I don’t like having questions unanswered.
I have three brothers out there and I know pretty much nothing about them, except what’s in the financial papers. I don’t mean what I could find out on the internet, anyway; I mean the real them. I don’t really want to know them, but they’re a part of me in a weird kind of way. Our biology is connected, and pretending that’s not the case is going against the grain for me.
I have questions about them and, until they’re answered, Barrett will occupy too much space in my head. Once I’ve got the answers I need I can box this whole thing away—him included—and never think of him again.
That’s it—easy. Simple. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Sex is beside the point. Sure, he’s an amazing lover but I’ve had great sex before and I’ll have it in the future. There’s no point muddying the waters of what we are by getting intimate with him again.
I just need him to clarify a few things then he can go back to England or wherever he’s presenting his report, and I’ll get on with my life. Alone, just as I like it. Once I’ve got these answers I’ll be able to start forgetting him, and how he made me feel.
And how’s that, Avery? A voice—my mother’s—makes the demand of me.
I ignore her, pick up my phone and wr
ite a text.
Hey. Are you free later?
I put the phone down and focus on my work. An hour later I realise I’m checking my screen almost obsessively and get up, pacing across to the windows of my office. It doesn’t help to distract me. In order to reach the windows I have to walk past the armchairs and sofa, and those are now full of Barrett memories—memories I find impossible to blank. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, surprised to realise how much he’s got under my skin. Not just him, but this whole damned situation.
I have hated my father all my life—without knowing anything about him except that he wasn’t there for my mom. But what if Barrett’s right? What if he never knew about me? What if she was scared he’d take me away so she never told him? My heart squeezes painfully, because surely there were times when she considered that. It would have been so much easier for her without me. And did she ever think it would be better for me? My heart squeezes again, harder this time, and a thread of disloyalty turns my blood to ice. Would I have chosen a life of wealth and luxury?
No.
That wouldn’t have been enough to turn my back on my mom. But family? My stomach rolls. Brothers? A sound escapes me without my consent, a sort of anguished sob, and my eyes burst open, landing on my phone. Yes, for brothers, for family, for noise and company, for anything to combat that pervasive sense of loneliness, I might well have wished my father had been a part of my life.
Another sob. I stalk across the room and swipe my phone off the desk right as it buzzes.
Hi Avery. Sure—where and when?
My stomach loops. His message is distant. Cool. I don’t want anything from him, but the idea that he’s annoyed at me, frustrated by me, impatient with me, threatens to split me in two. I tap ‘reply’ and stare at the screen for several seconds.
There’s a place in South Beach—The Lighthouse. Do you know it?
I can Google.
Of course he can. I swallow past a strange heaviness in my throat.
Great. Four o’clock?
Sure. See you then.
I ache to write something else, but what? What else can I say? There’s nothing. I have no promises, no apologies, no explanations. This is who I am, and I owe him nothing. I just wish he’d go away so I can start forgetting about him, and stop feeling like this.
But I’m nothing if not disciplined. I have a few hours before I need to leave. I settle down at my desk and force myself to work with a singular determination.
* * *
It’s a converted warehouse that was, at one time, used as a fish market. The ceilings are impossibly high, the window spanning from floor to ceiling, the view of a South Beach street charming and rustic, the high rises of the financial district just visible. I scan the café but there’s no sign of Barrett. My pulse accelerates as I contemplate, briefly, that he might not arrive. But of course he will—he’s a good guy. Good guys don’t say they’ll do something then fail to follow through.
I order some sparkling water and peruse the menu, even though I don’t feel like eating. Ten minutes later, on a whim, I look up just as he strides through the door. My heart stutters to a stop in my chest. He is impossibly beautiful.
The word is not what I’d usually choose to describe a man I’ve slept with, but it’s the only word I can find in that moment. Tall, confident, handsome, sure, but it’s so much more than that. He says something to a pretty waitress in torn jeans, a black shirt and a grey apron. Her hair is shaved on one side and braided on the other. His smile sparks an answering one in her. A spark shifts through me.
Jealousy?
Not likely.
Curiosity, more like. Barrett would have no problem meeting women. I think about that for barely a second before forcing my brain not to go there. The waitress gestures in my direction. He turns. Our eyes meet. My heart stops.