Olivia After straightening myself up, I st ep out of the office, my hand in the crook of Liam’s
elbow. Emmie stares from her desk, her face pale, then quickly looks down. I shrug
inwardly. I know she knows what happened in there, but I feel too good to care. “We’re
heading out for lunch. See you later.” Liam gives her a smile that says he just conquered
the world. She nods wordlessly, her eyes on her work. We head to a taco stand near the
office. It’s crowded, so it must be decent. “You know, I’ve been wanting to take you out for
lunch, though som eplace much cooler than this.” He bites into his beef taco with extra
cheese. Our table is just a wobbly red plastic one with equally wobbly folding chairs.
“What’s wrong with this? We’re eating delicious tacos on a sidewalk in L. A. Economical and
quick.” The chicken taco I got is surprisingly good. Lots of gooey cheese with spicy salsa
and juicy meat. I notice he’s holding his taco awkwardly. “What’s wrong?” “Ah, it’s nothing.
Just cut my hand a little.” He flips his right hand and shows me a flesh-colored bandage
between the thumb and index finger. Despite his words, there’s a red patch showing
through the bandage. “Are you okay?” I reach over to examine his hand. “Oh, sure. It looks
worse than it is. Hurts a little when I move my thumb, but I don’t need stitches or
anything.” I stare at the hand, as though I can see through the bandage to the wound
underneath. “How did it happen?” He shrugs. “Sort of spaced out in the lab.”
“Liam.” It comes out halfway between rebuke and worry. He always seems so solid and
strong, like an indestructible pillar. But the reality hits me: he can be hurt, easily, by
something as inconsequential as losing focus in the lab. People who appear unbreakable
can be more fragile than those who appear weak, I think, remembering Mom and staring at
Liam’s wound. This must be why he let Emmie help with the tie. Shit. And I reacted like a
psycho, rather than showing concern. “What? Don’t look at me like I’m terminal. It’ll be fine
by tomorrow. Trust me. I’ve had worse injuries.” “I’m not. I trust that you’ll heal.” I say that
a bit too quickly, but I want to reassure myself he’ll be fine. Squirming, I clear my throat
and change the topic. “Hopefully you’ll get to come home earlier.” He grins. “I’ll see what I
can do. I might be able to move some of my appointments—” “No. Finish your work before
coming home. That way it’s not lingering in the back of your mind.” “You’re worse than
having a boss,” Liam says with a mock grumble. I snort. “And you’re too easy on yourself.
But if you want, maybe we can have a lunch date every other week?” The suggestion pops
out before I can think twice. He brightens. “Okay! There are so many great restaurants we
can hit around here.” “They’re going to be workday lunches,” I remind him in case he’s
thinking about lingering, multi-course meals. “My boss is tough and demanding.” His face
scrunches. “Can you get a new job?” “No.” I smile. “We’ve worked together for a long time.
It’d be difficult to s eparate at this point.” He rolls his eyes. “Oh, so it’s a woman?” “As it
happens. Why?” “Because if it was a man, I’d have to get jealous.” I laugh. “It’s most
definitely a woman, and she has zero interest in me. She’s married.” He nods in satisfaction.
I shake my head inwardly. I can still feel him inside me, and he’s acting like he might lose
me to my “boss.”
When we’re done with our meal, I kiss him. “Don’t let anybody touch what’s mine.” “Never.”
He rolls the pavé ring around my finger, then gives me a look. “You either.” I wave goodbye
and drive back to the office. Although the lunch date offer was impulsive, from the way my
belly flutters it was probably the right thing to do. He asked for dates, but we haven’t been
able to get away very easily. Plus it’s unfair to ask him to plan everything when he has a big
company to run and his own family obligations to juggle. As I’m entering the office, I get a
photo from Liam. Just a picture of sunflowers in a gorgeous vase, inlaid with blue and green
stones, taking up space on his desk. He’s smiling goofily, his head on the desk by the vase.
My face warms. He’s so... cute. My pulse starts to speed. Oh my God, what was I thinking
when I bought him all those sunflowers? I study the huge bouquet. They were just a
whimsical gift, not supposed to mean anything, but somehow now they seem to matter way
too much. It’s Liam. That unguarded smile. The soft eyes that shine like his team just won
the Super Bowl. –Liam: Shoot, I totally forgot, but I think I’m going to be late tonight after
all. Really sorry. We have a Happy Hour tradition after a deal is signed, and it slipped my
mind. I wish I could skip it, but it’d look weird. So I’ll just stay for half an hour, and give
them my expense card to party with. –Me: That’s fine. Enjoy the win. –Liam:: heart-emoji:
“Hey, you!” There’s a commotion from the other end of the lobby. And then, a different
voice says: “Olivia!” I frown and lift my eyes from the phone. Tyler? His tie is slightly
skewed—guess he doesn’t have an Emmie to tie it neatly—and his eyes are slightly
bloodshot as he takes big strides toward me. Two security guys follow closely, but I lift a
hand so they don’t tackle him. Yet. “Did you know Brielle is broke?” Took him a while. I give
him a mild look. “Of course. Didn’t you?” “She doesn’t even own the fucking car she
drives!”
“Probably not. It was bought with the trust’s money, and the trust owns the things bought
with its money, exc ept for personal items like clothes and makeup. Why?” His chest heaves.
“You set me up.” “No, Tyler. You didn’t do your proper due diligence.” I lean forward with
an innocent smile. “Aren’t you a private wealth management advisor?” “You made her and
Hugh sound rich. The honeymoon to Laucala Island —” “Oh... Didn’t he have the funds to
send you and Brielle there? Is that what this is about?” I ask, my voice dripping with faux
sympathy. “That isn’t—” He stops, sticking his fingers into his hair. “You know what I mean!
It’s bullshit!” “Well, if Hugh couldn’t afford to splurge on your honeymoon, that’s on him,
not me. He probably didn’t have enough money saved up.” “Saved up?” He rakes his hair
again. “He’s supposed to be rich!” “Rich? I wouldn’t say that. He manages his portion of the
trust distribution, and it’s a generous sum considering how horrible of a human being he is.
But”—I give him a perplexed look—“is this really my problem? I never told you to marry her,
did I? As a matter of fact, I was quite heartbroken that she stole yet another of my
significant others.” I dab at my eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “You won’t get away with
this!” He lunges toward me. Inhaling sharply, I jump back. Security is ready and grabs his
arms. I compose myself and shoot him a cool look full of disdain, purposefully slowing my
breathing to settle my nerves. “Let go! Don’t you know who I am?” he shouts, struggling.
“Right at the moment, you’re a guy who’s trespassing,” the senior guard says. “And you’re
about to be a guy who gets booted out of the building.” “You...!” Tyler’s face turns red. He
wants to scream and call me a bitch, but he can’t make a bigger scene than he already has,
not when it might generate headlines. These days everyone’s carrying a camera in their
pocket. Simon rushes over. “Olivia, are you all right?” He starts to run his hands down my
arms. I take a st ep back, pulling away. “I’m fine. He didn’t touch me.” He drops his hands.
“Sorry. I just... I panicked when I saw him with you.” He watches the guards dragging Tyler
off. “Should we get more
security? Start issuing access passes? Maybe I should start driving you to and from work
again—” “No, none of that’s necessary. Tyler just yaps and growls like a Chihuahua. No real
danger. Guess it took him a while to figure out Brielle’s more broke than his gambling
account.” And when I deliver a baby, everything will be stripped from them. Brielle won’t
even be able to drive the car she loves so much. All those shiny Lamborghinis Hugh loves to
drive around town, looking suave and rich? They will be collected in due time, back under
the trust’s control. Although I haven’t been a huge fan of John Highsmith, he’s been very
thorough in ensuring that every asset bought with the distribution has been recorded as
property of the Whitmore Trust. No more fancy cars and expensive dinners for Hugh. No
more Botox and boob jobs for Deena. Just the idea makes me want to pirouette across the
lobby. Hugh fucked with the wrong woman. He should’ve never betrayed Mom. Never
allowed Brielle to kill Pochi and get away with it. For the rest of the day, I wrap up a couple
of urgent matters over the pet urn production and stretch my neck. It’s been a long
week—my eyes drop to the calendar on my desk and note a circle marking the predicted
start of my period. Exc ept I haven’t had my period in... I blink. Since before the courthouse
ceremony. My hands start shaking. I jump up from my executive chair. It rolls back and
crashes against the wall. “I’m heading home,” I say, grabbing my purse and walking out.
Simon looks up, eyebrows raised. “You have a call—” “You deal with it. Handle it as best
you see fit. I’m counting on you.” Anxiety prickles my skin. I have to be pregnant. I’d better
be! I drive to the local CVS, thumb tapping the steering wheel while the car’s sound system
wails with a haunting jazzy tune. I grab three pregnancy tests and start toward home. The
traffic crawls like a snail on horse tranquilizers. Come on, people! If I didn’t care about
dignity or legality, I might pull over and pee on the sticks right on I-10. A small fender
bender. Great. Still, I make it home before 5:30. Clutching my purse and pregnancy tests, I
run into the empty house and st ep onto the stairs, then stop.
Water first. Just in case. I guzzle down two glasses, then rush to the bathroom. Tremors
rack me. My hands shaking so badly, it takes three tries before I can pull out the first test. I
pee on it, then just to be sure I do the same with the rest. Three out of three is a sure thing.
I’ll go see my doctor tomorrow to be double-damn sure. “Hey Siri, three minutes,” I say as I
wash my hands, ke eping my eyes on the result boxes. My foot taps the floor, doing about
sixty miles an hour. Please! Two lines. I slap a hand over my mouth, my heart racing. That’s
pregnant! A cross. Another confirmation. Pregnant. “Yes, YES, YES!!!” Propping my elbows
on my thighs and clenching my hands into fists, I bend and let out a scream. Not of joy.
Whatever I’m feeling right now isn’t that simple. But I have to eject this series of knots
lodged in my chest and belly or I’m going to die. My throat goes dry and the shrieks go
hoarse. But the knots are still there. I drop to my knees, bracing myself on the bathroom
floor with one hand and pounding the cold tiles with the other. Somehow, my hands get wet.
Only then do I realize I’m crying, too. I expel a shaky breath and collapse onto my side,
curling up and covering my belly, cradling the life I can’t even see or feel. This baby is
everything I’ve worked toward, my literal means to crush Hugh and his family. I should be
elated—and I am happy. But euphoria and relief aren’t all that I’m feeling. Something bitter
clenches around my throat. Because when a woman discovers that she’s pregnant, she
shouldn’t have to think about anything other than the joy of creating a life with the man she
loves. Instead, I’m thinking about revenge and my mom and Pochi, all that I’ve lost and all
that I’m trying to fix by having this baby. It’s unfair to the baby, unfair to me, and unfair to
Liam. We deserve better, but my past is a thief that’s robbed us. I remember how callous
Elita and Auric were about Liam. They acted like his birth didn’t mean anything, was just
some accident that complicated their lives. Although he never said anything, the dimming
light in his eyes betrayed his pain. Will this child learn that they were primarily conceived to
get justice for their grandmother? I would never speak of it, but that doesn’t mean nobody
will—or that the child won’t figure it out. Will they resent me? Will they look at me with
wounded eyes? And what about Liam? He says he loves me, but will he grow to hate me for
having his first child for revenge? Things I haven’t given myself permission to consider pop
into my head as the fact that I’m pregnant really sinks in. It’s okay, I tell myself. I can still
give my baby everything they need to thrive and be happy. I can be a good mom. I learned
from the best, didn’t I? Mom, I can be good, right? I don’t know how long I remain on the
floor. But eventually, I’m spent and empty, the suffocating knots loose and undone. I
breathe de eply, then push myself up. If Mom were here now, she’d hug me, kiss my cheeks
and quiver with excitement over the idea of a grandchild. “Mom, I miss you so much,” I
whisper. “Please watch over my baby.” I throw some cold water on my face and go
downstairs. The kitchen is peaceful. One of the spotlights from the ceiling shines on a rustic
basket full of fresh apples. I inhale. They smell amazing, sweet and ripe. It reminds me of
the brown paper bags near-bursting with apples Mom would bring home and turn into tarte
tatin. We baked it several times together over the years, but I quit after she died. Now, I
want to try again and make it for my baby. I grab ingredients from the pantry and fridge. A
note on the door says “Left you lasagna for dinner. Heat and eat! Enjoy. –F” Smiling, I lay
out everything on the counter. Although Liam and I don’t cook, Frederich has the pantry
and fridge well-stocked. Memories of being in the kitchen with Mom floating in my head, I
make the pastry. It’s weird how moving your body through a familiar set of st eps can make
you remember. Something like muscle memory, but more... complete. Just under an hour
later, the pan is in the oven and the scent of caramel and apple chunks from the pot
permeates the air. Thirty more minutes and it’ll be ready. I stand in the kitchen and stare
out over the black ocean. Starlight glints like flecks of silver over the ever-moving water.
It’s all going to work out. The baby’s going to be great. I’m going to be fine. I look at the
horizon. Mom, Pochi, you’ll finally get your long-overdue justice.
I turn away from the view. My eyes land on the white Steinway. I haven’t touched it since I
moved in. I just always looked through it like it didn’t exist. Liam hasn’t said a word about
it, even though he must’ve spent a lot of effort and money to get it so quickly. For me. I
remember the blue crystal baby grand hanging from his rearview mirror. How he casually
mentioned he’d heard me play, even as the tips of his ears burned. As though under a spell,
I glide toward the piano, run my fingers along the cool cover. Not a speck of dust. Feeling
like I’m in a trance, I open the lid and sit at the bench. The keys gleam under the soft living
room lights. I hit the G. The note rings out, clear and resonant. I do it again, then use two
fingers to execute a slow, clumsy trill. It’s been so long since I played. Ever since I
graduated, I didn’t have the time or energy to indulge. My focus was building Luminary &
Co. and finding a way to utterly ruin Hugh and his family. I stop, then try again. And then
again. My fingers grow more nimble, the trill steadier and more controlled. Then they fly
across the piano, and my left hand joins in the opening to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue.
Suddenly, memory takes over. My hands move as if of their own accord, striking the right
notes with the vigor I used to play with. In my heart, I hear my mom’s playing—the playful
tempo, the smile on her face, the warmth of the early afternoon sun in the giant music room
where her Bösendorfer concert grand sat. Sometimes she’d let me play with her, her
playing the left hand while I did the right or vice versa. As we shared the bench, she’d look
at me with a grin and nod while saying, “Dun, pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa!” to help me ke ep up with
the tempo. So I too murmur, “Dun, pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa,” as I play the parts for both of us
while the familiar and comforting scent of apples and sugar swirls in the evening.