by July Dawson
"What did you study?"
He sounded interested enough, but I could see his eyes glazing over as Naomi answered. That was it. She was not the daughter of someone important, and she wasn't likely to be important herself. Mitch was already swiveling to talk to me.
I angled my body towards Naomi, ignoring my father.
"I have an Associates in Accounting," Naomi said. "I would have gone on, but my mom got sick and my parents started to need a lot of help. So. Here I am. Still doing the same thing, ten years later."
The last was directed, a bit ruefully, to me.
"I think it's great," I said.
She pulled a face at me, and I wondered if she really heard me. Believed me.
"Absolutely," Mitch said. "Education is great, but there's nothing like getting your education in practice. Entrepreneurship."
"Ever the politician," I said, smiling to take the sting out of his words.
"Maybe. You should consider running , son," Mitch said. "You’re what this country needs more of. More people grounded in reality, more people who have proven their ability to solve problems."
“I'm too blunt." I knew my father meant it as a compliment, but I had zero interest in following in his footsteps.
"Blunt can be refreshing," Mitch said. "As long as you tell people what they really want to hear in the end."
"When it’s fake, it’s not blunt. It’s just being an asshole.”
Mitch half-shrugged. "Sometimes, to get to what you really want, you have to make other sacrifices. You can't always have everything at once."
I shook my head. "Unflinching integrity is kind of a theme in the SEALs. No matter what it costs."
"Is this shu mai?" Naomi asked. "It's delicious."
"That was always my favorite," I said.
Naomi had a mouthful of shrimp. She was trying to look as if she liked it. Clearly, the tension between me and Mitch was too much for her.
I tried to make myself smile. "Nice choice of restaurant. You remembered my favorite."
"I always loved this place," Mitch mused. "We got to know the owner well. You know, his parents were first-generation American, built this place from the ground up. Beautiful story."
"Oh?" Naomi asked.
"Louis," Mitch said, nodding to me. "You remember Louis? The grandfather?"
No one had a memory for names and faces like Mitch. When Mitch cared.
"Well, he'd fallen in love with Dee. And her family had been well-off in China, and Louis' family? No. But here, none of them had much. At the time, Louis was just a teenager, and he was working in this little family grocery store and bakery when he wasn't in school. Well, he went to Dee's father and asked if he could see her. They'd known each other in high school but Dee was never allowed to date. Her father was very strict, very protective."
Sounded like the kind of guy who would never allow a Delaney near his daughter.
"Dee was gorgeous," Mitch said. "You wouldn't have realized this, you were just a boy when we came here and she was a grandmother already. But I've been coming here since before you were born – your mother and I used to come here on Sunday mornings. And Dee, she was something else, the glossiest black hair I've ever seen and aristocratic features, sharp cheekbones, these amazing brown eyes with gold flecks. No wonder Louis loved her."
"I'm sure he appreciated her mind too," I said in an aside to Naomi, and I was rewarded by the quick flash of her smile.
"Yes, she was very clever," Mitch said agreeably, not rising to the bait. "Which is probably why her father didn't want to let her go to a glorified busboy like Louis. He told Louis, how are you going to take care of my daughter?"
"'I'm going to own a restaurant,' Louis said. And Dee's father, he said, well you do that then, and then you come back to talk to me. Laughing. Because, even though Dee claims she always loved Louis, from the time they met in ninth grade, who was going to wait that long? Who would expect that?”
Mitch took a sip of his water. “But Louis worked. Like a madman. And Dee used to pretend she was going to the movies or to study or go on a date with another boy, to slip out and help Louis. Choosing to make noodles in the kitchen with the man she loved instead of enjoying a romantic night with someone she was supposed to love. Isn’t that beautiful? Just think. If it weren't for the way a man loves a pretty woman, you wouldn't be eating that shu mai right now."
I nodded. Mitch never talked about Mom, except in the occasional generality – always as your mother – and usually in terms of something related to family business: medical histories and alumni-preference and a tendency to sunburn. My maternal grandparents had died young, and so when my mother died, there was no one left on her side to keep her memory alive.
"You don't usually talk much about Mom," I said.
"There isn't much to talk about," Mitch said lightly. "I loved her, and she's gone."
"Everyone loved her," I said, because it was easier than saying I loved her.
"I'd like to hear more about her sometime," Naomi said. "I don't remember her at all."
"You met her? She was lovely." Mitch said. He waved at the passing cart. "Do you have any of the Chinese broccoli? Mussels? You always loved the broccoli here, Rob."
"I'm okay," I said, a thread of irritation audible in my voice. I knew I had to fix my tone. To an outsider, like Naomi, my father would simply sound fond, and my annoyance would seem irrational. "I don't need broccoli."
Mitch said to the server, "Kěyǐ ào yóu ràng wǒ de háizi yīxiē xī lánhuā? Wǒ zhīdào tā kàn shàngqù dàle, dànshì tā réngrán zài zēngzhǎng."
I sighed, faintly but audibly.
"Of course, sir," the server said, his English heavily accented.
"Shénme shěng nèi nǐ cóng nǎlǐ lái?
"Cóng Fuijan."
"Oh, it's lovely there," Mitch said, switching back to English, smiling at Naomi. "You'll have to forgive me. I can never restrain my curiosity. Immigration keeps our country alive, doesn't it?"
"I didn't know you spoke Chinese." Naomi said.
"Only a little."
"I really am a barbarian," she said to me. "I can barely even use my chopsticks."
"Well, it's all about where you've had the opportunity to go," Mitch said. "Most Americans don't get to travel much. It's wonderful our nation is vast and has so much to offer, it's not like living in Europe where you could day-trip to someplace they speak another language. It's a shame, really, but you shouldn't feel guilty."
It was like Mitch to make Naomi uncomfortable and then put her at ease again. He was just such a nice guy.
"Your mother and I used to walk from here," Mitch said, twisting slightly in his seat, "To the movie theater a few blocks away. Who needs popcorn when you could have dim sum before your matinee? It was our favorite date."
Yeah, that sounded like a great date. I wondered why Mitch was bringing up Mom for a second time, which was two times more often as he usually brought her up within a year.
"There's a little bookstore where we liked to stop at on the way," Mitch mused on. "Do you still like to read, Rob?"
"A bit," I said. "You'd be surprised how much down time SEALs can end up with at times."
"So much wisdom in books," Mitch said. "On Boyleston, I don't remember the name. You should go sometime."
"I carry a Kindle," I said. "We try to pack light."
"What about you, Naomi?" Mitch asked. "Are you a reader?"
"I like to read," Naomi said.
"What's the last good book you read? I'm always looked for recommendations."
Naomi smiled slightly. "I don't know if you'd like the same genres I do."
"I'm an open minded guy," Mitch said.
"I like romances," Naomi said. "I just started a new one that's great. Set in Nantucket."
"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Are you reading that on your Kindle?"
"I am." Her eyes flickered up to mine, bright with a glint of humor. "I can't believe someone gave me such a thoughtful gift."
> "Have you ever been to Nantucket?" I asked her.
Naomi shook her head.
"You should fix that sometime," I said, meaning we should fix it. "I know this great bed and breakfast."
"Your mother and I loved this bed and breakfast on Cape Cod," Mitch said. "Kelly's. You should go there if you ever need to get away."
What the hell was wrong with Mitch today? Maybe he missed Mom? The whole time I was growing up, he hadn’t been willing to talk about her; it had felt like she blinked out of existence when Nicky was just a baby, just like all the other women in Mitch’s life did sooner or later.
I nodded at Naomi. "You need a getaway. I hear your job is awfully stressful."
"Just because the messes I clean up with are so... extensive."
Mitch glanced over at Naomi again, his eyes sweeping slowly over her, assessing. "Rob said you're a problem solver. What kind of problems?"
Naomi's lips parted, looking momentarily stricken – I felt an ache that she was embarrassed to admit her occupation – and then her lips curled up into a smile. "I'm a housekeeper, Mr. Delaney. I'm your housekeeper."
"Oh," Mitch said. Instead of disapproving, his tone seemed light as he went on. "I thought perhaps you were in security. As Rob likes to say when some poor polite stranger asks his occupation."
"No," Naomi said, "Nothing like that."
I felt a constant temptation to touch Naomi, and now I took the faint excuse to squeeze her bicep. Her upper arm was slender, but hard with muscle, and I caught the faintest whiff of a bright floral perfume. "Not security. Although she does have some guns... must be all that vacuuming and mopping."
"Cleaning up after you guys takes some heavy lifting," Naomi said.
"That it certainly does," I said. Mitch’s answering smile was pained.
Naomi excused herself to use the bathroom, dropping her napkin on her chair as she pushed back from the table. I wondered if she needed a break from Delaney family tension. I wouldn’t blame her. I could use a break myself.
"So that's one of the Pop girls, right?" Mitch asked, his eyes following her.
"Popadopolous," I said.
"Yes, Rob, I know. I know their last name; they've worked for us for twenty years."
"I wasn't sure. You didn't recognize her."
"I haven't been back to the Rhode Island house in a few years." Mitch half-shrugged. "We should do Christmas in Rhode Island this year, if I'm still around."
"If you're still around?" I gave my father the same kind of obvious once-over that he had given Naomi. "Look at you, tan and fit... you're not going anywhere. You still play tennis? Golf?"
"A bit of both," Mitch said, "When I make it out of the house."
Mitch had never been a homebody, that was for sure.
"Rob," Mitch said. "Listen to me. I have to tell you something important."
"Okay." I took my plate off the table, using my chopsticks to scoop up some sticky rice. He hadn’t exactly imparted a lot of important fatherly wisdom over the years.
"I know things have been rough between us for the past few years," Mitch said.
I glanced away, across the busy dining room; at large round tables nearby, big families sat together, from small children sitting up on their knees to reach the table to smiling grandparents. I braced myself for whatever manipulative web he was going to spin now.
"Rob, would you look at me?" Mitch's voice was impatient.
"Sure, Mitch," I said, swiveling to look at him, my tone coolly condescending.
"Mitch?" He shook his head. "Whatever. We only have a few minutes before your girl comes back--"
"She's not my girl."
"I'm not blind, I'm not an idiot, and I don't care." Mitch said. "But I need to talk to you.”
“I’m listening.”
"I want you to know that the things that happened when you were in high school, they were complicated. More complicated than they looked on the surface."
"I can't imagine how drunk driving is more complicated than it looks," I said. As long as we were being blunt...
"I made mistakes," Mitch said doggedly. "I've owned them."
"Except in the civil suit." Somehow, a criminal case had never been brought against his father. Mitch had made sure he didn't have to pay for his sins in the literal sense; the team of lawyers he'd brought to bear in the civil case had made Ally Greyson's lawyers looks like a joke. And then Ally had died, and her family had given up the fight. I felt my stomach churn, and I dumped my plate back onto the table.
"Rob. I don't want you to think the wrong things about me."
"I wish I didn't think of you the way I do," I said coolly. Mitch's handsome mouth turned down in surprise, his eyes widening slightly. I felt a surge of anger at his expression of hurt. He wasn't the victim in this story, not even close.
Naomi wound her way through the tables, stopping abruptly as a toddler in a long pink dress ran in front of her. She shared a smiling moment with the bob-haired girl. Then the girl ran off to her mother and Naomi continued towards us, her face still happy.
"Are you done? Can we go now?" I asked him.
"Can you go now?" Mitch's voice was just as soft. Neither of us wanted our voices to carry to Naomi. "What'll she think?"
"Maybe I'll take her to the movies. She won't mind." There was a fantasy. Naomi willingly going on a date with me, letting loose and having fun. I could imagine Naomi grinning as I tucked her under my arm, as we meandered down the colorful, gritty streets.
"Yeah, you do that, "Mitch said.
Naomi reached the table, plucking her red napkin off her chair so she could slide back into her seat, and I smiled at her. "Do you have a recommendation for desert? I don't usually indulge, but I think Naomi deserves desert after the last twenty-four hours we've had."
"I'd hate to take you away from your caveman diet," Naomi said.
Mitch rose from the table, his leanly tanned hands trembling faintly. There was a faint flush across his high cheekbones. Things were always tense between us, but I couldn't help feeling like today was different. Mitch, always so proud to show off his knowledge of his adopted city of Boston, didn't offer up a recommendation for gelato.
"Well," Mitch said, leaning in to hug me. I hugged him back automatically. "I guess I should let you know I'm proud of you, son. And I love you."
"Love you too," I said, the words quicker than thought. I hadn't heard Mitch say that since I was a boy. Mitch would come home from work after we kids were already lullabied-and-good-nighted by our mother. I always fought sleep until I saw my father silhouetted in the doorway, tall and lean in his expensive suit. Mitch would hesitate until he saw fluttering eyelashes, and then come kneel next to the bed, running a hand over my bristly dark hair. Love you, son. Sleep well. I would murmur the words back, already falling asleep by the time the door latched shut behind him.
I didn't know how long it had been since I had told someone I loved them. It felt like it had been twenty years.
17
Naomi
"Sorry about Mitch," Rob said, putting the seat back all the way.
"You going to nap on the drive back?" I asked. "And you don't have to apologize for Mitch. He was fine."
Rob half-shrugged. I didn't want for him to feel self-conscious about his father; if anything had made me uncomfortable, it had been the evident tension between Rob and Mitch. But family was tough. I had a warm, close-knit family, and even so, I knew well that family could be tough.
"I could make it up to you," he said. "You want to go to a movie?"
"No, thanks."
"You don't go to the movies?"
If it were anyone else, I would have waxed poetic about the ridiculous expenses of a movie theater: ticket prices these days! Popcorn! A second mortgage if you want a Coke too! But since it was Rob, who wouldn't understand, I said, "I don't go on a lot of dates."
Rob quirked an eyebrow, and I felt my heart sink. I was sure girls threw themselves at him constantly. Just look at him. Even w
ith his eyebrow raised at me, which kind of made me want to punch him, he was also so goddamn gorgeous.
"Why not?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I'm busy."
"But you don't have cable," he said. "And you never go to the movies?"
"I guess I don't get bored like you do."
“I know how to have fun. You could have fun with me... if you'd let yourself."
I hesitated, debating how honest to be. I paired honesty with a flippant tone. "I'm sure I could."
"So what's the problem?"
"Thanks for the Kindle," I said. "I'm looking forward to reading tonight."
"Reading tonight? By yourself?"
"Well." I squinted ahead at the line of traffic, wondering if I'd already missed the on-ramp for the highway. Rob was so distracting.
"Oh, right, you'll have the cats."
"Yep." I said. "I'd rather hang out with the cats."
"Burn," Rob said, mildly, which reminded me for some reason of the lanky, self-possessed boy he'd been, the boy who got along with everyone.
The memory of the first time he sat next to me on the bus rose up like a specter. Rob’s handsome face splitting into a grin as he slid onto the black vinyl bench. I’d grabbed my bag out of his way, pulling it onto my lap, but my stomach had twisted because I thought it was a joke. Then I'd given into his smile and felt a surge of joy, breathing in the scent of his aftershave as his shoulder brushed mine.
Good lord. I couldn't get over the bus. From high school. What was wrong with me?
"I'd still like to make this whole weird trip up to you," Rob said. "What about Nantucket? What if we went for a weekend?"
"You want me to go away with you for a weekend?"
"Why not?"
"That’s not a reason," I said, letting my frustration show. The worst part was that of course I liked the idea: some whirlwind, impulsive trip to Nantucket, letting Rob charm me. I could kiss that unbelievably sweet mouth and run my hands over his powerful, muscled body, drinking in my fill of him. We could pretend for a weekend that anything could happen.
But anything couldn’t happen. I’d already had reckless, wild sex with him. I had to blush remembering how I’d betrayed all my feelings as I straddled him, desperate for his mouth and hands and cock. Soon, Rob would be gone, and I'd be left aching, wanting, regretting. I couldn’t let myself get addicted to him.
