“Although,” my dad says, looking down at the tray, “I hate doing this to you, but my doctor has been on my case lately about cholesterol. Any chance I could talk you into making one of these plates egg whites only?”
Fucking shit. He wants Olivia to cook for him?
I see the dismay war with relief on Olivia’s face at the misunderstanding. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, definitely,” she says. “Cheese okay?”
“Extra,” my dad says with a wink.
A wink? A fucking wink? I push my fingers into my eyes. Christ. My father is flirting with my…
She’s your caregiver, my brain screams at me. Your father hired her to be nice to you because he thinks you’re going to slit your wrists, or punch a baby, or drown yourself.
Olivia backs out of the room without looking at me.
Damn it. It’s been a while since I’ve been involved with a girl, but I know that look. She’s doing that weird girly thing where they go into shutdown mode so they can overanalyze everything.
“She’s even prettier than she was in her picture,” my dad says, mostly to himself.
“So you knew what she looked like when you hired her?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
“Knew she looked like what?” Dad asks innocently.
I give him a dark look, and I swear he hides a smile. At least I know now that it’s no coincidence that Olivia isn’t like the rest of the graying, frumpy caretakers in the past. My father wanted to remind me that I’m a hot-blooded male.
Well played, Daddy dearest.
“What is it that you want?” I demand. “Am I supposed to stay here as a recluse so I don’t embarrass you, or am I supposed to reenter the world and pretend I don’t look like a freak? You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing how to read your mixed signals.”
My father sighs and goes to the window. “I’m not embarrassed by you, Paul. I just don’t want you to be embarrassed. Going toe-to-toe with a bunch of healthy, able-bodied kids isn’t going to do much for your recovery.”
Able-bodied. Something I’m not.
Abruptly Olivia’s gentle taunt from this morning comes to mind. Have you ever tried running? Even a few steps? She expects things from me. Better things than my father expects. Or even Lindy or Mick. Olivia certainly demands more from me than I demand of myself. I don’t know if it’s because she’s only known me for a month and as a result is completely clueless as to what I’m capable of, or if her fresh perspective means she sees potential the rest of us don’t. And if it’s the latter, what happens when I disappoint her?
“So this is why you came all the way up here?” I ask my father. “To tell me not to embarrass myself with my ugly face in front of some adolescent morons?”
“I came up to see if you were okay.”
I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and wave it at him. “Phones are good for that. Also, isn’t that what you hired Olivia for? To tend to my boo-boos and feed me soup and wipe my ass?”
“I hired Olivia to bring you back to the world of the living,” he snaps. “But I can see that she’s done nothing to improve your disposition.”
“It’ll take more than nice tits and a great ass to achieve that.”
“Don’t be crass.”
“Sure. I know how to fire every gun on the planet, I’ve watched people blow up in front of my face, and you’ve all but told me that you just hired a girl with the sole purpose of seeing if your son could still get a boner. But by all means, let’s not be crass. Shall I get us some motherfucking tea?”
“I never said that’s why I hired Olivia.” But Dad’s face looks guilty.
“Well, it’s sure as hell not because of her skill set. You might as well have bought me a puppy or a hooker, for all the use she’s been.”
There’s a long beat of silence, and I realize my dad’s eyes aren’t on me.