I curl my upper lip across my teeth. “Do you think Olivia would have made a better mother than me?”
For a second, undisguised anger flashes across his eyes. He turns away, turns back to me, and turns away again like he doesn’t know whether or not to confront the fact that I said her name.
I want a fight. Every time he looks at me like I’m a big, fat disappointment, my mind goes to Olivia. It’s like shifting gears for me; Caleb’s disappointed eyes trigger it. Suddenly, I’m in that magical place where I release the clutch, the gas pedal goes down, and my mind is racing toward Olivia. Fuck. That. Bitch. What power does she have over him? I want to run at him, pound my fists against his chest for always mentally comparing me to her. Or am I the one mentally comparing myself to her? God, life is so messed up.
Just then, Sam comes into the room with the baby. The anger on Caleb’s face melts away, and all of a sudden, he looks like he’s about to cry. I know that look; he is relieved — relieved to have something other than me. I turn and walk toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Caleb asks.
“I’m hanging out with Sam tonight,” I say. I avoid Sam’s face and snatch up my purse.
“Let’s go, Samuel,” I snap. I see him stifle a smile as he ducks his head obediently and walks to where I am waiting. I am out the door and down the stairs before Caleb can say anything. I hear them exchange words behind me, but I am halfway to Sam’s car, and I decide that stopping to eavesdrop will ruin my credibility. Caleb is probably warning him about my tendency to become belligerent when drunk. Sam comes jogging out a minute later. Without a word, he opens the passenger side door for me, and I climb in. He drives a Jeep, the kind that has no roof or real windows. I settle into my seat and stare straight ahead. I’m going to destroy Olivia. I’m going to find her and beat the crap out of her for ruining my life.
“Where to?” Sam says, looping around the driveway.
“Call that slutty looking cousin of yours,” I say. “We’re going wherever she is.”
He raises his eyebrows at me but doesn’t move toward his phone.
“She’s at Mother Gothel tonight,” he explains. “You ever been there?”
I shake my head.
“Great. It’s your kind of place.” He shifts his Jeep into traffic, and I grab onto the door to steady myself. This was going to be a long drive.
Mother Gothel is not my kind of place. I announce this loudly as we walk through the door. A bouncer with half a dozen face piercings checks our IDs. He eyes me in a way that makes my skin crawl, and I grab on to Sam’s arm.
“What the hell is this place?” I whisper as we enter into a room lit by electric blue lights.
“A hookah bar,” he says. He raises his eyebrows, “An emo hookah bar.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why would she come here?” I was thinking of all the classy bars on Mizner Avenue, just a stone’s throw away from this depressing rat hole.
“She goes through phases,” he says, nodding towards the bartender. “Last month it was tea rooms.”
He orders two dirty martinis. As I take mine, I wonder how he knew I drink them?
“Aren’t you going to lecture me about liquorfying my breast milk?” I say over the rim of my glass. He groans and tries to take it from me.
“Shit, I forgot,” he says. “It’s hard to remember that a cold shrew like you is actually a mother.”
I grunt and hold it out of his reach. Touché.
We make our way over to a table, where a small group of people is clustered together. I see Cammie’s blond head bobbing around animatedly, as she tells a story. When she spots Sam her face breaks into a smile … until she sees me. Her blinks come in rapid succession, like she’s trying to expunge me from her vision. I smile sweetly and head in her direction. This bitch has info on Olivia. I can feel it. I bend down to kiss her on the cheek. I like to keep my greetings European.
“Sam,” she says tightly, “I didn’t know you were bringing a … guest.” She cocks her head in a way I’ve only seen Southern Belles do. I place her accent to Texas.
“First night out since baby?” she asks me.
Sam grunts from behind me. I spin around to shoot him a warning look and then turn back to Cammie.
“Sure,” I say. “Sam was kind enough to let me tag along. Cool bar!” I look around in mock interest. When I look back at her, she’s on the tail end of an eye roll.
She motions towards two available chairs. I take the one closest to her, and Sam sits down next to me. She makes introductions around the table. The group is composed of two attorneys, a professional skateboarder that keeps shooting looks at Cammie’s exposed cle**age, and a number of pierced, tattooed lesbians.
For the next hour, I listen to them prattle about the most dull topics in the world. I play with my hair and try not to yawn. Sam watches me in amusement as he contributes to their conversation. Twice, he catches me unawares by asking my opinion on politicians.
“Really, Sam,” I finally snap when no one is listening. “Can you not?”
He grins. “Just trying to be friendly.”
How does someone with so many tattoos know about politics? Am I stereotyping? Too bad. I lean close to his ear so only he can hear me. Cammie frowns.
He’s g*y! I want to scream at her. And, even if he weren’t, seriously, I don’t do sloppy men.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can get everyone out of here so I can talk to your slutty cousin alone.”
Sam stands up and claps his hands. “I’ll buy everyone a shot, except for Cammie.”
Cammie rolls her eyes but stays seated. Everyone else follows Sam to the bar, laughing and clapping each other on the back.
She looks at me expectantly, like she’s on to my scheme.
I swear this bitch and I speak the same language … in different accents.
“Olivia Kaspen,” I say. Her face registers nothing. “Do you know her?”
Her lips curl into a smile, and she dips her head once to acknowledge that she does. I feel searing heat start in my chest and spread outward. Emotional fireworks, if you must. I knew it! I lick my lips and pull a cigarette from my purse.
“That’s how you know Caleb,” I say. She nods that awful smile still on her lips. I inhale and watch her through my lashes.
For a second, undisguised anger flashes across his eyes. He turns away, turns back to me, and turns away again like he doesn’t know whether or not to confront the fact that I said her name.
I want a fight. Every time he looks at me like I’m a big, fat disappointment, my mind goes to Olivia. It’s like shifting gears for me; Caleb’s disappointed eyes trigger it. Suddenly, I’m in that magical place where I release the clutch, the gas pedal goes down, and my mind is racing toward Olivia. Fuck. That. Bitch. What power does she have over him? I want to run at him, pound my fists against his chest for always mentally comparing me to her. Or am I the one mentally comparing myself to her? God, life is so messed up.
Just then, Sam comes into the room with the baby. The anger on Caleb’s face melts away, and all of a sudden, he looks like he’s about to cry. I know that look; he is relieved — relieved to have something other than me. I turn and walk toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Caleb asks.
“I’m hanging out with Sam tonight,” I say. I avoid Sam’s face and snatch up my purse.
“Let’s go, Samuel,” I snap. I see him stifle a smile as he ducks his head obediently and walks to where I am waiting. I am out the door and down the stairs before Caleb can say anything. I hear them exchange words behind me, but I am halfway to Sam’s car, and I decide that stopping to eavesdrop will ruin my credibility. Caleb is probably warning him about my tendency to become belligerent when drunk. Sam comes jogging out a minute later. Without a word, he opens the passenger side door for me, and I climb in. He drives a Jeep, the kind that has no roof or real windows. I settle into my seat and stare straight ahead. I’m going to destroy Olivia. I’m going to find her and beat the crap out of her for ruining my life.
“Where to?” Sam says, looping around the driveway.
“Call that slutty looking cousin of yours,” I say. “We’re going wherever she is.”
He raises his eyebrows at me but doesn’t move toward his phone.
“She’s at Mother Gothel tonight,” he explains. “You ever been there?”
I shake my head.
“Great. It’s your kind of place.” He shifts his Jeep into traffic, and I grab onto the door to steady myself. This was going to be a long drive.
Mother Gothel is not my kind of place. I announce this loudly as we walk through the door. A bouncer with half a dozen face piercings checks our IDs. He eyes me in a way that makes my skin crawl, and I grab on to Sam’s arm.
“What the hell is this place?” I whisper as we enter into a room lit by electric blue lights.
“A hookah bar,” he says. He raises his eyebrows, “An emo hookah bar.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why would she come here?” I was thinking of all the classy bars on Mizner Avenue, just a stone’s throw away from this depressing rat hole.
“She goes through phases,” he says, nodding towards the bartender. “Last month it was tea rooms.”
He orders two dirty martinis. As I take mine, I wonder how he knew I drink them?
“Aren’t you going to lecture me about liquorfying my breast milk?” I say over the rim of my glass. He groans and tries to take it from me.
“Shit, I forgot,” he says. “It’s hard to remember that a cold shrew like you is actually a mother.”
I grunt and hold it out of his reach. Touché.
We make our way over to a table, where a small group of people is clustered together. I see Cammie’s blond head bobbing around animatedly, as she tells a story. When she spots Sam her face breaks into a smile … until she sees me. Her blinks come in rapid succession, like she’s trying to expunge me from her vision. I smile sweetly and head in her direction. This bitch has info on Olivia. I can feel it. I bend down to kiss her on the cheek. I like to keep my greetings European.
“Sam,” she says tightly, “I didn’t know you were bringing a … guest.” She cocks her head in a way I’ve only seen Southern Belles do. I place her accent to Texas.
“First night out since baby?” she asks me.
Sam grunts from behind me. I spin around to shoot him a warning look and then turn back to Cammie.
“Sure,” I say. “Sam was kind enough to let me tag along. Cool bar!” I look around in mock interest. When I look back at her, she’s on the tail end of an eye roll.
She motions towards two available chairs. I take the one closest to her, and Sam sits down next to me. She makes introductions around the table. The group is composed of two attorneys, a professional skateboarder that keeps shooting looks at Cammie’s exposed cle**age, and a number of pierced, tattooed lesbians.
For the next hour, I listen to them prattle about the most dull topics in the world. I play with my hair and try not to yawn. Sam watches me in amusement as he contributes to their conversation. Twice, he catches me unawares by asking my opinion on politicians.
“Really, Sam,” I finally snap when no one is listening. “Can you not?”
He grins. “Just trying to be friendly.”
How does someone with so many tattoos know about politics? Am I stereotyping? Too bad. I lean close to his ear so only he can hear me. Cammie frowns.
He’s g*y! I want to scream at her. And, even if he weren’t, seriously, I don’t do sloppy men.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can get everyone out of here so I can talk to your slutty cousin alone.”
Sam stands up and claps his hands. “I’ll buy everyone a shot, except for Cammie.”
Cammie rolls her eyes but stays seated. Everyone else follows Sam to the bar, laughing and clapping each other on the back.
She looks at me expectantly, like she’s on to my scheme.
I swear this bitch and I speak the same language … in different accents.
“Olivia Kaspen,” I say. Her face registers nothing. “Do you know her?”
Her lips curl into a smile, and she dips her head once to acknowledge that she does. I feel searing heat start in my chest and spread outward. Emotional fireworks, if you must. I knew it! I lick my lips and pull a cigarette from my purse.
“That’s how you know Caleb,” I say. She nods that awful smile still on her lips. I inhale and watch her through my lashes.
