“Precisely. You don’t even care about going, you just want to defy me.”
“Defyyou?” I gaped. “Are you my father? My babysitter?”
“The point is, because I need time to think and because I must work, I can’t be there this weekend. I don’t want you going.”
“You always tell me not to run away,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt, “but that’s exactly what you’re doing. This sex thing is something we need to work out together.”
“I agree,” he said. “But I get so caught up in you—I don’t . . . I don’t trust myself right now. Going away means I can sort through this and keep my hands off you.”
“Sort through italone. Which is exactly what you told me not to do.” I grabbed the door handle.
“Hang on, Olivia.”
“No.” I got out and slammed the door before he could convince me otherwise.
I flew by Jenny’s desk and threw my things on the couch in my office.
How dare he? Does he think he can just order me around?
I sat at my desk and tried to work, but with every passing hour, I gradually admitted to myself that I’d intentionally pushed David’s buttons. There was no part of me that wanted to go to Florida without him, but he needed to see that his guilt was baseless.
I sighed at my computer screen.
We were both wrong. He was running away from something he’d convinced himself was a problem, and I hadn’t handled it well. Fighting with David was my least favorite pastime, so I broke down and sent him a text.
Me:Can we talk? Been thinking lots. xo
I felt instantly better as I went back to work. But once lunchtime had passed, and I still hadn’t heard from him, I realized there was a chance he was already New York-bound. I hated the idea that he’d left while we were on bad terms, so I wrote him an e-mail.
From:Olivia Germaine
Sent:Wed, November 21 01:31 PM CST
To:David Dylan
Subject:Miami
David,
I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have stormed off. I know you’re only being protective, but you can’t treat me like a possession. If I want to go to Miami, I will. That said, I’d rather not be there without you. Gretchen will be disappointed, and I am, too, but we can go another time.
Olivia Germaine
Senior Editor
Chicago Metropolitan Magazine
ChicagoMMag.com
In the late afternoon, my heart skipped happily when my phone rang, and David’s name flashed across the screen. “Hi,” I answered.
“Hi, beautiful,” he said. “Thanks for the e-mail. Sorry I haven’t been able to reach out until now.”
“I hate when we fight.”
“Me, too. Listen, I had some time to think on the plane. I was an ass about Miami. And I love to hear you say you’re mine, but in no way do I see you as a possession. Just the woman I love and want to keep safe.”
“I get that,” I said, flicking a paperclip against my thumbnail. “But I have my own life, David. And sometimes you won’t agree with my choices.”
