Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Neil frowned and said, “Who’s Tony?” before comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh, our Tony?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I paced back and forth in front of the coffee table. “He thinks we’re going to fire him. And this, ooh, this is the worst part, Neil. He said he loves her.” I drew out the L-word like it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever said. Apparently, I’d never gotten over my adolescent jealousy toward my mom’s partners. That was depressing.
The corner of Neil’s mouth twitched, though he tried valiantly to remain serious in the face of my resurgent teen angst. “Why is that the worst part?”
“It isn’t. I know it isn’t.” I sat beside him, leaned my elbows on my knees, and covered my face with my hands. “I’m happy for her. I just wish I hadn’t walked in on her happiness.”
“Totally understandable. I walked in on my parents being happy once. It disturbed me greatly.” He put his arm around me. “If your mom loves Tony, and he loves her, then you don’t want to be the person who interrupts that. Figuratively speaking, of course. You’ve already done that literally.”
I shuddered. “I need to take a full body shower.”
“What you need is to get back to work. And to leave me alone so I can watch the Yankees in peace.” He gestured to the television.
“That’s the second most disgusting thing I’ve heard today,” I groaned. “I don’t mind you being so quasi-American, but why the Yankees?”
“Because it rankles you.” Grinning, he added, “Get back to work.”
I mock stomped my way out of the room. When I got to the office, I found I was the first person back from lunch, something that happened often, since I didn’t have to leave the premises to eat. I grabbed my phone off my desk and pulled up my recent calls. I found Emma’s number and dialed her.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sophie.” I scrunched my hair to the side of my head and scratched my scalp, trying to erase the image of Tony’s bare chest from my mind. “I just wanted to let you know that my karmic debt to you has been repaid.”
* * * *
After his meeting with Stephen, Neil decided—with his therapist’s blessing—to begin work on a new charity project. He announced it to Emma, Michael, and my mom at family dinner one Sunday.
“It’s a crisis center for victims of sexual assault.”
“Like a women’s center?” Michael asked, glancing up from his plate.
Neil’s eyes darted to Mom, but she was busy cutting her chicken. He looked down at his own plate. “No. A rape crisis center, for anyone who needs it. Men, women, anyone.”
“Wow, Neil, what inspired this?” Mom asked, taking a bite from her fork.
“Personal experience.” Neil looked to Michael. “If I’d had some kind of support network or counseling when I was raped, perhaps I wouldn’t have the issues that I have now.”
Michael didn’t know. I’d assumed that Emma would have told him. Maybe Neil had asked her not to. Mom definitely hadn’t known.
Slowly setting his glass down, Michael blinked to disguise the wideness of his eyes. “I think this is a great idea.”
It dawned on me that what I was witnessing was an apology from Neil to Michael, about that day in London. Neil had found a way to express remorse and a willingness to make amends for past behavior and to explain what had led to it.
“I’m sorry that you went through something like that,” Mom said. Then, brightening, she added, “But you’re going to make lemonade out of these lemons. That has to feel good.”
“You know, it does.” Neil reached for my hand on the table and stroked his thumb over the back of my fingers. Pride and admiration warred for control of the smile I gave him. He returned the expression with a slow bend of his lips and picked my hand up to kiss it, winking at me.
“Break it up, lovebirds,” Mom said, only half-teasing.
“Mmm.” Emma swallowed and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Speaking of, where’s Tony this evening?”
“He took his ma to Atlantic City for her birthday,” Mom said, with a resigned roll of her eyes. She and Tony’s mother disagreed on whether or not Mom was good enough for him. “He’ll be here next week.”
Olivia squawked, and the playpen rustled.
“Madame fussy butt rises,” Michael laid his napkin beside his plate.
Neil was already on his feet. “No, no. Eat. It’s the only decent meal you’ll get all week.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Emma protested loudly. Neil leaned over the playpen and lifted Olivia out. She babbled happily, her little arms and legs waving with excitement. One struck her grandfather in the face, and his surprised “ow” made her squeal with delight.
While everyone was distracted with Olivia, I took advantage of the moment, studying everyone’s happy faces. Mom, enviously eyeing Neil with the baby, plotting to get a turn. Michael trying not to scarf down his dinner—Emma really was a horrible cook—and making the occasional, subtle exhale of grateful pleasure. Emma, laughing as her father struggled to remove his nose from Olivia’s grasp. Emma’s smile was her father’s.