"Don't complain when you get something good. At least you got extra time with Percy. Even if he doesn't look good in boxers."
"He does look--" I caught myself, but too late.
"I knew it," she said, grinning at me. "I knew he was cute. Maybe he's a sexy guy after all."
"Larissa, he's sweet and funny and polite and doesn't try to grab your boobs five minutes after you meet him. You know what that means."
She nodded and we said, "Nice guy," together. Then she said, "Well, then you just need to find a sexy one and you'll have the whole thing covered. Percy for cuddling and taking care of you and that sort of thing and the sexy one for the jungle sex."
"I'm never sure what you mean by 'the jungle sex' and I'm terrified to ask."
She laughed. "Probably just as well." Her laughter faded and her eyes went sad. "I have to tell you, I'm getting close to settling for a nice guy. Sex isn't that important."
I stared at her.
"I know, I always say it is, but..." She sighed. "I could just go for a little romance. The sexy guys, they break your heart."
Damien stepped into my mind as if he'd been waiting outside its door for the right moment to torment me. He hadn't so much broken my heart as removed it completely. I'd never had feelings for any guy but him, and even those I'd managed to shut down long before he got married a year ago and proved to me once and for all that he'd only wanted me for sex. Feelings and sex didn't go together. They never would.
We sat in silence for a moment, then she said, "Anyhow. Got anything new to show me, thrift shop queen?"
I pulled my furry bag from my lap and held it up.
"Ooh, nice," she said, but it lacked conviction.
"You don't like it."
"I do, actually. I think it'd be great on a photo shoot. I'm..." She tipped her head back and forth. "I'm just not sure it's you."
Well, I would make it me, even if I had to change me to do it.
*****
We finished our meal, chatting about nothing of importance. I told her about Paddington ripping up my boot and she rolled her eyes as she always did when my dog was bad then told me how her friend Candice was doing. "Her new son's got all her attention, when her daughter doesn't, and there's zilch left over for me. It makes sense, obviously, since the baby's only two months old, but we used to go for lunch or coffee nearly every week and now it's been nearly a month. We went to our elementary school reunion on Saturday but I hardly got to see her there, and then our plans for lunch the next day got cancelled. I understand it, but I hate it."
"I thought you were going to hang out last weekend?"
Larissa shrugged. "Went to her place and spent half an hour with her before Eric threw a hissy fit and Candice thought it'd be easier to calm him down if I left."
I grimaced. "Catherine always told me to leave when her kids went nuts too. The joys of motherhood. Well, at least you got to see her. That's good."
She gave a slow nod. "Yeah. I guess it is."
When we'd finished our coffee and dessert, we parted ways on the sidewalk with a promise to get together again in a few weeks. Halfway home I realized she'd never answered my email earlier in the week, but from what I could remember it hadn't really required a response.
It would have, if I'd told her Felix had kissed me on Friday, but I'd felt weird about announcing that over email and tonight I hadn't even thought to tell her. Of course, we'd been more focused on Percy than Felix.
Unfortunately, though, her words had brought Damien too far to the front of my mind to be ignored.
I took Paddington for a quick walk, trying and failing to keep myself from reminiscing, then gave up and headed to the back corner of my basement. The cheesy purple box atop my metal storage shelves still bore traces of the gold foil I'd stuck to it, thinking it was the height of elegance, back in high school. I hardly noticed its appearance, though, because I was all about what was inside.
My history with Damien.
I took the box upstairs to the couch, where Paddington curled up beside me to watch as I flipped through the pictures of Damien and me and the scribbled notes between us and between me and my friends about him that were all I'd taken away from our relationship.
Relationship. I always called it that, but it hadn't been one. It had been sex, pure and simple.
But I'd thought it was a relationship. To his credit, Damien had never led me on, but I'd constantly hoped that one day he'd look at me and realize we were meant to be together.
He never had. But he had looked at me and said, "I'm getting married in a month."
My throat tightened and I pushed that memory, and the box itself, aside. Damien was history. When he called me shortly after his wedding and suggested we go out for dinner, I'd known he meant that as we'd always meant it, a quick meal then sex, and I'd told him in no uncertain terms that he'd have to eat alone. I wouldn't sleep with a married guy, and I certainly wouldn't let myself start to fall for him again.
Nothing good came of romantic feelings for a sexy guy.
I'd be better off with sexy feelings for a nice guy, but it had never happened. Nice guys deadened me below the waist.
I sighed, suddenly so tired, and returned the box to the basement. Every time I looked at those memories I wondered whether I should throw the box away, and this time was no exception. I couldn't do it, though. Teenage me had collected that stuff so carefully, and in some ways it was probably good to feel the echoes of her hopes and dreams.
It would help me remember that they were nowhere close to reality.
Chapter Seven
I winced yet again and Percy said, "You okay?"
I pushed my chin down to my chest, then looked up at him and nodded. Repeating the stretch, I said, "Yeah. Sorry, wicked headache."
He grimaced. "Want an aspirin or something?"
"Already took two. Thanks, though. No, it's just..."
He tipped his head to one side. "What?"
I couldn't bitch about not wanting to see my parents to the guy who'd lost his mother. "Nothing. It's just a headache."
He clearly knew I was full of it but he let me escape without explaining. "Well, I hope it gets better soon. Would coffee help? I'm getting one."
"It might. Especially in such nice surroundings."
We'd worked together most of the morning before deciding to treat ourselves to an early lunch at an actual restaurant instead of just fast food. He'd suggested Steel, only a few blocks from our office, and I'd jumped at the idea because I'd never been there and had always wanted to try it out. I'd tried to get Larissa to go with me after the place reopened following a fire but she'd refused with a fierce coldness I'd never seen from her before so I'd felt weird about asking again or even asking her why she was so against the place.
Percy and I had nearly had the restaurant to ourselves when we arrived at eleven-thirty but now every seat was taken and the foyer was full of hopeful diners awaiting their turn.
"Kind of beats some cheap burger joint, doesn't it?"
"Indeed." I looked around, checking out the classy decor, and my eyes locked with the deep blue ones of a tall dark-haired guy in a sleek suit standing near the kitchen door a few tables away.
Hello, sexy guy. My body warmed, recognizing his status immediately, but after a split second he looked away. I didn't usually lose the attention of a sexy guy that fast, since they seemed to recognize in me a 'no strings attached' woman, and though I knew I shouldn't care it bothered me. I'd be forty next year; was I losing my touch?
"Got big plans tonight?"
Reluctantly I looked away from the guy, who still hadn't looked back, and refocused on Percy. "Dinner with my parents."
"Ah," he said. "That should be..." He trailed off. "Do they still make you crazy sometimes?"
I had to smile. "Sometimes?"
"So that explains the headache, I guess?"
I nodded. "They're great, really, but..." I sighed, then told him about their refusal to even consider moving to
a more easily maintained condo instead of their sprawling house.
Once I'd finished he raised a hand to signal our waitress, who came over at once and took our coffee order. When we were again alone, he said, "I can see that would be frustrating."
"Yeah. But at least they're there." I gave him a sad smile. "Again, I'm so sorry about your mom."
"Thanks. The only consolation is that if I screw up this job she won't know."
I leaned back in my chair and glared at him, only partly mock. "Didn't we talk about this already? You are not going to screw up. You're doing great already."
He shook his head slowly. "I always do well at the beginning. You know that. Then the novelty wears off and it all goes to hell. Talk to me in two weeks and we'll see what's happening."
I raised my chin and gave him my best version of Paddington's hard stare. "Fine. I'll meet you here in two weeks, and we'll come here from work where we'll be working together, and you can admit I'm right and you're wrong."
The coffee arrived, so we busied ourselves with cream and sugar, then he took a sip before saying, "Do you really believe that?"
Did I? He was right, he had bailed out of every job he'd ever had. But I couldn't see how agreeing with him would help, so I decided to tell him the truth without quite answering the question. "I think you're the smartest person I know, and you're more than capable of this job. If you decide to stay in it, there's no way it won't work out."
His smile told me two things: he knew I'd dodged the actual question, and he liked what I'd said. "Well, we'll see. And for the record, you're the smartest person I know."
I smiled back. "Thank you, but I doubt it." Then, as if to prove I was an idiot, I added, "How's your dad doing?"
As the words came out I remembered and clapped my hand over my mouth, but they'd already escaped. He started to answer but I dropped my hand to my lap and said, "Sorry. Stupid of me. I forgot that was you. Sorry, Percy. It's been a long time since we talked about it and I just--"
"It's okay." He shrugged. "I've been wondering if I should try to find him. Let him know the mother of his son died. Let him know his son's still around."
"Do you have any idea where he is?"
He shook his head. "Last seen in Toronto, by me anyhow, thirty years ago." He gave me a twisted smile. "Left the day before my tenth birthday. Nice present, eh?"
I rested my elbow on the table and my chin on my hand. "You must have been miserable."
"Actually, I didn't know," he confessed. "I figured he'd gone to get me a great present, and Mom didn't tell me the truth for a few days after my birthday. Said she wanted me to enjoy my day and the time after as long as I could."
That summed up what I knew of his mother: gentle and caring, but also direct and honest when she had to be. I had a strong suspicion his dad was a sexy guy, with all the worst characteristics thereof. "Do you want to find him?"
Several swallows of coffee later, he said, "I'm not sure."
"The pause kind of gave that away."
He reached out to swat my hand but I pulled it away before he could and we laughed.
He sobered first. "I guess in some ways I do, but then I wonder if it'll be awful. I mean, he might have died, right? I don't know if I want to know. Or he might not even remember me or Mom. He might want money from me. There are a lot of ways it could be bad and not very many it could be good."
I had to nod. The guy had walked out on his son and wife thirty years ago, and he likely wouldn't welcome the reminder. "Well, good luck whichever way you decide."
"Thanks. And good luck tonight. I hope they're not too difficult."
"Thanks, me too." I knew I was lucky to still have both parents, alive and in reasonable health physically and mentally, and especially to still have them married to each other. I hardly knew anyone else my age whose parents were still together.
That realization staggered me. All those broken marriages. Of course, I hadn't ever seen a sign of more than mild affection between my parents, so they'd probably stayed together because it was less work than splitting up. Maybe if I'd had a role model of a passionate loving relationship growing up I'd be able now to believe it was possible.
Maybe I'd be lucky tonight and they'd be willing to have a reasonable discussion about their living arrangements. But I didn't believe that either.
*****
As it turned out, doubts were good, because they meant I didn't have my hopes up so I was far less disappointed when my parents were exactly as I'd feared.
"Your mother wouldn't be able to handle living in a condo," Dad said when Mom went off to check on the dessert. "She'd never get a big kitchen like hers and she'd hate it."
"There are condos with big kitchens," I said, assuming there must be. "And besides, she's always complaining about how long it takes to clean up. She'd be thrilled with a small efficient space."
He just shook his head as Mom returned with lavish slices of her apple pie. Once he'd finished his serving he went to find his latest gadget to show me, and Mom said, "Your poor father wouldn't be able to stand not having a garage for all his bits and bobs. I wouldn't mind a smaller place but he'd go crazy. Crazier."
I decided to push her as Catherine always wanted me to do. "But what about the kitchen? You could get a really cute and organized one."
Her eyes went faraway. "But it wouldn't be as big."
As I tried not to sigh, Dad walked in carrying a strange wooden device, like a bird cage but open at the top and bottom and mounted on a swiveling base. "What do you think?"
"I think the bird would get out."
He raised his eyebrows. "The what now?"
Though my head was pounding like a marching band was stomping through it, I had to smile. "Never mind. What is it?"
"It's a swift."
"A swift what?"
He looked at my mother. "Elizabeth, your daughter is clueless."
"She's your daughter too." Mom poured herself more tea.
"So you say." He nudged Mom, who just rolled her eyes, before turning back to me. "It's for yarn, kiddo. Got it at an Amish estate sale last weekend. They'd spin the wool into yarn and wrap it around this thing to keep it from getting tangled when it came off the spinning wheel. Then they could take it off to store it, or knit or crochet it right off the swift."
So many comments came to mind at once. We had no spinning wheel. Mom found wool itchy. Nobody in the family knew how to knit or crochet. All I said, though, was, "What are you going to do with it?"
He shrugged. "Right now, keep it in the garage. After that, who knows?"
The phone rang over his last words.
"I'll get it," Mom said. "Probably Catherine."
Indeed, it probably was. My sister, as she'd done several times before, had suggested we all have dinner together tonight and then backed out at the last minute. I knew she wanted me to convince our parents to move and figured I'd have a better chance if she and the kids weren't around, but I had no idea how to make it happen.
"Catherine, honey," Mom said, then she walked off into the back of the house with the phone and I couldn't hear her any more.
"Dad, look, I'd really like to talk about--"
"Got anything I can wind up on the swift?"
I shut my eyes in frustration and rubbed my forehead. "No, Dad."
An odd squeaking noise made me open my eyes. The swift was spinning and apparently in need of some oil.
"It's pretty neat, don't you think?"
I nodded, wanting to butter him up the way his swift needed oiling. "Dad, please. The house. We need to talk."
He sighed and reached out to stop the swift. "What about it?"
"We're worried about you guys being here alone."
"Your parents are fine. We're indestructible."
"That's what you said the day before Mom broke her hip."
"Well, now she's partially titanium so I guess--"
I slapped my palm on the table, a lot harder than I meant to.
"Lydia!"
"Sorry, Dad. Really, sorry. It's just, I can't handle the joking right now. We don't know what to do. This house is too much for you guys now. We all know it but you won't admit it. Please, go somewhere smaller."
He studied me for a moment, no expression on his face, while I waited and hoped I'd managed to get through to him. Then he said, "Lydia, your mom and I make the decisions here. You and your sister need to back off. When we need your help, we will ask for it. Until then, back off."
He'd never spoken so plainly to me before, and I didn't know how to respond.
"Malcolm?" Mom called. "Catherine's on the phone."
I watched, speechless, as my dad picked up his swift and walked out of the room.
Wonderful. Now my dad was angry with me and Catherine would be livid that I'd failed. Gee, why on earth had I been worried about tonight?
*****
I chatted with Mom for a while, trying to hide my discomfort with Dad's reaction, then said, "I'd better get going."
"Sure," she said, then called, "Malcolm? Lydia's leaving."
When Dad didn't answer, she smiled at me. "He gets so distracted by his toys. That's why we need this house, you know. He needs his space. I'll just go tell him you're leaving."
Since I didn't think he'd want to talk to me, I tried to get her not to worry about it, but she insisted. Moments later she returned looking confused and said, "Well, he says goodbye but he can't come out of the garage right now. Anyhow, have a good night, honey."
"You too," I said, then began the fifteen minute walk to the subway station with a heavy heart and heavier stomach. After Dad had walked out, I'd eaten another piece and a half of apple pie but it didn't make me feel any better. I didn't think he'd ever looked at me that way before, his eyes full of reproach and hurt, and I hated that I'd made him look like that. But Catherine was right that they couldn't live there any more.
A shudder swept over me. I didn't want to think. The whole thing was a big mess and I couldn't do anything about it. If anything, I'd made it worse, and by now Mom surely knew what I'd said and was probably just as unimpressed as Dad had been. I'd only wanted to help but I'd upset them, and myself.
Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Page 5
