Come Together (The Cityscape 3)

“Please calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, young lady. I just spoke to Bill, and I just, I just don’t believe it. Tell me he’s mistaken.”

“Mom, please, it’s very complicated – ”

She gasped. “So it is true? You cheated on him?”

David crouched at my feet, and my eyes slid to his. He held my knees, and I put my free hand over one of his.

“Yes,” I said, holding David’s gaze. “It’s true.”

“How could you?” she screeched, and I snapped the phone away from my cheek. “I raised you to be a lady, not a slut!”

David’s hand squeezed around my leg.

“It’s not like that,” I said, clenching and unclenching my jaw. “Things with David are serious.”

“That’s outrageous. How can you be with another man when you love Bill?”

David wiped away my tear before I realized it was there.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I know this is hard for you to hear.”

“It’s just nonsense. You stop this immediately, and go take care of your poor husband. That poor, poor man.”

“Mom, I want to be with him.”

“With who?”

“With David!” I exclaimed.

“How could you cheat after you saw what I went through?”

“Dad didn’t even cheat on you!” I cried. “It’s in your head!”

“This is all his fault. Your father did this, always pampering you. He spoiled you, and now you only know how to be selfish.”

“There’s another side you haven’t heard,” I said as more tears escaped.

“You’re selfish,” she slurred as if she hadn’t heard me, “and you’re going to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Running off with some letch who can’t keep his hands off a married woman.”

“He’s not like that.”

“Oh, Bill told me everything. Bill deserves better than this. He deserves better than you.”

I choked back a sob. “How can you say that? You’re my mother!”

“Because I know what it feels like to be betrayed. I’m horrified that after everything I went through, you could turn around and do that to a husband who’s always been there for you. You’ve not only hurt Bill, but you’ve hurt me too. Just like your father, never cared about anyone else. I don’t want to speak to you again until you’ve worked things out with your husband.”

“But, Mom, I’m not – ” I pulled the phone away and stared down at it. “She hung up on me.” I didn’t cry over my mother; it was just something I didn’t do anymore. So I was confused when I set the phone down, put my face in my hands and burst into tears. The bed dipped with David’s weight and he lifted me onto his lap, where he rocked me back and forth, whispering comforting words in my hair.

“My mom . . . doesn’t . . . love . . . me,” I sobbed.

“Oh, baby,” he said, clutching me to him.

I looked up at him suddenly and searched his eyes. “This will get better, won’t it?” I asked. “Easier?”

“Yes.” He paused, stroking my hair. “But until it does, you have me. Let me have some of the hurt.”

I nodded and nuzzled into his chest again, taking a deep whiff through a runny nose. When I imagined Bill calling and telling her everything, explaining my selfishness, I cried harder.

“Hey,” David said softly, separating us by my shoulders to look at me. “We’ll not only make it through this, but we’ll come out better for it. We have something strong, baby. Stronger than all the bullshit.”

Do we? I wondered. Can love alone overcome everyone and everything – even ourselves? “I hope so,” I murmured, wiping the wetness of my tears from his bare chest. The words ‘slut’ and ‘letch’ rang through my ears, a perfect pair. But the blows were softened by the man who held me. Though I wanted nothing more than to stay there, he picked me up off his lap and disappeared into the bathroom.

Oh, what a mess I’ve made. Bill is heartbroken and blindsided. I’ve lost friends, and now maybe even family. And what will my dad say when I see him next weekend? Why have I done this? What have I done? Is it worth it?

I looked up at a noise. David was leaning in the doorway looking concerned as he watched me in only his underwear. He’s worth it. For him, I would give up everything. My body tensed at the unbidden thought. I had this strange feeling that he meant more to me than anything ever had, even though we’d known each other for such a short time. If I hadn’t known before, I knew now: I was desperately in love. It was a kind of love I didn’t recognize, a kind of love I’d fended off my whole life. As I stared at him, this man who filled the doorway, I felt . . . cold, stark fear in my gut.

He walked over and pulled me off the bed. He kneeled in front of me, and I gripped his shoulders as, one at a time, he lifted my feet to remove my tennis shoes and socks. Next, he pulled down my pants, taking my underwear with them. He rose, and I lifted my arms so he could pull my t-shirt over my head and unfasten my bra.

“Step,” he said, and I did, leaving the pile behind. He guided me into the bathroom by a hand on my back.

The bath was luminous, with overflowing bubbles and soft candlelight. The thought of David owning, dusting off and lighting candles for me made me smile.

“I’ll be back, but you get in,” he instructed.

I did as he said, easing in one limb at a time. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a bath, and I’d forgotten how healing it could be. I sank down slowly and let the bubbles swallow me. I heard, rather than saw, David return.

“Last thing,” he said, waving a bottle of red wine. I sat up and watched as he poured it into a glass, handed it to me and walked away.

“You’re not getting in?” I asked, sniffling back a rogue tear.

He turned. “I haven’t kept my hands off you since the moment you got here. You need some time alone.”

“I need you.”

“I want you to feel comfortable here.”

“Please?” I asked.

He shifted on his feet. I was beginning to notice that he was prone to do so when he was fighting himself.

I gave him my best, most exaggerated pout, preying on the indecision in his eyes. “Please,” I whispered.

He nodded and pulled down his underwear. My pout vanished instantly and was replaced with a smile.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

I splashed him, laughing as he, in one quick movement, submerged himself in the water across from me. His long legs hit the back of the tub behind me, and he broke down the bubbles between us. His hands found my ankles, and he circled them in his fists before running his palms along my calves.

“I don’t even know your mom’s name,” he said.

“Leanore.”

“She still drinks, I gather.”

“I don’t know how often. We don’t talk much. Last time I brought it up, she got angry and said she wasn’t an alcoholic because she only drinks when she’s stressed.”

David sat forward and placed his hands on the outsides of my thighs. His gaze narrowed, and I knew what was coming. I’d heard it before, mostly from Bill. Lectures on how I needed to be there for my mom, to help her through the hard times. How she deserved more from me because she was my mother, and family was always first.

“Olivia,” he started sternly. “I’m sorry that she called you a slut.”

I nodded. “Heard that, did you?”

“It’s not true.”

I shifted against the back of the tub and looked down into the bubbles. “I know.”

“Look at me.”

I met his gaze, and his grip tightened on my legs. “What you did – what we did – does not make you a slut.” He took a tentative breath. “Does she call you names often?”

I shook my head. “She’s more of the passive aggressive, cold-shoulder type when she’s sober.”

“I see,” he said. “That’s not necessarily better.”

I shrugged. “I’m tougher for it.”

“You keep people out. Because of her.”