by Kelly Myers
I had been comfortable in that New York apartment, it was true. William had excellent taste.
However, I had not been comfortable anywhere else with him. I was uneasy at the University Club, I was nervous on the streets of the city, and even his law offices intimidated me.
I pulled myself out of bed and meandered into my kitchen. I started to pull out the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.
I wasn’t an expert baker, but I enjoyed it. There was something soothing in knowing exactly what would happen. You could craft the desired result, you just had to mix the right ingredients.
As I stirred the dough, I pondered my dilemma.
Clearly, William had jump-started my desires. A week ago, I had been content to push aside my dreams of a relationship and a family. But now I knew what I wanted. It was as if he had given me a small taste of everything I had been longing for.
What kind of person would I be if I didn’t go after what I wanted?
Not William, obviously. He was too unattainable.
But a different love. A relationship. A family.
I mulled it all over as I dolled the cookie dough onto a tray and put it in the oven.
By the time the cookies had finished baking, I had a plan.
It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was something. A start, at least.
I picked up my phone and messaged Richard.
Ever since I chose the farm over law school, he had been trying to set me up on blind dates with guys from his office. He had clearly decided along with my mother that my only viable option in life was to marry someone rich.
He was always harping on about how his colleagues were successful and wealthy, and he had shown them a photo of me, and they were totally into it.
It was creepy that he was showing my photo around like I was a prize horse, but there was a non-zero chance that one of Richard’s colleagues was not terrible.
I had to do something other than sit around pining for William.
I texted Richard that I was thinking of jumping into the dating pool, and asked if any of his colleagues were interested in a date.
He responded right away.
Within minutes, he had informed me he knew the perfect guy, his name was Nate, and he could probably go out on Friday.
I heaved a sigh. I didn’t relish the idea of going back into the city. In fact, a weekend at home curled up in my bed sounded ideal.
Then again, how often would I think about William during such a weekend? Too often.
As soon as I was done messaging Richard, I sat down to eat a cookie. As I was finishing the first one and contemplating a second, my phone started ringing.
I jumped in surprise. Richard never called, especially when he could text.
I grabbed my phone, and my heart stopped.
It was William.
My finger hovered over the “Answer” button. But I didn’t press down.
This could only lead down a bad road.
He was probably only calling because he felt guilty. He wanted to just check in and make sure I was ok. That conversation would be awkward and uncomfortable.
Or he was calling because he wanted to repeat the previous night’s events. That was tempting, but an even more dangerous path. Because he could never be what I really wanted. He would never commit to me. After a few more months of casual sex, I would be left heartbroken.
So I tossed my phone away.
He called again. Then he sent a text.
Can we please talk?
I put my phone on silent and went to bed.
My plan was still good. Avoid William at all costs and cut off any contact with him. Date other, more appropriate men.
It could work. It had to work.
But as I drifted to sleep, I only had one coherent thought: William Hart wasn’t going to make this easy for me.
Chapter Ten
William
I was ready to throw my phone through the window.
I had given her space and time, I really had.
I had only called twice and messaged once the first night.
Then I had given up for the evening.
Of course, I called again in the morning and again the next afternoon.
Radio silence.
There was only one solution. I had to see her face to face. I didn’t want to ambush her or upset her. And I definitely didn’t want to violate her privacy, but I had to see her.
It was clear that I had hurt her in some way. I shouldn’t have been so reckless. She wanted to have sex in the moment, but that didn’t mean I should have let her.
If I really had been ready to take care of her, I would have told her to sleep on things. Give it a day or two, and then decide if she wanted to have sex with me. I would have talked it out with her.
Instead I had been incapable of restraint.
It was a clear indicator that we weren’t meant to be. My initial hesitation over our potential as a long-term couple was vindicated. If I could mess up this bad in the first few days of our romantic entanglement, then I was not good for Olivia.
With all that being said though, I couldn’t just give up on her. I had to make sure she was alright, at the very least.
It killed me that she was somewhere in the world, thinking that I didn’t care. Olivia had said she trusted me that night, but she didn’t, not fully. She clearly believed that I didn’t have good intentions. That I viewed her as purely a sexual object.
I couldn’t let her think that. She had to know how much she meant to me.
It was true that I didn’t quite know what she was to me or what I wanted out of our relationship, but I did know that I wanted her to be ok.
I couldn’t do that if she kept ignoring me. So I had to make a back-up strategy.
I would take care of all my business in the city, and then on Friday, I was going to drive up to Connecticut. I didn’t know her address, but I had already looked up the Fairweather Farm. It was beyond inappropriate to show up at her place of work, but I didn’t really have any other option.
I had to be strategic about this though. It was clear that Olivia was no easy prey. She required careful planning and a custom approach.
After work on Thursday, I paced my apartment, trying to develop the perfect plan to ensnare her. I hated that I had to think and act like a predator, but I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t just let her drift out of my life without a sound of protest.
I sat down at my desk and flipped open my laptop computer. I glanced at my calendar. If I moved some things around, I could be done with work by noon on Friday. The only really important item was a meeting with Kate Burns in the morning.
I looked up Fairweather Farms and noted the address. I typed it into Google maps. A quick hour drive. That was nothing.
I never drove in the city, but I did own a Mercedes Benz. I had a country house in upstate New York that I sometimes drove up to for the weekend. It was simple, far less grand than some of my colleagues’ country homes. It was a renovated farmhouse really, in the Hudson Valley. When I had purchased it over fifteen years ago, I had a vague notion of taking my kids there. They were blurry images in my head back then. I had no immediate plan to settle down, but I had figured I would eventually.
What had happened? I’d put it off and kicked the Family Concept down the road, and then one day it didn’t seem so definite anymore.
So I went to the country house to spend quiet weekends reading or walking in nature. Not as exciting as playing with the kids, but still nice enough.
Was that what my life had become? Nice enough?
I shrugged off the existential question and returned my focus to Olivia. I would get the car out of the garage on Friday as soon as I was done with work and drive up to the farm. I would arrive in the mid-afternoon, so she should likely still be at work.
I had to play this right. I couldn’t barge in there demanding to see her. Olivia hated to cause scenes, and she would be mortified by such behavior. Now that I thought ab
out it, I realized that part of what drew Olivia to me was how composed I could be. She was the type of person who appreciated self-control.
Not that I had much self-control when it came to her, as was demonstrated by the other night. But I could keep a hold of myself at her place of work.
The tricky part would be getting her to talk to me, preferably alone. Once I could explain that I didn’t view her as just a sexual conquest, maybe she would open up. Maybe she would tell me how she was feeling.
I had to know what was wrong, so I could help her.
I mentally prepared for whatever she might say. I was a lawyer after all, and I had established my winning streak by anticipating every possible argument the other side might make and then devising a counter-argument for each one.
Olivia might be hurt that I had taken advantage of her. She might feel like she wasn’t special. So I would tell her how important she was to me. I would show her how much I valued her.
She might be embarrassed. That was understandable. I was much older, and I was positive this hadn’t been how she envisioned losing her virginity. I could tell her she had no reason to be embarrassed. I could tell her that I knew I wasn’t what she had pictured, but I could still be good to her.
It was possible – and I was loath to admit it – but it was possible she didn’t want me. She had enjoyed the night, but was totally uninterested in anything else. She could have no problem shrugging me off.
I couldn’t make her want me, but I could figure out why. Why did she not want me anymore after she had so clearly desired me the other night? Why would she deny herself that pleasure? Once I knew why, I could argue my case.
The most terrifying option was that Olivia did want me, but she wanted something that I could not give. She wanted commitment and a long-term relationship. She wanted it all. And she was wise enough to see that I wasn’t there with her. I felt too old, too unsure, too stuck in my ways.
I didn’t know how I would argue my way out of that one.
When two people were in the midst of a divorce, there was always an inflection point. It was the point where they reached a gridlock. They each wanted something (a house, a child, alimony) that the other was unwilling to budge on.
That was when I, as the attorney, pushed hard on the opponent. Because if you have the right ammunition, and you push hard enough, many people will just give up. Or, they’ll put up a fight and weep and wail, but in the end, they quit.
In the rare cases where they don’t, you have to compromise. I hated compromise, but I’d become an expert at knowing when it was the only way.
It was possible that Olivia and I were in just such a gridlock.
She wanted a life partner. Someone to stand by her side and create a life with her. I wasn’t sure I wanted that.
Was I really going to push Olivia until she gave up on what she wanted? Or was I willing to compromise and meet her in the middle?
I shrugged the concern off. I didn’t need to worry about this yet. I still hadn’t talked to Olivia; I was still grasping at straws to explain her behavior.
An overwhelming urge to speak with her snuck up on me. I glanced at my phone.
I didn’t need to bombard her with calls, but surely one more call wouldn’t hurt. I doubted she would pick up, but she should know that I wasn’t about to throw up my arms and cut my losses.
It was only fair to warn her that I wasn’t going to be the one to give up.
The need to tell her that I had not been using her made it impossible to think about anything else.
I hadn’t tried her since that morning. It was the evening now. Enough time had elapsed.
I grabbed my phone and, once again, clicked on her name.
This time, I would leave a voicemail. I hadn’t when I called her before because I generally preferred live conversation to stilted recordings. I was a lawyer, after all. I craved the back and forth.
But maybe hearing my voice would soothe her worries. I would keep it short and sweet. Tell her I was worried, but I wouldn’t sound angry.
Just as I was arranging what words I wanted to say, she picked up.
My brain stopped working.
“Hello,” Olivia said.
There was silence, and I wondered if the call had dropped, and I had just imagined her voice.
“William?”
My name coming out of her mouth nearly undid me. If she had been anywhere on the island of Manhattan, I would have tossed the phone aside and gone to her, just to make her say my name again and again, preferably while I kissed her all over.
“Olivia,” I said. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
As opening lines went, it was pretty weak, but I had been caught off-guard. I had expected her to ignore my call just as she had for the past few days.
“I know, and you have to stop,” she said.
I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Hard. The wind left my sails. She sounded so assured, so definitive. This wasn’t the sweet girl who had smiled me over coffee earlier this week. What had I done to her?
“I’m so sorry, Olivia,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Olivia said. “You didn’t hurt me, I just think it’s best that we don’t see each other again.”
How could that possibly be best? The idea of not seeing her again made me physically ill. All I wanted in that moment was to see her and hold her.
“That’s not going to be possible,” I said. “I refuse to agree to those terms.”
She let out a sigh, long and heavy. How was it that I was so much older than she was, yet she was the one staying calm and giving orders as if I was a child. I didn’t like it. I wanted to be in control. I wanted to teach her how good I could be for her.
“William, we’re just not right for each other,” Olivia said. “I know it, and I think you know it too. Isn’t that right?”
“We can’t know anything for certain,” I said. “We haven’t even tried being together.”
“But do you think it would work?” she asked. “Please, be honest.”
My words got stuck in my mouth. All my artfully-crafted arguments were useless against this. Olivia was demanding the truth. And I didn’t have that.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I regretted the sentence as soon as I had uttered it.
“But I want to see you again,” I said. “I have to see you, Olivia, you’re driving me crazy.”
“I just need to be with someone who knows,” Olivia said.
Her words came out slow and heavy, as if they were weighed down by emotion. My entire heart went out to her. Why couldn’t I be what she needed? Why couldn’t I be two decades younger and less cynical about marriage and relationships?
“Olivia, I can’t lie to you,” I said. “I have hesitations, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try.”
There was silence again. Then she answered, and I could tell the conversation was over:
“It does for me,” she said. “Don’t call me again.”
Then she hung up.
I stared dumbfounded at the phone. How had one little conversation gone so wrong?
I stood up and slammed my palm against my wall. I hadn’t lost my temper like this since I was very young. But Olivia drew out long-dead instincts in me.
Little by little, my shock and sadness turned into anger.
She didn’t get to end it like that. Maybe we were in a gridlock, and she wanted to give up, but I had to have a say. And I wasn’t giving up without a fight.
I was going to drive to Connecticut. I was going to track her down and look her in the eyes and tell her, clear as can be, that it was not over.
Chapter Eleven
Olivia
I had cried for almost an hour after my phone conversation with William.
It had been silly. I believed in saving my tears for true heartbreak. And my heart couldn’t be broken after just one spectacular night. My heart was, at most, bruis
ed. At least I hoped so.
For one idiotic second, I had actually believed he might say something different when I asked him if he thought we could work out.
Yes, Olivia, I do believe we could work. Yes, Olivia, I am all in.
William Hart would never say those words. He was kind and he could be gentle and considerate, but he was also smart. I had watched him dismantle marriages. I had heard him discuss the hopelessness of two humans actually partnering for life.
Perhaps I should have agreed with him. I had seen my parents fall apart. I should have been just as cynical as William.
Only I wasn’t. I had hope. I dreamed of something good and pure and eternal.
So I was going on the date with Richard’s colleague. We were meeting at a wine bar in Manhattan.
Nate Baxter was twenty-nine years old. He was a successful investment banker. He owned his own condo, Richard had been sure to inform me.
Was Nate Baxter going to be the love of my life? I doubted it.
I had to go out with him anyway. It was symbolic. I was taking the necessary steps to find what I wanted. I would no longer hide while life passed me by. At least William had shown me what I was missing.
So I brushed away my tears and looked up the train times for the next day. I would have to leave the farm by three to change and catch the late afternoon train to the city.
The next day, when I informed Bridget of my need to depart early, she had questions. Of course she did.
“Well, I sorta have a date,” I said.
Bridget squealed so loudly a group of birds were startled from a nearby tree. We were by the chicken coop, about to collect the morning eggs.
“Oh my god, tell me everything,” she gushed. “What are you gonna wear?”
“Oh, just this,” I said.
I gestured down at my patched jeans and dirty T-shirt.
Bridget’s eyes popped out of her head.
“Joking,” I said. “I’m joking.”
“Oh, wow, I’ve never heard you be sarcastic,” she said.
I shrugged. I wasn’t usually sarcastic, but the turmoil of the past few days had made me a bit short.
