Come Alive (21 page)

From:
David
Dylan

Sent:
Wed, October
03, 2012 02:26 PM CST

To:
Olivia
Germaine

Subject:
Important

Olivia,

We
need to talk. This isn’t over, and you know it. Come by my office when you get
off today.

DAVID
DYLAN

SENIOR
ARCHITECT,

PIERSON/GREER

On the heels of his e-mail was a message from
Bill, informing me that he would be by at five o’clock to pick me up from work.
I sighed. I had things to do that would keep me well past five, but they would
have to wait.

I began crafting a response to David when Serena
popped her head in my office. “Hey, boss.
Beman
wants
to see you.”

I ran my hand over my face in frustration.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” I chirped. “Just fine.”

When
Beman
had finished
upbraiding me for one of Lisa’s errors, I stormed back to my office and shot
off
an e
-mail to David.

From:
Olivia
Germaine

Sent:
Wed,
October 03, 2012 02:58 PM CST

To:
David
Dylan

Subject:
Re:
Important

David—

I
can’t.

Olivia
Germaine

Associate
Editor,

Chicago Metropolitan Magazine

ChicagoMMag.com

His commanding tone both irked and flustered me,
even over e-mail. I quickly scanned another e-mail from Bill, which ended by
asking what I was making for dinner. I groaned, surrendering to the fact that
there would be no peace today.

And about that, I was right. Hearing from David
stuck with me all afternoon and hurtled me into an open state of brooding. I
played Saturday night over and over until my hands shook as I edited copy. My
mind wouldn’t let it rest. He wanted to talk. What was there to say? He said it
wasn’t over – but didn’t he know that it was over before it had even
begun?

I dreamed violently that night. Bill, David and
Mark Alvarez each angrily demanded something from me. I had lied to them, they
told me. I had made fools of them. I was the cancer in their lives. When Mark
called me names, David and Bill somberly nodded their agreement.

I woke heavily at the edge of dawn, wishing I
could sleep for days upon days. Grey clouds mirrored my unrest. I crawled out
of the warm bed and slogged into the kitchen for coffee. I didn’t want to upset
Bill again, so I decided to cover my foul mood with pancakes, prepared with
equal parts guilt and love.

As planned, the pancakes diverted his attention.
“This is a surprise,” he said excitedly. He sucked his teeth and rubbed his
stomach. “This is exactly what I wanted, and I didn’t even know it. Such a good
wife.”

I let him kiss me on the cheek as I stared at
the griddle with my spatula cocked.

“It looks like rain,” he commented after
retrieving the newspaper from the doorstep.

“Great,” I muttered and flipped one pancake
after another.
Flip, splat. Flip, splat.
Flip, splat.

“Hopefully it won’t be too bad. I made an
appointment with Jeanine on Saturday.”

I pushed a stray hair from my face with my forearm
and turned to him. “What?”

“She has three different places to show us.
Sounds optimistic, too.”

“Aren’t we supposed to see your sister?”

“On Sunday. It’ll be a productive weekend.”

“I wish you’d checked with me. I have plans with
Lucy.”

“
Priorities,
honey.
We’ve already rescheduled once, remember? If we’re going to start
trying
, we need to get going on the house.
At this point, time is not on our side.”

I gulped audibly, and my shoulders sagged with
the weight of the news. Had he not heard anything I’d said over the weekend?
Couldn’t he see that I was already making my sacrifice by going off birth
control? I needed time, not another excruciating car ride with Jeanine. “About
that . . .”

“About what?” he challenged.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to get settled in
a house before we start thinking about a baby.”

He resumed scanning the front page of the paper.
“It takes some women months for birth control to wear off,” he said. “By that
time, we could potentially be in a new place.”

I felt my throat closing.
Months?
“No,” I said. I struggled to get the words out. “No baby
until we’ve found a home.”

He glanced up at me. I waited for him to react,
uncertain of which way he would go, but he only gestured behind me. “
Liv
, the pancakes.”

Liv
, the pancakes?
LIV, THE PANCAKES? Are you completely fucking
oblivious, Bill?
He turned back to the
Tribune
. After a moment, he chuckled at the newspaper.

“I am not going off birth control.”

He licked his finger and flipped the page.
“Hmm?”

“And I cheated on you.”

It took a moment until his head shot up, and he
glared at me. “What did you just say?”

I actually felt my muscles liquefying as panic
flooded my body. My eyes lowered and darted over the linoleum floor. The
spontaneous confession hung in the air, thick and palpable between us.

“Hey,” he said. “What did you say?”

I looked up and shook my head, a silent beg that
he wouldn’t make me say it again.
It was
a mistake. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m not ready.
But he waited until I
couldn’t stand the silence another second. “I – I slept with someone
else.”

“When?” he cried, standing. “Who?”

“It’s not important,” I mumbled. “I did it, and
that’s it.” The smell of burning batter filled the kitchen, but I couldn’t tear
my gaze from him.

He fell back into his chair blindly. “This is
some twisted way of trying to get out of the birth control thing.”

If only.
I shook my
head at the floor, shrugging my shoulders helplessly.

“Isn’t it?” His voice was hopeful, but it turned
soft and despondent. “How? Who?”

I continued to shake my head silently. Did it
matter? Why make things worse with details?

“When?” he asked.

“About five months ago.”

He laughed in a burst of dead air before
dropping his forehead in his palm. “All this time, I thought . . .”

My hands flew to my face, an attempt to hold in
the tears. We sat that way for a long moment, not speaking.

“Who?” he asked again.
“Who was
it?”

I kept my face buried. “You don’t know him.”

He snorted. When I looked up again, his elbows
were on the table, his face in his hands. “I’m such a fool,” he said. “I feel
so . . . stupid. Is this what you wanted? To make me look stupid?”

“Of course not,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows.
“It just . . . happened.”

“Once?”

I cleared my throat and looked away. “Twice,” I
lied. I knew I could never bring myself to tell him the truth about the
masquerade ball.

“After everything that I’ve done for you.” His
voice pitched. “How could you do this? And why are you telling me now?”

“I’m so sorry. You deserve better.” I approached
the table cautiously. My heart pounded as I eased into a chair. “I know it’s a
shock. What can I do? To make it better?”

“Seriously? What kind of question is that?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

He shot up and overturned the chair. As he bent
to pick it up, he said, “I have to get to work.”

 
“Now?” I exclaimed. “We need to discuss
this.”

“I should take the day off because you picked
now to tell me?” he snarled. “Hell of a time, really,
Liv
.
Now I have to sit through work thinking about it all day.”

I looked at him pleadingly, even though his eyes
were fixed on the floor. “Don’t go. I’ll tell you anything, just stay.”

“Yes, you will tell me everything. Later. Right
now, I have to go to work.”

“Call in sick,” I implored. “We have to talk
about this now. Do it for us. Let’s fix this right now, today.”

He gave me a lingering look. “I just really
can’t deal with this right now, on top of work? Shit.” He rubbed his temples
and muttered, “Why now?”

“Are you going to leave me?” I whispered.

He looked over my head and squinted. His chin
trembled slightly. “No. I don’t know. Maybe.” He turned away and snatched his blazer
from the couch. “And I want the truth tonight. No more secrets.” Not long
after, the front door slammed.

I straightened up and took an unsteady breath. I
unplugged the grill and overturned the burnt pancakes into the sink. It was done.
I sought relief, but I only felt ill to my core.

I grabbed my coat and left for the office,
replaying the morning over and over on the way until I thought I might vomit. Not
until I was behind my locked door did I sink into my shame with the onset of
rain. I had done to Bill what I’d shielded myself from all these years: I’d ripped
the carpet out from under him; I’d shattered his trust. This would destroy him.

I agonized over what would come next. Would he
leave me? And what would I do? Where would I go?

I tried to understand what I was feeling. At the
thought of him leaving, I was sad and scared but not surprised. I almost felt
relieved that the day had finally come that my marriage would end the same way
as my parents’. As if I had known all along that I was cursed.

But Bill’s belief in the bond of marriage was
stronger than that. He might take this out on me forever, but he wouldn’t
leave. It wasn’t him. It was part of the reason I’d agreed to marry him in the
first place; he was constant and reliable.

I couldn’t blame my infidelity on a bad
marriage. What had happened between David and me was unable to be contained. Before
I’d met him, I wouldn’t have classified Bill’s and my relationship as anything
but stable. But if Bill didn’t feel like home, didn’t that mean something? I
wondered shamefully if being with Bill was still what I wanted.

And then I thought of David. Now that Bill knew,
it was more than over. I had tried to forget him, but it was impossible. Nobody
made me feel the way he did. He had awoken something, and I would never be the
same for it.

Despite the way he had crushed me on Saturday, I
didn’t want him any less. If anything, our magnetic pull intensified with every
minute that passed, regardless of whether we were together or apart. I still
wanted him. And I wanted him all to myself. No Maria, no
Dani
,
no Bill.

I was an hour through revising an editorial that
should have taken me thirty minutes to complete.
I'd
been stuck on the same sentence for five minutes when I stopped and took out my
phone.

I swallowed hard as I stared at it. I didn’t
want to do it. But it was no longer about what I wanted. It was about making
things right – no matter how painful that might be. Because Bill and I could
not move forward this way.

Maybe in some other life, we were meant to be.
Soul mates, even. I smiled to myself at how he turned me into a believer.

I didn’t know how I would end it once and for
all, but it had to be done. David’s e-mail told me that it wasn’t over. If
there was any doubt between us, I had to put it to rest. David and Bill both
deserved the truth.

With unsteady fingers, I crafted my message.

Oct 4, 2012 4:06 PM

Meet me at your office in 20 minutes.

CHAPTER 21

WHEN
I ARRIVED at Pierson/Greer, David’s whole floor was empty. I peeked into his office
but remained in the doorway to wait. My heart leaped when the door across the
way opened. Arnaud Mallory, David’s unnerving colleague with a tendency for
leering, stuck his head out. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he wouldn’t see
me.

“Bonjour, Olivia.”

“Mr. Mallory.”

“Call me Arnaud. Expecting Dylan?”

I nodded.

“Such a shame. I would never leave a pretty girl
like you waiting.” I shuddered slightly as his voice crept over me. “Come in,
have a drink.”

“No, I think I’ll just wait for – for Mr.
Dylan here.”

“But no, I won’t have it. Come, come.”

David strode into the office then, and I was
almost relieved. But seeing him again aroused a host of other emotions. Aside
from the inexorable need I had to run to him, shame washed over me with the
memory of the coarse tree and even coarser dismissal.

“I got your text,” he said, stopping abruptly in
front of me. “What is it?”

“We need to talk.”

He gestured behind me. “In my office.” In
Arnaud’s direction, he asked, “Where the hell is Clare? Find her. She’s not
supposed to leave this desk.”

As he shut
the door, I dizzily inhaled the intoxicating scent of his office
;
spicy, natural but refined.
Him, but
stronger.
I remembered our moment in the crowded elevator. I remembered him
at the edge of the roof in the dark as I pressed my cheek against his back. I
remembered the first time I was alone with him, at Lucy’s engagement party. I
remembered, I remembered, I remembered. “I can’t do this,” I uttered to myself,
vibrating with fear and nerves.
Just say
it. We’re done. Bill knows, and we . . . are . . . done.

He stalked in my direction, relief written on
his face. “I’m glad you came. We need to talk about Saturday night. There’s no
excuse – Jesus Christ, you’re shaking,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s
wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” I said, moving toward the
door.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He jumped in front of me.
“What’s going on?”

I crossed my arms into myself. “I shouldn’t have
come here. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“Olivia,” he said softly, but with authority. “Say
what you came here to say.” The hopefulness in his voice pulled at my heart.
“Don’t shut me out. Tell me why you’re here.”

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him that
I’d told Bill, and that I could never see him again. I wanted to say that he’d
hurt me on Saturday night. That I felt used and disgusting. I wanted to tell
him that since I’d met him, life meant something different.

My stomach heaved, and I felt suddenly hot and
clammy. “I don’t think I can do this right now.” I ran the back of my hand over
my slick forehead. Nausea struck my gut. “Everything is going to be fine,” I
told myself.

“Fine?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You’re
going to pull that shit with me?”

I blinked at him for a long moment. My knees may
as well have been knocking together.
Oh
God, this is it. This is it.

“You don’t look well. Do you need –
”

“He knows!” I cried.

“What?”

“He . . . knows.” I wrung my fingers. “It’s
over. This,” I clarified, motioning between us, “is so over.”

“You told him?”

“I don’t want to lose you,” I said, sniffling
back tears. My breaths were short and shallow as I continued. “But that doesn’t
matter. I can’t, do, this, anymore.”

“No.” He shook his head. “If Saturday night
proved anything, it’s that this needed to end.”

A knife in my heart, even
though he was right.

“Not – I only meant that we couldn’t keep
going like this,” he explained.

I nodded and wiped away an invisible tear. “Like
I said, it doesn’t matter anyway. I just thought you should know right away.”

“You look scared shitless. Did he hurt you?”

“He would never,” I said.

“Tell me what happened. You should have come to
me first. I would have told you with him so he could take it out on me.”

“There’s nothing to tell yet. I told him right
before he left for work.”

“He went to work?” David asked, incredulous.

“He said we’d discuss it tonight.”

He rubbed his hand over his forehead, muttering
something about a fool. “Fuck. He might ask for a divorce. Is that what you
want?”

 
“His
family is strictly against it, as is he. He won’t.”

“But what do
you
want, Olivia?”

“I don’t know,” I said with blurry eyes. “I came
here to tell you that you and I are done.”

After a brief silence, he asked, “Don’t you want
to know what I want?”

“No,” I lied.

“Things can’t just end this way. There’s too
much here.”

I closed my eyes and whispered, “Please don’t
make this any harder.”

“So that’s it?” he asked. His voice both rose
and deepened. “Did you think you would just come here and tell me it’s over?”

I nodded. “What else is there to say?”

“Now is the time to say everything.” He came to
me slowly and gently cupped my face. I felt myself melting under his loving
gaze. “This was never a fling for me, baby. You mean so much more to me than
that.” He swallowed audibly. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

It he hadn’t been holding my jaw, it would have
dropped. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying what I’ve always said. I want more. We
can do this – ”

There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Dylan?”

“Not now, Clare,” he called irritably over his
shoulder. He looked back at me. “I want – ”

“Mr. Dylan,” the voice came again. He groaned
and dropped his hands. “There’s a very important client on line two.”

I watched as he stalked away, pinching his nose.
I waited with bated breath. What did he want? What would he say? Did I want to
hear it? Did I ever. I was aching to hear it.

He wrenched the door open. “Where have you
been?” he yelled at her. “Reception was empty for over twenty minutes.”

“I’m sorry, I had to make a quick call,” Clare
said. “But there’s – ”

“You’re fired.”

My mouth fell open.

“What?” she asked. “No, it was an emergency, I’m
sorry!”

“Do you have emergencies every few hours? I’ve
told you before, no personal calls in the office. Pack up your shit. You’re fired.”

As I watched her through the sliver of doorway,
I had to look away from her shocked expression. I considered interjecting when
something on his desk caught my eye.

“It won’t happen again,” she pleaded.

“If you’re not gone by the time I finish here, I
will escort you myself.”

Their voices faded into the background. I leaned
over and slid a stack of papers closer. My heart began to thump as I stared at
the address on the sales contract in front of me.
No. It can’t be . .
. .
It can’t . .
. .
I flipped the page to see the signature.
Lucas David Dylan.

He slammed the door and turned back to me. “I’m
sorry,” he said. “As I was saying . . .” I made a sound as I scanned the
document, but it was getting harder to read with the tears that were pooling in
my eyes. “Now that it’s all out – ”

 
“What is this?” I whispered, turning to
face him. I held up the contract. “What is this, David?”

He stilled. His face became anxious as he stared
at me, unmoving. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he mumbled.

“You
bought
the Oak Park house?”

He sighed deeply and swiped a hand over his
face. “Yes.”

A vicious tremble overtook my body, and the papers
rustled audibly in my hand. “You asshole,” I fumed.

“Let me explain,” he started.

“You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie, I was going to tell you.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it! How could you
do this to me? You know how I loved that house!”

“Hang on, let me – ”

“Was this just a game for you? Did you get some
sort of sick pleasure from destroying my marriage?”

“Of course not, Olivia, if you’ll just be quiet –
”

“How could you?”

“That’s enough!” he demanded.

“It doesn’t matter. None of
this
matters
. You’ve made yourself very clear,” I said, waving the papers at
him and throwing them on the desk. “Thank you for making this easy.”

“Goddamn it. Stop running away!” he boomed. “For
once, just stay and face the truth!”

I whirled toward him. “Why’d you do it?”

“Sit, and I will explain everything. I’m not
going to tell you through a screaming fit like a couple of teenage girls.”

“And give you the chance to think up an excuse?
I’m not stupid,” I said smugly, picking up my trek across the office.

He stepped to block me from the door.

“Don’t you dare come near me,” I said with as
much venom as I could muster. “This time I mean it.”

“You listen to me,” he snarled, pointing at the
exit. “Walk out that door, and that’s it. I’m not coming after you anymore.
Everything I’ve let you get away with – you owe me the chance to explain.
So sit down.”

I was frozen to the spot by his forceful tone,
but no less infuriated.

He gestured at his couch. “I said sit the fuck
down. I will explain everything, I will
give
you everything, but I’m no fool. I will
not
chase you anymore.”

There was no doubt in my mind; what he’d done
couldn’t be explained away. It was unforgivable. I gave him a pointed look
before whipping open the door and slamming it behind me. Clare looked at me
with huge eyes and started throwing her things together faster.

Alone in the elevator, I ordered myself to curb
the tears. It wasn’t worth it. I didn’t know what perverted satisfaction he got
from buying the house out from under us, but I didn’t want to know.
Do not cry
, I instructed myself.
It’s not worth it.
But it didn’t work
that way. By the time the elevator hit the ground floor, big, dense tears were
leaking from my eyes. I was drowning quickly, and there was only one person I
could call.

~

 
“Hey, girl!”

“Hi,” I said with a clogged throat. I held the
cellphone away from my cheek for a moment until the urge to cry passed. “I need
to talk.”

There was a moment of silence before Gretchen
spoke. “Okay, yes, let’s talk. Now?” Her voice was excited.

“Now. Can I come over?”

“I’m just leaving work. Meet you there.”

I wondered if she’d still have ice cream from
when Lucy and I had been there, but the thought of eating made my stomach lurch.

When she opened the door to her apartment, I
instantly hugged her tightly.

“Oh my God, what?” she asked frantically,
peeling me off by my shoulders. “What is it?”

“I did it,” I said calmly. “David Dylan.”

Her face fell visibly. “Oh,
Liv
.
No. You didn’t.”

I only nodded.

“Come inside,” she said, coaxing me over to the
couch.

And on the couch, I told her everything from the
beginning. I told her about the first night at David’s apartment – how
I’d lied about going home sick and the months of rock-bottom despair that
followed. My hand clawed into a decorative pillow when I told her how being
with him in his hotel room had changed everything. Our connection had
solidified and powered through me like a tornado. My feelings were strong and
deep-rooted, I said, and I didn’t know how to handle them. Everything was out
of control. I hung my head as I recounted the ball; how we’d had sex against a
tree, and he wouldn’t even look at me afterward.

“And that’s how it ended?” she asked after a
long silence.

“No,” I stated, raising my eyes to hers.

She blinked at me. “There’s more?”

“This morning, I told him.”

“Told who?” she asked eagerly. “Told who what?”

“Bill.”

She gasped and covered her mouth. “Holy shit,”
she muffled.

“He knows.”

“How did he react?”

“He wanted details.”

“Did you tell him it was David?”

“No. I don’t know how much I should tell him.”