by Fiona Murphy
13
Amelia
I’m late for work for the first time in years. I also don’t care. Mary smiles as she sees me. “I want a raise.”
I laugh then it reminds me, shit, I haven’t talked to Mary about my wanting to quit. Once I’m settled, I’m about to call her into my office when she comes in with my coffee. Please don’t let her hate me. “Have a seat, I need to talk to you.”
Mary smiles as she sits, her eyebrows up. “Is this where you finally tell me about quitting?”
“Does everyone know I want to quit?”
“My dear, you aren’t quite as good at poker as you think you are. It’s fine. I was looking to retire next year, it doesn’t make a huge difference to my plans.”
“I’ll still pay into your SEP for this year. I’m also going to cover your insurance for the next three years until you qualify for Medicaid.”
“You’re a classy lady, Amelia Bishop. So you got fired by a client. A first for you, nice email you wrote to Karen and Ethan today. Do you think it will cover your ass for enjoying the gorgeous Mr. Baldwin?”
I blush. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even care anymore. I’m not saying it won’t be embarrassing to get called out by the ABA; I will say it was totally worth it if it does happen.”
“Splendid. I’m getting invited to the wedding though. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t invite me.”
Shaking my head, I bite my lip. “Mary...I don’t even know if this going to last longer than the sell-by date of a carton of milk.”
For a long minute, Mary studies me. “A horrible liar and the poor ability to read people. Do me a favor, never play poker.”
I’m still confused long after she’s left. How does she know I lost hundreds of dollars in college while trying to play poker? I shrug as I open my emails to catch up.
My door opens without warning to Chris carrying a picnic basket, just as my stomach starts grumbling. I’m so lucky. He’s in jeans again today. They mold to his body like a second skin, while his sweater is a dark red cashmere that clings to him the way my eyes do. He smiles, his dimples show, and fuck if I can stop from smiling back at him. I blink and he’s leaning over my desk, his hands down at the edge. Close, he’s so close.
“Amelia.” One word, yet he makes it throb with chapters of want, need, desire. “I don’t know how it’s possible. Every time I leave you, I tell myself there is no way you’re as gorgeous as I think you are. Then I see you again only to be proven wrong.”
Years of cruel words and vicious taunts about my appearance from my mother, from men, surge forward to dismiss his words for the false flattery they have to be. Only they die in the lava heat of his glowing sky-blue eyes. Yet a tiny piece of me clings to the past. It was what I believed for so long, it couldn’t be a lie. The word escapes as a whisper. “Really?”
His breath catches, he closes his eyes, and I feel cut off from him and lost instantly until he opens them again. Sky blue is gone; I’m in the deep end of the ocean. I’m pulled under and lost in a wave of sadness so strong I want to cry for him. I’m so intent on him, I don’t see him raise his hand until he cups my face gently. His right hand holds me still as his thumb grazes slowly, lightly over my cheek. “Yes, really. Your beauty stuns me, makes me breathless, makes me hungry, makes me voracious for you.”
Wow. “Thank you,” I mumble. Chris just smiles at me as he takes my hand, pulling me up from my chair. The world stands still until his lips touch mine. Soft, his lips tease mine, his mouth covers mine, and instantly I’m lost in him, the taste of him, the scent of him. It’s not enough. When he lifts his head, I hate how cut off I feel from him. I run my fingers over his lips.
He kisses my temple then takes my hand, trailing me after him toward the small seating area.
“Come on, sugar, I’m starving.” He lays out the small blanket on the middle of the sofa and is unpacking it carefully. It’s fried chicken from Goldfinches with roasted potatoes and asparagus. This is one of my favorite lunches. “I like your couch. It’s more comfortable than it looks.”
“Ethan says it looks like something out of a fifties bordello,” I admit as I settle onto my end of the couch. Sitting properly doesn’t really work, so screw it. Thank goodness I’m wearing slacks is all I think as I slip off my shoes then sit Indian-style.
Chris’s eyebrows go up as he does the same. “It actually does remind me of a fifties bordello, that’s why I like it.” He wiggles his brows, and I roll my eyes. “How comfortable is it?”
“Behave. I’ve slept here a few times, I got caught in the snowstorm last year. I actually have the same set in pink at home because I liked it so much.”
He takes his cell phone out of his pocket, laying it on the table, it reminds me of that day. I want to ask, it’s been driving me crazy wondering who he was talking to.
“What?” He adds more asparagus to his plate.
“Who were you talking to the other day? You smiled the minute you answered the phone.”
Tilting his head, he smiles. It’s the same smile he had when he answered, dimples showing deep, making my stomach twist. “My father’s widow, Catherine.”
I was not expecting that answer. “Really?”
“Yep, she didn’t hate or resent me. I met her when I was nine. She loved my father very much, and she was of the stupid mindset she failed him by not giving him a son. For some crazy reason she felt it excused my father for cheating on her and knocking up my mom. Only my father didn’t need a reason, he was just lazy and didn’t have a condom. He liked his women young, he didn’t marry Catherine until he was thirty, and she was only eighteen.
“Although he lived in Dallas, he liked to amble on down to Austin for a weekend of partying. One weekend he hooked up with a nineteen-year-old who had me when she was twenty. My mom wasn’t the first woman he was unfaithful with, nor was she the last. She was just one of the few who didn’t get paid to have an abortion because by forty my father ran out of his own money to spend.”
“You sound mad at him, yet in interviews you talk as if he’s a personal hero.” He doesn’t appear mad, more like he’s reconciled with who his father is.
“Because he was a shitty person, he wasn’t the best father, but as a ball player he was pretty damn good. He was an All-Star and led the league in RBIs for two years running. There’s no telling how long his career could have lasted if it hadn’t been for the Achilles tear from hell. He only had six years in the league. It took until I was thirty and thinking of retirement myself to understand why he was the way he was. Angry, resentful, a drunk full of self-pity. It didn’t excuse him, I just understood.
He shrugs, “Hell, maybe he wasn’t as bad of a father as I think. He instilled a love of the game that helped me get where I am today. At first, I was into it to gain some attention from him, his whole language was baseball, it was the only way he knew how to communicate. The hours we spent on Saturday and Wednesdays when he drove down to see me, while he trained me to hit, catch, and field, were my way of spending time with him. But they also began to mean more.”
“I don’t remember a time when I didn’t see my father with a drink in his hand. Considering my mother, I understand the all-day drinking. You said you never acquired a taste for alcohol...”
His sigh is loud in the room, “He always smelled like it, even when he wasn’t drinking. It was in his fucking sweat.”
My stomach flips seeing the storm in his eyes before he blinks, then it’s gone, his eyes a smooth sky blue as they meet mine. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. Don’t be sorry. Your mom sounds like she’s a treat. How close are you two?”
I laugh. Weird. I don’t know where it comes from, but I can’t stop. With a sigh, I wipe my tears. There’s no warning, one moment I’m wiping my tears and the next I’m in Chris’s arms, in his lap. His arms hold me tight as he presses a kiss to my temple. “What happened, sweetheart?”
Damn it, the tears start again. Swallowing i
sn’t easy around the lump in my throat. “My Christmas present this year was a vacation to Switzerland so I could undergo two rounds of liposuction. She and my father are so worried I’m such a fat ass I’ll never find a man and shoot out two point four—”
Savage, ferocious, primal, demanding my entire being, his kiss isn’t simply a kiss—it’s a replay of last night with our clothes on. When he raises his head, all I can do is lie in his arms. He runs a finger over my cheek as his eyes, bright blue like the sky in summer, study me. “Your mother and your father are fucking idiots. I’m sorry you ever had to hear them say horrible shit like that.
“I understand it’s going to take some time to get their narrative out of their head. It will be easier when you accept it’s their narrative, not yours. I’m going to try to be patient with you; however, you might remember it’s not something I’m great at. I’ll say it as many times as you need to me, but in return I need you to believe it, and let go of all the ugly, painful bullshit.
“You are a beautiful woman, from those stunning eyes of yours with the way they shift from golden brown to green with every thought, to that sweet, small nose of yours, to your perfectly shaped mouth. I adore your mouth, so wide and soft. I’m dying to see your hair wild and free, swirling around your face. I’m sure I’ve said it a dozen times, but know I mean every word: I find your body so appealing I’ve dreamed of you every fucking night since I met you. Oh yes, in my head I’ve fucked you in every way imaginable, but then I just held your soft curves against me, and my fantasies were nothing compared to real life.
“Those are just the half dozen ways you’re beautiful to look at. As hard as your body makes me, your smart, sassy mouth is what hooked me. Sugar, no other woman has done what you do to me. All of that and you’re nice and sweet, all the work you do for the legal clinic, the women love you and I know you think it’s no big deal, but it is. A woman isn’t beautiful because of her hair or her eyes or her body; she’s beautiful from the inside out, the way she thinks, the way she treats people, the kindness she gives to others for no other reason than it’s the right way to treat someone. Do you understand me?”
I nod; the depth of his sincerity shines from him. I’m stunned, almost like I’m looking into the sun. Yet I can’t look away, don’t even want to blink.
“If you understand me, then I’m going to need you to make what I said your new narrative. None of this fat-ass bullshit, no more thinking you aren’t good enough, no more listening to what other people think about you. Tell me, Amelia. Do you think you’re beautiful?” Now, I close my eyes. “Don’t think too hard, reflex, are you beautiful?”
“No.” I can’t meet his gaze as I whisper my answer.
His lips flutter over my ear. “You’re wrong, and I won’t stop telling you differently until you believe you are. But until then, if I hear you say ugly shit about yourself again, even repeating what someone said, I’ll make you regret even thinking it. It won’t be a hot, sexy spanking; it will be something you never want to happen again. Do you understand?”
The growl of his threat causes me to shiver in fear. My stomach tightens until it hurts. I nod. “Yes.”
“Good. Now tell me your mother got the fuck-you she deserved and I don’t have to worry about hurting someone.”
Gasping for air as one hand runs from my hip to the back of my neck and the other teases my breast through my blouse, I answer, “I left. I told her she didn’t have to worry about having a—um, daughter she wasn’t happy with because now she didn’t have a daughter anymore.”
The hand around my neck squeezes gently. “I’m relieved, for the both of us. Were you close?”
“No, never. She would call once a month and spend most of it picking me apart, then she would do it all over again the next month. I was a huge disappointment to my mother.
“She’s the blonde, blue-eyed version of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, from her Chanel flats to her perfect light-pink lips. Her grandfather was the last legitimate heir of a banking family; they went out of business in the eighties right before I was born. My father managed to talk her into marrying him, he was in the Army with eyes toward the prize of going into politics after he got out. The only problem with his plan was he had a problem keeping it in his pants with young women. I think she felt like she got shortchanged.”
Tension I wasn’t aware of eases in him; his hand around the back of my neck slides down my spine. The other hand is still driving me crazy. “Reminds me of my mom. You might not be what she wanted, but that doesn’t mean others don’t want you.”
I blink fast not to cry. “She used to have my hair colored every six weeks so I would be a blonde like her. I didn’t realize other girls didn’t do it to until I was almost thirteen.”
“What a psycho.”
“When I figured it out, I asked the colorist to tell her I had an allergic reaction and she advised against coloring my hair. My mother freaked, and within six weeks I was packed off to boarding school.”
“Why?”
“I was no longer the little doll she got to dress up, to present to the world. I was devasted to be sent off to boarding school, but after a few weeks I was five times happier than I ever was at home.”
Shaking his head, he sighs. “Mothers, they are a trip.”
“Doesn’t sound as though you were close with your mother either.” It’s not really a question. I read she died during his junior year of college.
“Nope, she resented the fuck out of me. It was my fault she got pregnant and ruined her plans to become a singer. Then somehow it was my fault my dad didn’t have any money and he wouldn’t leave Catherine for her. My mom was always scrambling for an easy answer to her problems.”
“I’m sorry. Your dad died when you were how old again?”
“Fourteen. When he died my relationship with Catherine grew stronger.”
“What was your relationship with her growing up?”
“Every Sunday she would drive down to Austin, pick me up and take me around Dallas, sometimes to Houston to things like ballet, opera, the symphony and hours upon hours in museums. Catherine believed it was important for me to be educated in the arts, not just baseball.
“My sister hated me, resented the fuck out of me, always picked on me muttering about me being a bastard, and a half-breed, and a dirty Mexican. I never let it get to me, and Catherine never let a remark go by without attempting to correct my sister. I was just annoyed she was calling me Mexican when my mom was nuts about identifying as Brazilian. For a few years Catherine even managed to get me for the week of spring break. We went to DC then another year it was New York, more theater, culture, not a word about baseball.”
“She sounds sweet and kind of amazing. Did your father ever go with you?”
Shaking his head, he laughs. “If it wasn’t baseball my dad wasn’t interested. Indeed, she is. I’m worried about her though. She had a stroke the week before Thanksgiving. What pisses me off is no one knew about it for a day. The housekeeper found her. I want to move her here to Chicago, only she’s dragging her feet, putting me off.”
“Why do you think?”
“I have no idea. I gave her until the end of the season to decide. If she doesn’t say yes, I’m going to have to figure out how to get her here by any means necessary.” His face is hard, and I shiver a little. I’m a freak to be turned on by him even while he scares me. Chris sees me looking at him, and in an instant his mouth is on mine again. Yes, I’m a freak and I don’t care.
From far away I hear my cell phone trilling Holly’s ringtone. I ignore it, she’ll understand. Only seconds after it stops, it starts again. Fuck. Holly never does that unless it’s important. Chris feels me stiffen, and his head comes up. I nod, and with a sigh, he lets me go.
I snatch my phone. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Fair warning, we’re on our way back to Chicago and Ethan is on the war path. And good job on getting some with Chris. How was it?”
Blushing, I don’t even acknow
ledge the question. “What? Why are you on your way back to Chicago? Is it because of me and Chris?”
“Ethan is mad at me for not telling him sooner about being pregnant.”
Gasping with happiness, I laugh. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you guys! That’s amazing news. When are you due?”
“May sixteenth. If you’re doing the math, that’s why he’s mad.”
“Holly! How could you wait so long to tell him? Wait, I didn’t even know you guys were trying. Holly, you didn’t even tell him you were trying? Holy crap, no wonder he’s on the war path.”
“I regret nothing. Now he’s all freaked out, rushing us back to Chicago on a private jet, just to talk to my OB/GYN to get it from her that everything is fine. Oh, but not so fast, he’s also making sure she’s the best in the city. This. This is why I don’t regret waiting to tell him. Anyway, I wanted to let you know. We should be back tonight. I doubt he’ll be in the office tomorrow, but you never know with Ethan.”
“I’m really happy for you guys. Give Ethan a week to let the anger burn out. You know it’s only because he’s worried about you.”
“Yeah, I do. Okay, I better let you go. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.” Wow, I can’t believe Holly sometimes.
Chris is leaning back, studying me. “Why in the world did your sister-in-law get pregnant without talking to Ethan, then not tell him? You don’t look as upset as I would like you to be.”
I come back to the sofa, and he pulls me into his lap. “Because I understand she only did it out of love. Do you remember when I told you one day Ethan was just gone?” He nods. “He got kicked out of boarding school for selling weed. It was in the middle of the school year, at the time my parents were flexing their never-been-used parenting muscle on me. They figured he didn’t have to go back to boarding school.
“He was enrolled in snobby prep school, where he met a girl, Brittany. Fast-forward five months later and she’s pregnant. Only things went terribly wrong, and she miscarried. The placenta detached, causing her not just to lose the baby, but to lose a massive amount of blood. She died.”
