I take a breath and shake him again. “When you come home, professor, you’re coming home for me, for us. You’re coming home because you’re back for good, and because home is where you belong. You are not coming home because you’re angry and need to control everything. You are not coming home to shield me from a woman I’ve barely seen in sixteen years.”
I push on his chest to make him step away. “Now you go back to the hotel and cool off. I’m going to go upstairs and talk to my mother. Don’t you dare call me until tomorrow. In fact, just wait until I call you. Do you understand me?”
For a few seconds, he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even react aside from staring at me with that set expression. Finally, though, he nods. His jaw tightens at the same time, but it’s a definite nod.
“Good.” I move back toward the door. “Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I wait until he turns and walks away, his stride long and rapid. Only when he disappears around the corner do I go back upstairs. A memory pushes at me of last December when I’d let Kelsey deal with an enraged Dean instead of doing it myself.
Not this time.
My heart is pounding hard as I go back into the apartment. Crystal is still in the living room, leafing through a magazine. She glances up.
“Was that your husband?”
“Yes. He had to leave again.”
“He’s not sleeping here?”
“No.” I suddenly wonder why I even care what Crystal thinks of my relationship with Dean. I don’t owe her any explanations. I don’t owe her anything. “Actually, he’s staying in a hotel down the street for a few days.”
“Oh.” She frowns, clearly coming to the obvious, though mistaken, conclusion. “So, what’s the problem with me staying here then?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell her. “That’s the problem.”
The problem is also that I’m pretty sure Dean was right when he said Crystal doesn’t have the money for a hotel room.
I won’t let Dean pay for one either, and I’m not too enthused about the idea of using my money, which is earmarked for the café. But I will if I have to.
“You can stay for one night,” I tell Crystal. “Then you’ll have to find another place to stay. There are a lot of hotels in town. I’ll help you pay for one, if you need it.”
“I don’t want your money, Liv.” She shoots me a look that seems to freeze the air between us. “Especially not so that you can kick me out of your house.”
A reflexive protest rises in my throat that I’m not kicking her out, but I swallow it back down. Because I am sort of kicking her out.
“Look, you need to find another place to stay,” I tell her. “That’s it.”
She shrugs, as if it makes no difference to her. I go to the bedroom and change into a nightshirt, then get some clean sheets and pillows from the closet. When I turn, I see her standing in the doorway watching me. I suddenly wish I’d put on my bathrobe.
“You’ve gained weight,” she remarks.
“A little.” No way will I tell her it’s the last few pounds of my pregnancy weight that I still haven’t quite shed.
“More than a little.” Her gaze travels over my body through my nightshirt. “But it suits you. You have the kind of figure that would look disproportionate if you were too much slimmer.”
I have no idea if she’s complimenting me or slamming me. Or both.
“Uh… thanks?”
She smiles. “Sorry. I meant that you look good.”
“So do you.” I go into the living room and spread the sheets on the sofa. “There’s an extra toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom drawer.”
She goes into the bathroom, and I hear her moving around, the water running, drawers opening and closing, before she emerges in a thin cotton robe, her hair twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.
I get out my old quilt and toss it onto the sofa. “So… I’m sorry about…”
I don’t even know what to say. Your mother? My grandmother? Elizabeth Winter?
“Your mother,” I finally say.
Crystal shrugs. “Hadn’t seen her in well over twenty years. Didn’t even know she was sick.”
An uncharitable thought rises like pond scum in my mind. Does Crystal know about the inheritance? Is that why she’s here?
I study her as she puts a few things back into her suitcase. Nothing on her face would indicate that her mother’s death affected her in any way.
“You had no contact with her?” I ask carefully.
“Why would I want to? She threw me out when I got pregnant with you. Then she refused to take us in when I needed her help after we left your father.”
“How did you hear that she’d died?” I ask.
“Stella. She had my last address and sent me a note. I’d assumed she told you too.”
I make a noncommittal noise. I wonder if this means my mother never heard from Elizabeth Winter’s lawyer.
I shift the topic of conversation, and we discuss our lives in a polite, cordial manner. Crystal asks about places Dean and I have lived, tells me where she’s traveled and what she’s been doing.
She spent a year in Seattle working at a jewelry store, and has lived in LA, Austin, and Denver. Albuquerque, Portland, San Francisco. She’s worked in nightclubs, hair salons, clothing stores, yoga studios, food co-ops, florists. She’s sold her jewelry at art fairs, beaches, craft shows, street festivals.
“Do you like it?” I ask. “Living that way?”