‘Go away!’ The bedroom door shakes as, from the other side, another projectile hits it. ‘I’m not speaking to you!’
‘Clearly, you are.’ Yelling is a form of communication. ‘You’re behaving like a child,’ I retort while wondering if perhaps I’m not handling this right. I slide my hands into my pockets, then lean my shoulder against the doorframe.
‘Just fuck off!’ That’s what? Eight times she’s suggested I do so. Perhaps more if I include the minutes she spent ranting over breakfast. Rather than engage, I decided to shower and give her a little time to cool down. And here we are.
‘An unruly teenager,’ I amend, which I’m sure doesn’t make either of us feel better. Myself for thinking it because of the whole age gap thing, and her for... whichever of the million offences I’m guilty of currently.
‘Well, guess what? I don’t care what you think. You’re not my dad, and you don’t have the rights to my cell phone. You’re morally bankrupt, and right now, I hate you.’
‘Olivia, please.’ I can’t remember the last time I actually asked for something. I usually just demand. Except for last night when she’d . . . I shake my head because now is not the time to be thinking these things. Sex clouds my judgment, obviously. I sigh, pressing my head against the frame now. ‘It was going to come out sooner or later. You know that, right? I was just ripping off the Elastoplast, the Band-Aid; whatever you want to call it.’
‘You had no right. No right to invade my privacy, and no right to force my hand.’
‘Would it help if I said I’ve just spoken to your grandmother?’
‘What?’ I spring back from the door as it opens. ‘Oh, there you are.’ And oh, what have you been doing in there to cause your hair to stand up like that? But I don’t ask. I like my testicles where they are, thank you.
‘What did you just say?’
‘I just spoke with your grandmother. Elsie. A charming lady, actually.’
I’m known within the city for my instincts. The choices I make are from the gut, and the confidence in my actions and my investments is unwavering. I pride myself on my judge of character, and my first impressions are usually the correct ones.
What I don’t understand is how I can be so far off when it comes to Olivia.
A fickle and a changeful thing is a woman?Looking down at her right now, I’d suggest the Romans didn’t understand the half of it. She calls me the devil, yet she looks positively demonic.
‘I’m sensing you’re not happy I spoke with her.’ The looks she’s throwing me might kill a lesser man. She looks like Medusa’s more annoyed and spikier sister.
‘Whatever makes you say that?’ she begins evenly. But she’s not really asking me a question, I realise, as she opens her mouth to speak again. ‘I mean, why should I object? What could possibly bother me about you railroading through my life?’
‘Olivia—’
‘I’m not finished,’ she snaps. ‘It’s my turn to speak because I think I must’ve missed something on the contract. I don’t remember reading anywhere that you were going to treat me like a chattel!’ As she speaks, both tone and volume rise, eventually reaching the kind of ear-splitting rant that could only be categorised as fishwife.
‘Clearly, I overstepped, but my actions were all in good faith.’
‘Good faith? Good faith! You are despicable. Your moral compass swings so wildly I’m surprised your head isn’t spinning! You’re selfish and egotistical, and you don’t have a thought for anyone or anything. I mean, what kind of man would blackmail a woman into marrying him?’ At this, she finally stops, seemingly shocked by her own words.
‘Blackmail is such an unpleasant word. But I know who I am, and I accept what I am capable of. I don’t look at others when at fault. Denial is the near cousin of rationalization, Olivia. But if it helps you sleep at night... ’ I leave her at her bedroom doorway, and I’d be lying if I said her stunned expression does nothing for me.
‘Please explain me how you’ve gotten me into this.’
Later, Olivia appears in the lounge where I’m working on my laptop. She looks more or less the same as she does usually. A little paler, perhaps. A little tired, despite her perfectly applied makeup. Dressed casually, she’s tied her hair back in a ponytail. But these are all smaller observations, the larger being that the fight has left her.
‘What do you want, Olivia?’ I ask, my tone a little tense as my fingers fly over the keyboard.
‘I want to talk about this, about what you did and about what I said.’
I pause and lift my head, but I don’t look at her. This whole exercise; it wasn’t supposed to be like this. ‘Let’s not rehash things.’
‘We need to clear the air. If we’re going to spend six months together, we can’t go on like this. You need to accept you were wrong, just as I need to apologise for saying those things.’
‘I was wrong?’
‘Is that such a novel concept?’
I shrug, opening my mouth to speak when she cuts me off.
