“Vivian—”
“Don’t!” she snapped. “I don’t want to hear you try to justify why the four of you have been gallivanting around town like you’re a family now. You sure didn’t wait long, did you?”
“Emily’s just a friend,” I protested.
“Are you honestly going to stand here and try to convince me that you see Emily just because London and Bodhi are friends?” she said, sneering. “Tell me this: Are you hanging out with the parents of London’s other friends, too?”
“No, but—”
“And you don’t think about her? You don’t call her? You’re not turning to her for support?”
I couldn’t deny it and my expression must have given me away.
“I’ve been trying my best to keep London out of this,” she went on. “While you… You don’t seem to have given any thought as to what might be best for London. Or what she might be thinking or feeling. You’re just thinking about yourself and what you want—same old story. You haven’t changed at all, have you, Russ?”
With that, Vivian got into the SUV and slammed the door. She backed out and roared away while I stood there, frozen and reeling inside.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
Was Vivian right? Had I only been thinking about myself? I replayed all the times I’d seen Emily; I retraced the steps that had led us to the zoo and the aquarium. And I asked myself, if London had a different best friend, would I have visited those places with that friend’s parents?
In my heart, I knew the answer was no, which made me wonder how much I’d been lying to myself.
I felt the repercussions of Vivian’s anger a few days later, while sitting in Taglieri’s office. He’d called me because he had an update on the divorce negotiations.
“I was finally able to spend time on the phone with Vivian’s attorney,” he said, “going through the proposed agreement section by section.” He sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Vivian, but I was anticipating a little give-and-take, as is the norm in these kinds of negotiations. What I didn’t expect was for her to escalate her demands.”
“She wants more?” I felt a numbness spreading through me at his words.
“Yup.”
“Of what?”
“Everything. More alimony. More money when it comes to dividing joint property.”
“How much exactly?’
When he told me I blanched. “What if I don’t have it?”
“Well, for starters… I’d put the house up for sale.”
While I’d been dreading Vivian’s next move, I felt as if I’d been sucker-punched.
“She also said to tell you that Vivian will be here for Halloween weekend, and that she would prefer if you didn’t stay in the house this time.”
“Why didn’t Vivian just tell me that herself?”
“Because Vivian has decided that henceforth, she wants all communications to go through the attorneys. She doesn’t want to speak with you directly.”
“Anything else?” I said, in a daze.
“She also wants to bring London to Atlanta the weekend of November thirteenth.”
“And if I say no?”
“She’ll probably go straight to the court. And Russ…” Taglieri eyed me seriously. “This isn’t something worth fighting about, because you won’t win. Unless she’s an unfit mother, she has the right to see her daughter.”
“I wouldn’t have fought it. I’m just… blown away.”
“Do you want to talk about what it is that set her off?”
“Not really,” I said. What was the point? “What’s she saying about London?”
“For now, she wants to have her every other weekend. In the future, though, she’s insisting on sole custody.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Which is yet another reason to put your house up for sale. Even though I’ve slashed my rates for you, fighting her is going to make this an expensive proposition.”
On the work front, at least, things were improving. In the weeks following London’s birthday party up until the end of the month, I landed four out of the five legal firms as new clients. Though it meant I was suddenly drowning in work—as were my tech guy and the camera crew—my work with Taglieri had vastly shortened my learning curve. Meanwhile, the plastic surgeon’s campaign kicked off while Marge and Liz were in Costa Rica, and he was thrilled with the results he was seeing.
As for London and me, we’d settled into a steady rhythm. The stitches in her forehead came out and when a follow-up X-ray confirmed there were no broken bones, the splint eventually came off, too. She wasn’t ready for her piano lessons yet, but she managed fine in art class. On our next date night, I took her out to a fancy dinner at a place called Fahrenheit, which offered glittering Charlotte city views and elegant handwritten menus—the kind of place that Vivian would have loved.
As Halloween approached, I didn’t see much of Emily.
For better or for worse, Vivian’s comments had gotten to me. While I’d tried to convince myself that our relationship was platonic, I knew it was more than just a friendship. I was definitely attracted to her, and in the evenings, I would find myself staring at the phone and wondering if I was somehow damaging London by wanting to reach out to Emily.
Don’t get me wrong. I still called Emily almost every night, unwilling or unable to give up that comforting ritual. But in the back of my mind, I could hear Vivian’s voice, and I sometimes hung up feeling confused and guilty. I knew I wasn’t ready for a relationship, but was I acting as if I were, by calling so frequently? And what did I really want in the long run when it came to Emily? Could I be content to simply remain friends? Would I be happy for her if she started dating someone else? Or would I feel a twinge at the thought of what might have been, maybe even succumb to jealousy?
Deep down, I knew the answer. Aside from Marge, I considered Emily to be my closest friend… and yet I hadn’t told her what Vivian had said. Why couldn’t I be honest with her about the conflict roiling within me? Perhaps a part of me felt that I’d been lying to Emily all along about my intentions. I wanted more than friendship. Not now, but down the road.
And as selfish as it may seem, I didn’t want to risk losing her before that, which left me even more conflicted about what exactly I should do.
The day before Halloween, I made arrangements to check into a hotel.
Marge and Liz had arrived home from Costa Rica late Wednesday night, and I didn’t feel good about hitting them up for a place to stay. Nor did I want to stay with my parents; though I knew they wouldn’t have minded, I didn’t want them to know about my further deteriorating relationship with Vivian. At London’s birthday party, Vivian’s cheerful fa?ade had led my mom to pull me aside and try to convince me that Vivian still had feelings for me. That was a conversation I didn’t want to face again.
Taglieri texted that Vivian would be arriving early on Friday night, probably around seven, which meant there would be no date night with London. Instead, London and I ate at home. Afterward, she ran up the stairs to check on the hamsters and her fish while I started to clean the kitchen.
I heard Vivian push through the door twenty minutes later.
“Hello!” she sang out. “I’m here!”
My heart started to race as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t, simply by being in my own house. Meanwhile, Vivian breezed in like she was the one who still lived here.
Vivian poked her head into the kitchen, looking for London.
“She’s in her bedroom,” I said. “She ran up there to check on her critters.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Did she eat?”
I thought you told your attorney that we weren’t supposed to communicate directly. But okay, I’ll play along. “Yeah, she’s had dinner. No bath yet. I didn’t know if you were going to take her to a movie or…”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll talk to her.” She paused. “You doing okay?”