I sigh and admit defeat. Like he said, if it’s not working out, I’ll just leave. “Okay. Ollie and I will be over at seven.”
I then go to walk away again, but Liam only pulls me back one more time, locking his arm around my waist, ducking his head and stealing a brief but drugging kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he says heavily. “I just couldn’t be in the same room with you for another minute without doing that.” His words feel warm against my face as his fingertips brush the delicate skin of my wrist. Standing here with him in the somewhat narrow hallway, I get a little drunk off his presence. He smells like summer and soap, and his scent weaves effortlessly around me, muddling my thought process. His eyes tell me he wants to kiss me again, and while I would like that, I’m not far gone enough to forget that my boss and his mother are mere yards away and just out of our line of vision. I give myself five seconds to enjoy his soft touch until I force myself to move away, stepping backwards with a languid smile before twisting around and heading back into the living room. I pause before I enter, taking a calming breath and then striding inside.
An hour later, the interview is done, and Caroline, Liam and Isabelle have just left. Juliette is still sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead until I hand her a cup of tea. She never ended up making her first one despite boiling the water earlier.
“Well, that seemed painless enough,” I say as I sit down next to her.
“Right.” Juliette sighs, seeming more tired than I’ve seen her in a while. “Why don’t you just take the rest of the day off, kid? I have a headache, and I’m going to bed early.”
“Are you sure?” I’m a little concerned even though a couple of extra hours to sneak in some writing would be incredible. “I can stay and answer more emails. Or we could have one of our cooking network watch parties. English baking shows are always an unparalleled delight and I bet watching them while physically in England somehow makes them even more charming.”
“No, it’s alright. You go. Just text Roshni and tell her the same, will you?”
“Sure. Of course. Call me if you need anything.”
Juliette stands after that, taking her tea with her as she crosses the living room, moving in the direction of her bedroom. She’s almost reached the hallway when she stops and turns back to face me.
“I never asked. What did you and Isabelle talk about while she was here?”
I mentally review our conversation and quickly decide that me revealing anything from my chat with Isabelle would in no way help the rift between them. I shake my head with a noncommittal expression. “Not much. Mainly just about the pop-up.”
Juliette seems to accept my answer but then goes on anyways. “Did she ask you about me? About how I’ve been or anything like that?”
I’m not sure how to respond. Isabelle didn’t so much ask as she did tell. But it’s also painfully obvious that there’s so much sadness there. A longing for the past. Resignation about the future.
“I think she really misses you,” I end up answering. “She didn’t have to say it for me to know.”
Juliette stands there a moment, contemplative and quiet until she turns around and disappears from view.
I want to call after her, but I stop myself. I’m generally good at anticipating what Juliette needs, and in this moment, it’s clear she needs time for herself. Even so, it still hurts to see her at odds with her closest family member. They were just together for over an hour with almost zero human connection—sitting in the same room with insurmountable distance between them. And then that thought leads me to remember that at this very moment,myclosest family member is packing up to move thousands of miles away from me to start a new life with his new family.
I wrap my arms around my waist as the vision sinks in deeper, clawing down into my consciousness until it puts down roots. It leaves me feeling sad, disjointed and completely alone, and makes me more than ready to snuggle up with Ollie and Liam once I finish working on my play. Getting up from the couch, I choose to ignore the quiet but painfully accurate voice in my head reminding me that, most likely, it’s only Ollie who will be mine to keep.
14
I’m not quite sure what to expect when I knock on Liam’s door with Ollie and my tote bag filled with overnight necessities. To put a label on it, I suppose we’re about to embark on a work session/puppy playdate/adult overnight hangout? I mean, I’ve had weirder Wednesdays, but this one is kind of up there. The weight of the laptop in my bag starts to pull at my shoulder, prompting me to knock again as Ollie ravenously sniffs the floor. He only stops a couple of seconds later when the door swings open, revealing Liam standing inside, looking almost out of breath in light sweatpants and a gray T-shirt.
“You made it,” he says with a smile. “And before you try to shock me with whatever nightmarish greeting you’ve mentally concocted, I’m saying hello, so it’s over and done with. Hello. Very glad you could be here. Please come in.”
He moves back to allow me to pass through, and I decide to give him a break for once and act like a normal human being.
“Thank you for having us. We’re very happy to be here.” I slowly step past him and into the apartment, moving steadily deeper into the space until I stop to look around. “Oh boy,” I say quietly.
Looking around, I find what I can only describe as a mixture between a dirty dorm room and an abandoned fallout shelter that was most likely overtaken and destroyed during a somewhat recent zombie apocalypse. Old mail is littered over almost every available surface, which there aren’t many of because Liam’s furniture is shockingly minimal—one couch, a folding chair and a TV sitting on what looks to be a bedside table. There’s an explosion of food containers lining the kitchen counters, and the windows are nearly all bare, minus one section behind the TV that has a bedsheet thumbtacked into the wall above. The carpeting on the floor seems caked with spills that have long since dried, and judging from the stale beer stench wafting through the air, it’s pretty easy to guess what they’re from.
If a rabid pack of college freshman were living here, I’d understand. But it definitely doesn’t seem like the home of a man who sold his successful business and could then afford to traipse around Italy for over half a year.
“Did you just move in?” I ask hesitantly.
“Not just. About six months ago.”
“Okay, wow.”
This is my fault. Through all my time with Liam, I think I subconsciously whipped up a certain fancy persona for him. That person, I imagined, lived in a stormy hilltop mansion with endless wood paneling, first edition books, a grandfather clock and a crackling fireplace. Essentially, I envisioned Bruce Wayne’s study. That’s why this is such a shock. I anticipated the ambient retreat of a fallen hero, only to find him encamped in “dude” headquarters instead.
“I was actually just tidying up before you got here,” he says. “Admittedly, I should have started earlier, but if you give me a few minutes, everything will be in top shape in no time.”
