Next in Line for Love

by Harper Bliss

  “Hey.” She turns on her back and blinks open her eyes. “You’re still here,” she says.

  “I am.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m the boss now.”

  She chuckles. “What do you have in mind for me today, boss?”

  “This.” I lean in and kiss her and it’s a sober, morning kiss, making it very different from all the other kissing we have done so far, under the light of muted lamps and the influence of expensive cocktails. And still, it makes me feel exactly the same as an evening kiss—like I never want to stop kissing her. So much for getting this—her—out of my system. Sleeping with her again has had the opposite effect.

  She shakes her head when we break from the kiss.

  “What?”

  “I should have known to pack some spare clothes when you called me last night,” she says.

  “How could you have?”

  “Because, Jill, you’re actually quite predictable.” She grins widely.

  “Maybe I am, but you couldn’t have foreseen what happened. I certainly didn’t.”

  She shrugs and sits up, the sheet tumbling off her. Her breasts are exposed and I have to restrain myself from reaching for them—but instant and permanent access to her magnificent breasts is a privilege I’ve not yet earned for myself.

  “I’m not kicking you out,” I say softly, “but that only means I’m being more of an adult about this. Not much else has changed.”

  She turns to me. “I’ll tell you what has changed. My father’s being admitted to hospital today to have heart surgery tomorrow. Let’s face it, with the luck we have in our family, he might never wake up again. He might die, Jill. And then why would we have even hesitated to be together?”

  I throw an arm around her. “Hey, Jeffrey’s going to be just fine.”

  “I don’t remember much from that time, but I do remember that’s what my dad used to say before Mom died. And she still died.”

  I pull her a little closer. “The surgery he’s having is performed a million times every day around the world. It’s routine. He’ll be up and grumping again in no time.” What else can I say? I don’t share Ali’s realism and isn’t it my main task, this morning in this bed, to support her?

  She shrugs again, and I take it as my cue to remove my arm from around her shoulders.

  “I wonder if he’s scared right now,” she says.

  “He would never show it, but I’m sure he is,” I say.

  Ali pulls the sheet around her body. “After Mom died, he just pulled away from us. He replaced our presence in his life with the brewery, as if he didn’t need us anymore. It’s probably more complicated than that. For all I know, he was protecting himself, immunizing himself against another loss. And then he—we—lost Leah and I sort of knew I’d lost him as well. Not that I had much of him before. I mean, I always had his money. And I knew I would always have a job at the brewery, although, for the longest time I didn’t want to work for LB, because I felt it took from me. But now, I might actually lose him. He might die.” She brings the edge of the sheet to the corner of her eye.

  “Go be with him today. It’s the only thing you can do.”

  She nods. “I’ll call Sebastian. We should both be with him, although he won’t want us there.”

  “He may say he doesn’t, but he does. He has no choice, either way.” I find her hand under the sheet and take it in mine. “If he protests, tell him the interim CEO has ordered it.”

  She looks at me, her eyes all watery and pink. “Thanks for being here. For making it easier.”

  “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” Tears prick behind my eyes as well.

  “That’s what it has felt like since Leah died. I sometimes resented her for always being with me, but she was there, you know. Even in the womb, I wasn’t alone.” Tears start streaming down her cheeks.

  I pull her close again. I press her against my chest and kiss the top of her head. “You’re not alone. I’m here.” Not for the first time, I wish I could take away some of Ali’s pain, alleviate her fear, fill in some of the gaps in her life when she didn’t feel loved.

  She sobs against me, moistening my skin, and time ticks by. I know I should get to work, that someone or something will be waiting for my arrival, but I don’t care, because nothing is more important right now than comforting Ali.

  33

  Ali

  Sebastian paces around the room. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

  “I don’t know,” I say for the umpteenth time. Hospitals make me nervous. I’d rather wait anywhere else. I wish Jill were here. I feel so trapped with only my brother in this hospital room. “I’m going to get some air.”

  “I’m going with you,” he says.

  “One of us should wait here in case he returns.”

  “He’ll be asleep,” Sebastian says matter-of-factly, not getting the hint.

  We’ve been at the hospital since early this morning. This is the most time I’ve spent with my brother in decades. We’re both agitated and ill at ease and it’s not helping us to bond—to make up for all the time that we lost.

  He follows me down the corridor and outside the hospital.

  “Let’s go where I can smoke.”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “I do today,” he says.

  I hope that’s all he does. I watch him walk to the smoking area. This man who was once my little brother—our little brother. When it comes down to it, we’re both equally screwed up, we just manifest it in different ways. And then I can’t help but wonder if my sleeping with Jill is me acting out in some way—like Sebastian with the coke—or if it’s real. It felt real yesterday, when she held me like that and I, for at least half a second, came to believe that what she predicted would come true. That Dad would be all right. Because now that he’s in the operating room, this stoic, moody, dark man unconscious and utterly vulnerable, his life in the hands of his surgeon, it strikes me he’s only human. Maybe what he did for us was the best he could do. It never felt like much, like there was never enough of his attention for the three of us, but maybe that was truly all he had to give after his wife died.

  I join Sebastian and willingly stand in a cloud of smoke. He takes such light drags from his cigarette he may as well not be smoking at all. But I don’t berate him for it. Because I feel exactly the same way he does.

  “What if he doesn’t make it,” he suddenly says, “what happens then?”

  “He’s going to make it.” I’m still Sebastian’s older sister. It’s still my job to comfort him. At least it is today.

  He gives a terse nod then stubs out his half-smoked cigarette. We walk away from the hospital doors for a few minutes in silence, then, still in silent agreement, turn back. Being here together is all we can do. It’s the best we can do for each other in this moment. We’re not the type to sit crying while holding hands. We don’t air our grievances, not even under pressure. We just live with them, day in and day out, and let them sit between us, except on some days, like today, when we automatically look past our differences for the simple reason that we’re family. We grew up in the same house under the same circumstances. For others, that might provide endless topics of conversation, continued fodder for gossip and reminiscing, but for my brother and me it’s more reason for silence. The silence is more companionable than tense and that alone counts for a lot.

  Later, when Dad is back in his room and still slipping in and out of consciousness, Sebastian goes out to get us some food. He could easily have something delivered, but now that the doctor has told us that the surgery went well and we don’t have to sit with the fear of Dad dying any longer, I recognize Sebastian’s desire to get away from the hospital for a little while.

  I sit in the chair next to Dad’s bed and close my eyes for a moment—I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep the past few nights and the decompression is making my eyes fall shut.

  “Ali,” Dad whispers. “Ali.”r />
  “Dad?” I look up at him. “Are you okay?”

  When he nods, his chin barely moves.

  “Sebastian just went to pick up some food,” I say, as though I have to make an excuse for my brother not being here—after all the times our father wasn’t there when we needed him.

  “Ali, in the recovery room,” he whispers. “You dream of the weirdest things when you’re coming out of the…”

  “Anesthetic,” I say.

  “I dreamed I asked you if you wanted the company. Did I ever ask you that?”

  “Dad, you shouldn’t be talking so much. It’s okay. I’m here.”

  “Ali, no, I need to know. Did I actually ask you—” He pauses to catch his breath. “Because in my dream, you said no. You didn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

  “It was just a dream, Daddy. It’s not real.”

  “It felt very real to me.” He sags a little deeper into the pillow. “You should think…”

  I can’t make out what he says. I get up and look at him. I should let him rest, but I’m too curious. “Sorry, Dad, I didn’t get that.”

  “You should really think about it, Ali. I know what I sacrificed for that company.” He suddenly reaches for my hand and curls his fingers around mine. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, because, in the end, it’s not worth it.” He shakes his head. “I’m lucky and I know that’s all I am, because you’re here, by my side. That’s just pure luck. It’s not something I deserve, to have you here. It’s—” His eyes flutter shut. His hand is still wrapped around mine, but his grip has softened.

  His chest starts rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s out again. Maybe I should leave the room when Sebastian comes back, to give him a moment like this with Dad. I shake it off as just a remnant of a dream he was processing. Because he did—sort of—ask me if I wanted to become CEO, although ask is perhaps not the best word for it. Even though it was formulated as a question, the answer was always already implied. Although, of course, I could have said no. But the thought never even crossed my mind. Not that becoming CEO of Lennox Breweries had ever been my goal—I always automatically assumed Sebastian would take over the company. But when you get asked, you say yes. Especially after Dad explained why Sebastian couldn’t take over in the short term.

  Is he having second thoughts?

  The door opens and Sebastian walks back in with a Chipotle bag in his hands. He gives it to me.

  “Has he been awake?” he asks.

  “No,” I reply. “Just in and out.”

  Sebastian has no reason not to trust me. But I can’t tell him what Dad just said. Not only because they were just ramblings of a man waking up after surgery, but also because I need to think about it—and call Jill and tell her about it.

  34

  Jill

  Ali came straight over to my apartment from the hospital.

  “It just made me think,” she says. “Because it has thrown me.” It’s late and she looks tired. She’s been by her father’s bed all day.

  “You should get some sleep. Proper sleep, I mean.”

  “Can I stay here?”

  “Of course.” I say it without thinking. I wouldn’t dream of sending Ali home right now.

  “It’s just I hadn’t expected a question like that to throw me so much. That’s the real issue.” She sounds like she’s just rambling now, thinking out loud. I was hoping she’d let it go—because if Ali’s having second thoughts about her future, that impacts my plans as well—but it doesn’t look like she will. I can be a sounding board for her, but not much more than that. All of this is, of course, complicated by how I feel about her. But that, too, seems to be taking a back seat to what her father said when he was barely conscious.

  “Then you should take some time to truly examine what you want.”

  She looks at me. She’s leaning against the windowsill where I undressed her last night. “Have you never wanted anything for yourself other than always work-work-work?”

  Maybe this is another reason why I’ve become so comfortable as a single woman: being spared from too inquisitive questions.

  “There have been times,” I say, then stop, hoping that’s enough for Ali.

  “When?”

  I walk over to her and lean against her. “Work has been good to me. I know that sounds like a massive cop-out, but it’s what got me over my break-up, and then I started getting promoted, and along the way I found something I’m really good at and that I enjoy doing. And now… here I am.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a cop-out.” She shifts her weight and slants her body against mine. “I don’t really know you that well, yet. I’m just curious.”

  “Surely, while you were away, you must have wondered about your future.” I don’t know Ali very well yet, either, but I’m keen to. “What did you see when you imagined yourself ten years down the line?”

  “Honestly, I never saw myself becoming top dog at LB. Never. But I was open to it, instantly, when Dad suggested it.”

  “But what did you see?”

  “Nothing. Because I always believed that picturing myself in the future was a luxury I couldn’t afford.” She scoffs. “I always knew I’d never have to worry about money. But… I don’t know. Maybe finding someone who could love me.”

  “You’re very easy to love,” I say, without thinking again. “To like, I mean. You’re very lovable. You know what I mean.” I hope the burning in my cheeks hasn’t translated into a high-pink blush, even though I know that it has. But it’s quite dark in my apartment and Ali’s looking straight ahead.

  “So are you,” she says, and puts her head on my shoulder. “What do you see when you think of your future?”

  “I really don’t know.” I could tailor my answer to what Ali probably wants to hear, but it would only be a guess, and it would only be a half-truth. Telling her that I don’t know is the closest to the truth I can come up with in this moment. I once made the mistake of envisioning a future for myself, in New York, with Melissa, until I learned what it felt like when the other person you’re dreaming of a future with no longer holds you in her dreams at all.

  “You don’t dream?” Ali’s voice has shrunk to a whisper.

  “I live in the present,” I say, sounding so very L.A.

  “Because you’re too busy to do anything else.” She straightens, creating a small distance between us. She moves in front of me. “If you won’t say it, Jill, I will. When I dream of my future right now, I see you in it.”

  “Oh, Ali.” I shake my head.

  “I mean it.” She takes my hands.

  “However tempting the thought… it’s just not…”

  “Then fuck the future,” she says. “We only have the present. And today, we’re together. Tomorrow, we’ll be together. And the day after, and the day after.” She smiles at me and it’s a smile that’s hard to resist, so I smile back, but not without trepidation making its presence known in the back of my head.

  “What are you so afraid of?” she asks, when the moment has passed. “When you really think about it, what’s there to be afraid of?”

  “Your father,” I say.

  “My father is recovering from heart surgery. He’s not the boss of LB anymore. And even if he was, what’s the worst he can do?”

  “Your father’s respect is important to me. I’ve worked for him for a long time. He’s taught me almost everything I know. He’s been generous and—”

  “What about me?” she asks. “Would you dump me to keep the respect of my father?”

  “That’s not something you can just come out and ask me, Ali. This is very complex.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s really not. You’re just making it complicated. Let me break it down for you.” She steps away from me. “I like you.” She throws in a grin. “A lot.” A waggle of the eyebrows. “I get the feeling you like me too.” She holds her palms up as if drawing a very simple conclusion. “Boom. That’s it. We like each other, so we’re togethe
r. And I don’t know what the future will bring either, Jill. You may get sick of me tomorrow, or next week, or next month. And if that’s the case, that’s fine. But then at least we will have tried instead of running away from this.”

  “I think it’s far more likely that you will get sick of me,” I blurt out. “You’re still so young. You have so many options. There are so many things you could do. So many people you could be with.”

  “But I want to be with you, Jill. Can’t you see? Why can’t you accept that?”

  “Because… you’re Ali Lennox. You’re gorgeous and amazing and you turn heads whenever you walk into a room. You may not see it, but I do. Maybe you’re used to it. I don’t know. But me… I’m no match for you. And I’m far too old for you. What if you decide you want to have kids in a few years?”

  “You’re talking about kids now?” She puts her hands on her sides. “Jill… what you’re basically saying is that you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But it shouldn’t stop us. Life’s too fucking short for that.”

  It’s something I can’t argue about with Ali—of course, for her, life is short. But her experience is not mine. And it’s bad enough that I’ve let her interrupt the quiet, hard-working life I’ve built for myself. And now, if I’m reading things correctly, she might not even want to work at LB anymore. “Maybe, in your world, everything’s possible—”

  “Stop saying things like ‘in your world.’ We live in the same world, Jill, you and I.”

  “From the very beginning, I’ve made it clear that I can’t do this. That you’re expecting too much of me.”

  “Have you ever stopped to wonder that perhaps you expect too little of yourself?” She takes a step closer again. “Sure, your work life is a big success. You’re raking in the dough. You made it to COO. And there’s no one else Dad trusts to be interim CEO. Open your eyes, Jill! You’ve seen what the stress has done to my father. At least he has two children to sit by his bedside. Who will you have when you’re in the hospital?”