Page 146 of Tangled Up In You

After trading a series of messages with Gavin, she had decided to force the matter and simply fly into town. By the time the car service dropped her off at their Venice Beach home, the sun was setting with an unnatural purple-orange intensity aided by the thick layer of smog over the ocean.

The house was empty, but had obviously been lived in. Gavin hadn’t kept up with his laundry or dishes. And there were beer and water bottles strewn around carelessly. From what she could tell, only he had used the bed in the primary suite. But she couldn’t be certain.

Their interior designer had agreed with Sophie’s suggestion that they break up all the white space in the house with colorful rugs and pieces of furniture. It had all come together to form a bright, cheerful home. But that now stood in contrast to her conflicted emotions.

Grabbing a plastic bag from the kitchen, she began gathering the bottles. As she worked, she thought about how she was once again chasing after Gavin. This dynamic had begun in their school days, when she’d lingered at Rogue’s band practice hoping to get a chance to talk to him. It repeated itself when she tracked him down during their first tour, only to be blown off. The following year she had that momentous radio phone call with him and later showed up at his hotel room. And here she was again, running after him. After almost ten years of marriage, she was still the one doing the hard work in their relationship. She had excused so much in deference to the wound he wallowed in. It was time to break the pattern, no matter what that meant for their future family.

Sitting down on the burnt-orange-colored living room sofa, she sent Gavin a simple text: “I’m here at the Venice house. Please come home.”

Yellow haze obscured Sophie’s view as the plane readied for landing in Los Angeles. She turned away from the window and closed her eyes. Her hometown had become a foreign place to her in the last few years. It was ironic that she felt more comfortable in Ireland than in America, while her Irish husband now seemed so at home in America.

After trading a series of messages with Gavin, she had decided to force the matter and simply fly into town. By the time the car service dropped her off at their Venice Beach home, the sun was setting with an unnatural purple-orange intensity aided by the thick layer of smog over the ocean.

The house was empty, but had obviously been lived in. Gavin hadn’t kept up with his laundry or dishes. And there were beer and water bottles strewn around carelessly. From what she could tell, only he had used the bed in the primary suite. But she couldn’t be certain.

Their interior designer had agreed with Sophie’s suggestion that they break up all the white space in the house with colorful rugs and pieces of furniture. It had all come together to form a bright, cheerful home. But that now stood in contrast to her conflicted emotions.

Grabbing a plastic bag from the kitchen, she began gathering the bottles. As she worked, she thought about how she was once again chasing after Gavin. This dynamic had begun in their school days, when she’d lingered at Rogue’s band practice hoping to get a chance to talk to him. It repeated itself when she tracked him down during their first tour, only to be blown off. The following year she had that momentous radio phone call with him and later showed up at his hotel room. And here she was again, running after him. After almost ten years of marriage, she was still the one doing the hard work in their relationship. She had excused so much in deference to the wound he wallowed in. It was time to break the pattern, no matter what that meant for their future family.

Sitting down on the burnt-orange-colored living room sofa, she sent Gavin a simple text:

I’m here at the Venice house. Please come home.

As soon asSophie heard the garage door open, she went downstairs to meet Gavin in the foyer. It felt like hours before he opened the door to let himself in, and in that time her anxiety built until her body trembled. She didn’t know how it would feel to see him after all these weeks, not just because he had left their home to “get well” and hadn’t returned once he was better, but because of what had happened with Conor. Would he somehow know she had been with another man? Then, of course, there was the baby. As well as she knew him, she couldn’t envision his reaction to this unexpected pregnancy.

When he stepped into the foyer, all the conflicting thoughts melted away. She was relieved to see that he looked remarkably healthy, especially compared to the last time she saw him. His eyes were clear and he had his usual few days’ worth of beard growth. The navy blue, long-sleeve O’Neil tee shirt and jeans he wore with flip-flops made him look like a handsome beach bum. Most of all, however, it was the broad smile on his face that made her feel at ease.

“Darlin,” he said, “I’m so glad you came.” He pulled her into his arms, kissed her cheek and lips, and held her for a long moment. “Let me look at you.” Taking a step back, he looked her up and down.

“Do I look different?” she asked.

“You’re gorgeous as always.”

“You look really good, baby. Like your old self.”

He nodded. “I feel good.”

“So, I?—”

“Are you hungry? You must be. We’re walking over to Abbot Kinney to meet Jackson for dinner. He should be getting us the table now, so we’d better run.”

She hadn’t expected to have company on the night of their reunion. “Wait, Gavin. I don’t want to go out to dinner with Jackson. I want—I need to talk to you.”

“Well, it would be rude to cancel now. He drove all the way out here from the Hills. Let’s talk as we walk, yeah?”

She was too dumbfounded to argue as he led her out of the house. To get to the restaurant, they would walk along the canal and down busy South Venice Boulevard until they reached boutique and restaurant-laden Abbot Kinney Boulevard. It was less than a mile away, which meant she had limited time to say anything of importance to him. She wondered if this was his aim, if he had wanted a buffer between them. If he really was ready to end their marriage, yet not eager to say the necessary words, this would be a good strategy.

While still on the canal, with the relative quiet, she took his hand and forced him to stop walking. The water was aglow in patches where nearby houses had their shades open and lights on. Colorful canoes and kayaks were tied up near some of the homes, but otherwise they were alone.

“Gavin, wait a second, okay?”

He turned to her expectantly.

“I, um, I came here, I came all the way here to see you?—”

“And here I am,” he said with a smile.

“Were you planning on coming home?”

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