Love's Awakening (9 page)

I blinked, and the angel took the shape of a monster—dark, menacing, leering, pointed teeth. My pulse shot up, but when I checked again, the angel was back. Shirley and I drove home in a monsoon. I saw the monster in every blur. That’s my life. No definition. A blur. Faint edges. I’m floating, like David is. I don’t know if I like being a mother. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m working a temporary job soon, though. Three weeks. It’ll be nice to get out of the house and have a life again for a bit.

Anyway, not sure the point of this letter. No need to reply. I hope you’re well.

-Celia

*****

Dinner at Applebee’s with the Thompson family went okay. Lots of fake smiles and fake laughing from Malcolm and Sherelle. Lots of stolen glances toward Oliver and Shannon from Paul and Erin. The six of them got together maybe three, four times a year. These dinners lasted an hour, not much more.

This dinner was no different. Paul and Erin caught Oliver and Shannon up on their friends, activities and grades. Malcolm and Sherelle were great parents. The kids were great kids. They had perfect lives.

Shannon announced that she was engaged. She showed around cellphone pictures of her fiance and invited the Thompsons and Oliver to the wedding.

Yeah,
right,
Oliver thought.
You
want
me
there
as
much
as
you
want
a
serial
killer
there.

“Hey,” Shannon whispered from her seat next to Oliver. “I mean it. I’d like you there.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“O-okay,” he said. “Count me in.”

Like with the other dinners, Oliver left after giving each person a perfunctory hug. Despite Shannon’s olive branch, most of Oliver’s soul had been scythed out. He loved these children, but he’d never had a true, deep conversation with them. He was glad they were happy and would have it no other way. But, damn. Having them in his life was painful.

Oliver hoped Malcolm and Sherelle talked to the children about safe sex. Using condoms. All that jazz. He and Shannon had been stupid. Hell, Oliver was twenty-nine and still stupid. The children weren’t stupid, though. Nope, they were brilliant and beautiful.

*****

The third floor of a modest ten-story building in Arlington housed the offices of Gunter & Philpott. Celia entered hesitantly, wondering what to expect. Her life was about to change—again.

The law firm was relatively small and employed five lawyers, three paralegals and seven secretaries/assistants. Celia’s new boss was Ted Gunter, a former subordinate of David’s. Celia glued on a smile and kept her head high as she walked to her desk. People grinned. Some went up to her and introduced themselves. No one seemed to know about David. Celia had specifically asked Ted not to say anything. She did not want whispers and furtive, apologetic glances behind her back.

At noon, she joined a group of secretaries from throughout the building for lunch. Several of the women complained about their boyfriends or husbands.

He
leaves
his
underwear
on
the
floor.

He
leaves
the
toilet
seat
up.

He’d
rather
watch
football
than
make
love.

He
goes
golfing
all
weekend
and
leaves
me
with
the
kids.

Celia said nothing. What could she add?
My
husband
got
in
a
wreck
on
purpose,
he
was
a
woman,
I
don’t
know
if
he’s
alive
or
dead,
and
he
left
me
with
a
newborn.
If
that’s
not
enough,
I
had
the
most
fantastic,
most
incredible
kiss
with
my
stepson.
I
want
more.
More,
more,
more.

“You’re not married?” one of the secretaries or glorified assistants asked, glancing at Celia’s bare fingers.

Wife.

I’d
like
you
to
meet
Davina,
my
wife.

Celia’s stomach constricted. She couldn’t say the name. She wanted a man, not a woman. “Actually, I am married. I’m a lucky woman.”

The other women leaned in, their expressions expectant. Celia brushed away her apprehension. “My…my…”
My
wife.
“My husband,” Celia said, “His name is David. He cooks. He does laundry. We have a baby, and David’s great with Caleb. He gets up in the middle of the night to help.”

Murmurs of admiration and jealousy rippled through the circle at the table. Celia continued speaking, talking about how David loved to sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to Caleb. The lies came quickly and easily. At one p.m., the group headed back to work. No one walked with Celia. Undoubtedly they were weary of hearing about her saintly husband.

*****

Celia brought Caleb for dinner at her mother’s house that night. She and Lynn had chicken, mashed potatoes and biscuits from KFC. Celia nibbled on a plump leg, the lines from earlier at work continuing to zigzag in her mind.

He
leaves
his
underwear
on
the
floor.

He
leaves
the
toilet
seat
up.

He’d
rather
watch
football
than
make
love.

He
goes
golfing
all
weekend
and
leaves
me
with
the
kids.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Lynn said.

Celia scooped mashed potatoes onto a biscuit. She added gravy.
I
wonder
what
Oliver’s
children
look
like.

“Tell me about your first day at work,” Lynn prodded.

“It was good. Everyone’s nice. I mostly typed and answered phones.”

“What’d they say about—you know—about David?”

Celia pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Excuse me. If I go out for an hour, will you watch Caleb?”

Chapter
Eight

Every table in Azizi was occupied for happy hour and dinner rush, and so were all of the bar stools save two. Most of the clientele were men and women in business suits. Two waitresses roamed the floor, and Oliver stood behind the bar. Still with his cast on, he chatted up a customer, a fiftyish or sixtyish woman. She wore her graying hair piled atop her head. Oliver leaned into her just a
leeeetle
too much and flashed his white smile just a
leeeetle
too much. The customer lapped it up.

Yes, Oliver was good at his job. Oliver would not judge Celia, would not pester her with questions she did not want to answer.

Oliver looked up, met Celia’s eyes, and the bar’s hustle and bustle faded away. Celia tried to ignore the rush of pleasure in Oliver’s grin and the shivers of her own body. A momentary panic seized her. She had not realized how much she wanted to be here until she saw Oliver.

Celia tried to cover up her reaction as she sat at the bar. “Coke,” she said briskly. “Only Coke. Well, a little vodka, too. Vodka and Coke. I can’t stay long. I have to get back to the baby.”

Oliver offered an easygoing smile. “Sure. I’ll take a break soon.”

Celia looked away. The top two buttons of Oliver’s shirt were undone, and the glimpse of his chest, of dark hairs, was enough to get Celia’s pussy stirring.

“Left my horse at home,” Celia muttered. “My revolver, too.”

“Yeah. It’s not Paris or London, but it’s something.”

Azizi was little more than a shack hidden away among the modernity and sameness of Safeway, Chili’s Bar & Grill, Panera Bread and Starbucks. The interior was dusty and grimy, like an Old West saloon. Celia liked it.

“How do you mix drinks with your cast?” she asked.

Oliver started on Celia’s drink. “Watch me. I do it slowly. Very slowly. And one-handed, mostly. It’s good for business. My tips are up.”

“Too bad you didn’t break both arms,” Celia said. “You’d be a millionaire.”

Oliver winked. “That is indeed unfortunate.”

“Linda.” The woman across from Celia, the customer Oliver had been flirting with, held out her hand.

Celia shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Celia.”

“Celia is my stepmother,” Oliver added.

Stepmother.
Celia felt old. Very old.

“Stepmother, is that right? I’ve heard about you.” Linda’s breath was sour, and Celia edged back. “Sorry about your husband.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, Celia. Is drinking all right with your breastfeeding?” Oliver asked. “You’re still breastfeeding?”

Celia nodded. “I’m trying to go off, but it’s taking longer than I hoped.”

“Too bad.”

“I’ll live. Caleb likes it, and it’s supposed to be better than formula. You want a piece of trivia? You should know this, anyway.”

“Sure.”

“Alcohol doesn’t stay in breast milk. It’s like alcohol in blood. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. So I can still pump and keep milk. Just have to give the alcohol time to go away.”

Oliver frowned. “I think I’d be too paranoid to keep the milk.”

Celia chuckled. “Me too.” She took her first sip. The alcohol tingled down her throat and burned her stomach. Celia gulped down a second, more expansive sip. “This is good. I haven’t had a drink in close to a year.”

“We have a drink for you here anytime you want one. Hey, be right back.” Oliver went down the bar to wait on a group of newcomers—three women, one man. He smiled widely and touched one of the women lightly, flirtatiously, on the arm. He said: “Hey, gotta see some ID. Regulations.”

Lucky
woman
Oliver’s
touching.

“Sorry about your husband,” Linda repeated.

“Thank you.”

“Is he still in the coma?”

“Yep.”

“He used to come in here a lot. He was nice. Ordered water. Maybe Diet Coke once in a while.”

Celia sighed. This Linda, this stranger, probably knew more about David than Celia did. “Yep, David didn’t like to drink alcohol.”
Was
he
afraid
liquor
would
loosen
his
tongue?

*****

When Oliver’s break arrived, he and Celia wandered to a bench in front of Chili’s. “Is this the same bench where your father told you he was transgender?”

“Yes,” Oliver said as they sat.

Oliver’s body against Celia was warm, and she had to make a conscious effort not to sink into his touch.

“Good timing,” Oliver said. “I replied to your letter today. Put it in the mail.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Oliver shrugged. “Did you go to church with Grandma again?”

“Mmm. She likes having someone with her, and it gets me out of the house.”

Oliver scratched his nose. “So, uh, did you start work yet? That temp job?”

“Today. Actually, that’s why I’m here. Kind of.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t tell anyone there about your father, the transgender thing, the coma.”

“I don’t tell, either. People treat you differently.”

“Ted does, that’s for sure. My boss. He kept telling me to leave early and that it’s okay to take long lunches to visit David. I won’t complain. Ted lets me show up at work looking like this.” Celia indicated her battle-weary features. “The first face the clients see is someone who should work for Ghoul & Associates.”

Oliver laughed, and Celia smiled, enjoying the sound and Oliver’s straight, white teeth. “I did something today I probably shouldn’t have,” she confessed.

“It’s okay to toilet paper the boss’ office.”

“Of course. I did something else, though.”

“What?”

“The women—secretaries or whatever from the building—asked me if I was married. I said yes. I said I have a husband.”

“You do.”

“I know. I know.” Celia blew out a breath. “But…I would have tried to understand about your father. I really would have.”

“I know,” Oliver whispered.

“Did he have a name picked out? A female name?”

Oliver bit his lip. “No idea.”

“The thing is, I would’ve tried to understand, but I probably…I don’t want a wife. I don’t want a woman. I told the secretaries that my husband cooks. Cleans. Does laundry. Helps me with the baby. I didn’t plan to lie. Not to that extent, anyway. It squished—squicked—out.”

“It’s okay to lie sometimes.”

“I think your father couldn’t tell me because he knew that I could try to understand all I wanted, but in the end, a woman isn’t who I desire. David knew we were done either way.”

Oliver’s expression was troubled. Contemplative. His mouth was red. Full. Tempting.