. All cards on the table, I’m not a great cook, and I’m pretty spoiled around here.”

  “You do realize any one of these women would run off with you, don’t you?” I ask.

  “What? These girls? No, they’re family.”

  It’s precious and I can’t help but smile at his innocence.

  “And what about your family?” I ask. “Were they any help? Do you see a lot of them?”

  “Not a lot. They live out of state, so it’s mostly phone calls and holidays that I see them, and that’s okay. It’s been Rory and me against the world for quite some time now, I think we’re finally used to it.”

  We take a moment to order, I o
pt for chicken parmesan this time. Our waitress leaves us, with only a quick glance back at Declan before she leaves.

  “What about you?” Declan asks. “Are your parents involved in your life?”

  The sound that bursts from me is somewhere between a chirp and a laugh and laden down with all the cynicism that I’ve harbored over the years.

  “If I let them.” It feels good to tell the truth. “My parents think they know what’s best, and they aren’t afraid to tell me what that is, or to enforce it as well.”

  “Well, I guess it’s good to get advice on the big stuff, but it’s not like you have to do what they tell you,” Declan says with a healthy dose of caution. He must see my doubt because he asks, “What do they bug you about?”

  I list them off with ease. “Who I date, what I eat, who I’m friends with, how I spend my time, what car I drive, how I talk, the job I chose, you know, the basics.”

  It’s supposed to be a joke, but there is way too much truth for it to be funny.

  “Yeah, but you’re a grown adult. What can they do? It’s not like you have to listen to them.”

  “They’re my parents,” I say and it’s all I need to say to know it’s the end all, beat all, of the story.

  “Right…” he says slowly, “but you’re an adult. What can they possibly do?”

  The words fall out before I can stop them, “Guilt, shame, humiliation, more guilt. If I try to defy them and they find out, the bill is too high to pay.” He’s not convinced so I give him a for instance. “I chose my own friends once back in high school. Really cool girls, we used to meet up after school and try to skateboard. We were bad at it. I was the only one who could afford a board, so we shared. We watched videos and tried to replicate what we saw. My mother found out after one week because my boyfriend told her. He didn’t approve either. She forbade me to see any of the girls again, so I hid the board at my friend’s house. I lied and told my mother I was studying at the library. It worked for another week, but once my boyfriend caught me skating behind the grocery store, he told and it was all over.”

  Declan smiles and says, “No more skating, huh?”

  I wish it’d been that simple.

  “No more friends,” I say. “Ever. She told me I was clearly not responsible enough to choose my own friends, and she would select them for me. I was escorted to and from school and the only person I was allowed in my life was the boyfriend they’d selected for me.”

  He can barely believe it. I don’t blame him.

  “They picked your boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “Nine years.”

  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve never said it out loud or what, but my mind stalls on the phrase.

  9 years.

  “That’s insane, I mean, did you at least care about him?”

  “No.” I stare at the table, completely disconnected as I reel over the time I’ve lost. “He didn’t care about me either. It was a smart match, that’s all.”

  “What would they think about me?” Declan asks as he runs his thumbs up the length of his suspenders. They snap against his chest as he winks. “I mean, I’m a catch.”

  He has a way of making me laugh even when I’m drowning in self-doubt and depression.

  “I think you are,” I say, because I need him to understand that their feelings are not my feelings.

  “But they wouldn’t?”

  “No. You’re divorced. You have a daughter. Your apartment would be impossible for them to understand, but in all fairness they don’t understand even normal apartments. You’re not a CEO, politician, or surgeon, so your career would be a factor.”

  “Okay,” he says as his hands come up, “you can stop there. I’m developing a complex. Geez, Max, they’re supposed to want you to be happy, that’s all.”

  Happy. Now there’s a novel idea.

  “That’s why I left,” I say, and again it’s the truth. “I came out west so I could get out from under them, and I’ve been doing what I want for the first time in my life.”

  The waitress returns with our food, but senses the intense nature of our talk and slips the plates in without a sound.

  “Are you happy now?” Declan asks without so much as glancing at his food.

  “Yes, I am.”

  It’s an easy answer, not just because freedom has been my greatest gift, but because of him. Declan makes me happy.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “I knew you’d walk,” Declan says as he holds the door open for me. I tighten my jacket around my body as we step into the cold. “It doesn’t matter that I feel like I’ve been beat by a gorilla, oh no, Indigo has to walk.”

  I resist the urge to correct him back to my name. Maybe it’s best that he not remember me.

  “Well, I’m driving you home,” Declan says as he catches my hand with his and pulls me to a stop. The night is still, strange for this city. Dew creates a haze beneath the streetlights, gathers in the glow of the headlights and droplets settle on my cheeks. Declan’s hand catches my other arm and he pulls me to face him. My nerves bundle in my throat.

  There are no distractions left, no one on the street at all. Maybe he’s paid them all to leave because it feels perfectly orchestrated as he draws me closer. His gaze scans over my face trying to see the objections I might have, and they’re there, but everything else is stronger. My lips are on fire and he hasn’t even kissed me yet. His forehead rests against mine. His arm slips around my waist. I feel his other hand catch the back of my arm, urging me to wrap up in his embrace.

  I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. He thinks I'm her.

  Indigo.

  But I'm not.

  That makes this a lie. Daddy always said lying was wrong. But nothing about this feels wrong. This feels like something I should bottle and sell for a profit. This feels like a drug. Like he's set me on fire after a long run, but better. So much better.

  Perfect.

  Perfect except that he doesn't know my name. I should tell him, blurt it out right here. But his lips are close to mine and it's impossible to get free because I hate that idea. I hate what I was.

  I love this now.

  I could love him if I let myself.

  His lips are warm as they brush over mine. His hooked finger on my chin refuses to let me take even a centimeter back. This is happening. He's orchestrated the whole night to get here.

  To get her.

  Maybe she’ll crash while parasailing.

  Maybe she'll fall into a volcano.

  Maybe she’ll meet a nice islander and move into his hut.

  I don't care, as long as she never comes back. Because now he's kissing me and I'm kissing him. I’ve wrapped my hand around the back of his neck because I’m on tiptoe trying to pull closer to him. I need something to anchor me as my knees go weak.

  As if reading my thoughts, his arms wrap tight around my waist and lift me higher, supporting my weight, digging into me with his fingertips because this is it. This is what we've both been hunting for all our lives.

  Only one problem.

  He doesn't know my name.

  “Max.” He means it as a whisper, but with our racing hearts it’s closer to a gasp. “Max, I don’t want to put this off any longer. Can’t we drop the pretenses and be together? We’ve been dancing around this all week. I can barely focus.”

  His palm runs over my hip then back to my waist. “All I can think about is this, holding you, kissing you, feeling you close to me. I don’t know why we’re waiting anymore.”

  I don’t know either, at least not while I’m staring into his eyes. But it hits me. Tomorrow I have four days left. How can I tell him without exposing myself? More importantly, how can I leave him?

  “Because next week, it won’t be like this,” I say, and it’s the closest to the truth that I can get.

  “What do you mean? You think I’ll lose interest?” Declan puts space between us, not much, a couple inches at mos
t, but his frustration burns. “I don’t know if you realize how important tonight was to me, but I don’t introduce women to my daughter. Ever. It’s not like you’re the first one to come along either. I don’t know what this is between us, but I’m not going to be over it by next week if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Thinking. Thinking is not something I’m doing very well right now. His finger traces the side of my face, then sweeps back to tuck my hair behind my ear. I can’t help but lean into his touch because that’s what I want more of, not thinking. Not discussing the lies I’ve told.

  “I might not be here,” I say and it’s as close to the truth as I can get.

  He steps back as if I’ve shoved him.

  “You’re leaving? What are you talking about? Do you have another job offer or something?”

  He’s given me a way out. But I have to be brave enough to lie a little more.

  “I knew Garnet was going to fire me, so I put out some resumes, and something came back this week.”

  “In the bay?”

  “No,” I say, but it doesn’t matter because Indigo isn’t actually going anywhere. “Up north.”

  “Sacramento?”

  “Yes,” I answer though I’m not sure how far away that is.

  “And you’re taking it?” The look of pain in his eyes is more than I can handle. I can’t follow through on my charade any longer.

  “I think so,” I answer.

  My doubt is a gap in my armor and he takes advantage.

  “You shouldn’t. You’re good at your job here. You should stay here. With me.”

  If only it could all be that simple. I actually consider telling him the truth. The words, “My name is Harper Sutton,” roll around in my mouth, but I lack the courage to spit them out. It leaves us staring at each other on a quiet street with the silence piling up like snow between us.

  “Anything I can do to change your mind?” Declan finally asks.

  Volcano.

  Earthquake.

  Monsoon.

  Anything that might pick Indigo up and make it so she never existed. Then I can take over her life.

  It’s only fair. I’m better at it than she ever was.

  “You’re the only reason I’d stay,” I say. Maybe once he knows the truth he’ll still want me. But I doubt it because I saw how he looked at my picture in that magazine, and it’s not likely.