Page 44 of Go Away, Darling

I roundedthe kitchen counter with a bowl of popcorn. “So what’s your sisterly advice?” I’d just finished pouring my heart out to Summer. All the sordid details of how I gave Chris the green light, aquickoverview of the night, and our earlier phone call. Then I dropped the Carmen Ayres documentary news.

Summer grabbed a handful and began thoughtfully munching. “You’re falling for him. And from the sound of it, he’s already fallen for you. I don’t see what the problem is.”

I sighed because I made my concerns—and Chris’s—abundantly clear. “His lifestyle, my past, this little thing called my son…”

“Yes, I heard all that the first time. I still don’t see what the problem is. He’s not Beau. I love Beau, but you two were never going to grow old together. You were always friends first and foremost. He loves nightlife and parties. You...don’t. And now you’ve found someone just as happy with a quiet island as you. Someone who seems to really like Linc. I’m all for taking your time because youdohave Linc to think about, but I don’t see how self torture is going to do anything but make you both miserable unnecessarily.”

The last thing I wanted was unnecessary misery. “I wish I had a crystal ball that could tell me everything works out in the end.”

“Olivia, everyone wants that. No one has one. We’re all taking leaps of faith. Do you think agreeing to that world tour was easy? It meant delaying my next album, but it also meant exposure I’ve never had before. It was a risk and I’m still not a hundred percent it was the right thing to do.”

She never once mentioned doubts about the tour. Summer was all confidence from the moment she announced her decision to the day she came home. “Well for what it’s worth I think it was the right thing for your career. I just...ever since I found out I was pregnant, I get stuck whenever something isn’t clear. I know I have this overly intense maternal instinct, and I try talking to myself logically, but nothing terrifies me more than making a choice that negatively impacts Linc’s life.”

Summer frowned. “You have analysis paralysis, sister dear. And as you well know, that is the death of creativity and good times.”

Our parents used to say that all the time. Seeing our interest in the arts, they took it upon themselves to guide us early on. According to them, the world is deprived of the art it deserves because too many creators are spending all their time striving to be better, to find perfection that will never come.

Was I striving to be a better mother, to find maternal perfection? It was entirely possible.

“But you want to know what I really think?” Summer scooped up another handful of popcorn and sat back, dropping one kernel at a time into her mouth.

I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. At all. But Summer didn’t offer up advice unless she thought it was important. So I steeled myself. “What do you really think?”

“I think you use Linc as a shield. You love it here, but you also hide here with Linc as an excuse so you can justify not dating, not traveling, not putting yourself out there. And you can do that because we’re lucky enough to have paying careers in the arts. Even without Beau in your life you could have made ends meet with just your celebrity photography business.”

Guilt started to paint over my doubts. Here I was debating the merits of dating Chris and taking a job with a famous filmmaker, meanwhile there were artists all over the world struggling to be noticed.

“You’re privileged to be able to choose your projects, to be able to stay home with Linc, to hide here. That privilege naturally makes small problems into big ones.” She sighed and squeezed my hand. “And I’m not trying to diminish your problems. They’re yours and they are real, but debating whether you can trust a smokin’ hot ballplayer who lives next door and has already professed undying devotion to you, is small potatoes compared to wondering where your next meal is coming from. Take the job. Let us help you. Stop hiding.”

14

A man with only one night

Chris

Throughout the interviews, the parades, and everything else, there was something distant about Olivia. She was there. We talked. She brought Linc to the parade. But there was something in her eyes that had changed. It had me nervous, especially when she invited me over for dinner my first night back.

Alone.

Just the two of us. Linc was at his dad’s.

It felt final. And I was never going to be okay with final. Of course I had no idea what was going on. She could throw herself at me, declare her undying love, and insist we get married this weekend. I liked the second option. It was a very different kind of final.

“Hello?” I called out. She texted and asked me to come in the back. The house smelled delicious and I could see our meal set out at a table all properly set with a tablecloth, wine, and a plate of caprese. Liv was real proud of her tomato and basil crop this year and often had this prepared as an appetizer. It was just one of the little things I knew about her, loved about her.

“Hi! I’m here!” She came rushing out of the hallway that led to her bedroom. And fuck she was a sight, her hair down and straight, just a little makeup, and a comfortable sundress. “Oh is that for Linc?”

I looked down at the bag of souvenirs in my hands. I completely forgot I was holding the thing. “Uh, yeah. World Series merch. There were some limited edition badges and stuff around. I made him a bag.”

“Thank you.” She took it without quite looking at me, and definitely not kissing me. Then hurried into the kitchen to check a pot on the stove. “I made stir fry. It’s an unusual recipe but it’s amazing. I promise.”

“You have yet to make me anything but amazing.”

“Can you pour the wine?”

“Of course.” I sampled some tomato and mozzarella as I uncorked the bottle and served us each up a glass. “Everything smells delicious.” But her distance was only making me more nervous.

“I have something to tell you!” she blurted out, her cheeks flaming red.

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