I can do brunch.
It's two hours. I can face this for two hours.
No problem.
Huge problem.
Every problem.
I smooth my wine jumpsuit. Zip my black purse. Apply a third coat of lipstick.
It's not right. It's still not right.
I can't wear this to breakfast with Mom. It doesn't say I'm so sorry that your wife is sleeping with her fucking secretary. I still love you but please don't make me say I love her. Please don't ask me to forgive her.
It's too much for an outfit.
Even if it's an incredibly fierce outfit.
Maybe more eyeliner. Or blush. Or a different purse. A different face.
A more sympathetic personality?
The kind of girl Sean would like. Sweet, complacent, easy to please.
So pleasant no one would ever leave her.
That's not happening.
But I can bring someone…
He's not sweet, complacent, or easy to please.
Right on cue, Oliver's door creeks. This is late for him. It's already ten. He's usually up before seven.
I peek into the hallway.
He stretches his arms over his head, pulling his black t-shirt up his torso. "Coffee?"
"Brunch."
"Is that a no?"
"Come with me."
He looks at me like I'm crazy. "Come with you."
"And Divya."
"To brunch?"
I nod yes.
"Do I look like I go to brunch?"
"They have a full bar."
He shoots me a really look.
Yeah, really. This is Oliver Flynn we're talking about. Not uh… some bastion of sobriety. This is the guy who carries a flask and brings "the good shit" to every party.
Only—
Oliver isn't going out. At least, I haven't seen him go out.
And he isn't drinking.
Or he's hiding it well.
Is he slipping whiskey in his coffee? Sipping his flask at work?
"They have coffee." I switch tactics. I can contemplate Oliver's self-destructive choices later. After I avoid my own. "And pancakes."
He shoots me that same really look.
"Or eggs." I bite my lip. "Uh… did I mention the coffee?"
He gives me a quick once-over. "The place on Abbot-Kinney?"
"Yeah."
"You're dressed for it." He gives me a slow once-over. "Wearing that red again."
"The other red was wine. This is plum."
"Uh-huh." His gaze flits to my lips. "What do I get out of it?"
That isn't what he's asking. That isn't how he means it. But, damn, the ideas in my head… "Coffee."
"I have coffee here."
"Blue Bottle. On the way. And after."
"I have work at two," he says.
"I'll bring it to you."
"At five?"
"I have a study session."
"Before your study session." He holds out his hand. "And you make dinner. Whatever I want."
"Yes. Sure." I hold out my hand. Whatever it takes to make this easier.
The restaurant is busy. Waiters buzz between tables of friends, couples, hipster families.
The scent of salt mingles with the citrus. The windows are wide open. The ocean air fills the room. Keeps it temperate.
Ollie presses his palm into my lower back to lead me to the hostess stand. It's a reassuring gesture. The gesture of a friend who knows I need comfort.
It doesn't matter that I want his hand under my jumpsuit.
It doesn't matter that I want his arms around me.
It doesn't matter that I want him to hold me all night.
"Locke party." He nods to the host. "Three of us."
He smiles at the hostess as she pulls menus and motions after you.
She leads us to a table in the back. One of those tables that's half bench, half chairs.
Divya is already here. On the bench side of the table.
She looks good. Happy even. Bright makeup, flowing maxi dress, wide smile. "Sweetie, I've missed you." She stands. Invites me into a hug.
I hesitate.
Oliver nudges me.
I give him a what look.
He nudges me again get your shit together.
Right. She's not the one having an affair. She's the one losing her wife and her family.
I move closer. Let my mom wrap her arms around me.
She smells familiar. Like the lotion she uses. The one that perfumes the bathroom upstairs.
It overwhelms me. That feeling of home, safety, comfort.
Then I hear those awful words—we're getting a divorce—and it disappears.
"I missed you too." I pull back. Swallow hard. I don't know if I can trust her. I want to. I really do. But what if she's been lying to me all this time?
"It's nice to see you, Mr. Flynn." Divya smiles at Oliver.
"Mr. Flynn? I could get used to that." He shakes.
She stage whispers to me. "He's always been a handsome young man, but he's bringing extra effort today."
"Mom!" My voice drops to a you're embarrassing me squeal. It's so normal and familiar and strange.
"I'm old, not dead?" she asks.
"What are you, thirty-five?" Oliver winks, suddenly full of charm.
Seriously, he never tries to charm me? Where did he get this reserve of flirting? Is he taking lessons from Holden?
"You don't even like men," I say.
"That doesn't mean I can't appreciate a handsome man." She winks at Oliver. "She hates when I talk about her boyfriends."
"OH MY GOD, MOM! He's not my boyfriend," I say.
"I know." Her dark eyes light up with mischief. "Do you think I'd let you stay with him if he was?"
"Lots of women my age live with their boyfriends," I say.
"Eighteen-year-olds with their boyfriends?" She raises a brow. "Really?"
"Trust me. I'd never date Luna," Oliver says.
"Hey!" I bump him with my shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Too much attitude." He motions to me. Makes a show of shaking his head. "See."
"You love my attitude," I say.
He smiles, unable to hide his affection. "It's more the looks."
"She's a beautiful young woman," Divya says. "She takes after her mother."
She means Allison. But I don't acknowledge that. Sure, I don't share any of Divya's DNA, but I take after her.
We're loud in dress, attitude, speech.
Maybe that's why…
Maybe Allison found an easier woman.
I swallow hard.
"You wear such different styles." He nods to Mom's flowing maxi dress. "But there's something about the way the look is put together. I can see where Luna gets it."
She smiles.
"And the makeup too. Did you teach her?" he asks.
"Are you sure he isn't your boyfriend?" she asks. "He's playing the part well."
He is.
He deserves a thousand coffees for this.
There's something about Ollie. His presence is comforting.
Somehow, I believe it's going to be okay.