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.