Page 95 of Loss and Damages
“I’m an artist. Isn’t that all of the time?” I ask wryly, wrinkling my nose at him.
He turns, resting one arm on the table and the other on the back of his chair. “Maybe for some artists, but not you. Is it Milano?”
“His name is Dominic.”
“Him? I thought you were missing Leo.”
Slowly, I stir the milk and it swirls in the saucepan. “I am, but I can miss Dominic, too. I think I asked him for too much.”
“What? A castle in Scotland?”
I know he’s teasing, but the joke’s sour. “If you’re going to make fun of me, you can go back to bed.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“I think you did, a little, but you told me you didn’t care about his money.”
“I don’t, but my opinion of him still stands. He’s not a nice guy.”
I continue to stir. The milk is starting to steam and I’ll be able to add sugar and cocoa powder soon. “What if I could tell you he changed.”
“It would have to be a pretty big change to impress me. He bought the homeless shelter, did you know that? He’s going to tear it down and put up something else. All because it has the misfortune of being close to the river.”
I add the sugar and let it dissolve, then add the cocoa powder. “He told me he’s not going to tear down the shelter, or the 1100 block, and he’s going to help the people who live in the trailer park and business owners in Oakdale Square.”
Jeremy lifts his eyebrows. “Did he mean it? Wow. What brought that on?”
I tell him what’s been bothering me since I left Dominic standing in the middle of Leo’s bedroom. “He said he’d do it for me.”
“Jesus, Jemma. That’s a lot. Are you serious?”
I stir the hot chocolate, dark, like Dominic’s eyes. “Yeah.”
“What’d you say?”
“I told him I didn’t want him to do it for me, but he didn’t get it and I don’t know how I could have explained it. I don’t want him to do it for me. I want him to be the kind of person who would have done it for himself, because it’s the right thing to do.”
Jeremy sighs. “You know he’s not like that.”
“I know. I know and now I’m stupid and in love, and he’s breaking my heart.”
He steps up behind me, reaches over my shoulder, and turns the heat off. He moves the saucepan to a cold burner and pulls me against his chest. His t-shirt smells like the fabric softener Mom used when we were kids and I find comfort in the scent.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asks, rubbing my back.
I try to laugh. “What would you say?”
“What I have to say wouldn’t involve words.”
I do laugh then. Jeremy isn’t short, nor is he weak, but there’s no way he could go up against Dominic and come out the winner. “I think he’s been hurt enough.”
“He’s hurting you—”
“I’m hurting myself,” I talk over him, “by asking for something he can’t give me. I should have known better.”
Jeremy sets two coffee mugs onto the counter, and I pour the hot cocoa into them. I place the pan in the sink to soak and sit with Jeremy at the table. He adds fluffy swirls of whipped cream just like Mom used to do when she would fix this for us at Christmas. Dad would always add peppermint schnapps to his,and when we were old enough, we did too. We don’t tonight, and I would be surprised if Jeremy had any on hand. I never do, preferring wine over anything else.
“Jemma, you’re tenacious. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes it’s bad. When our neighbor’s dog ran away, you spent the whole day trying to find him. You hollered until your voice disappeared and you gave yourself a sore throat. Do you remember?”
