Page 100 of Hate You Later
More incriminating evidence of Walker’s stay in the unit includes a pile of pistachio shells on the glass coffee table and a pair of his loafers kicked off under one edge of the sofa.
Ashley’s designer purse is tipped over on its side on the end table. I can’t help but notice there’s an unfolded sleeve of condoms spilling out. Nice. Well, who am I to judge? Looks like we’ve both moved on.
“Hello?” I call out again tentatively and check the first bedroom. It’s immaculate. The white, platform bed has a white coverlet and sunny, yellow throw pillows. The panoramic windows also have their shades drawn. But the light pouring in through the open upper windows illuminates the large, abstract canvas above the bed. Ashley’s clothes are hanging in the closet, and I’m glad to see she had the good sense to make her bed.
Finally, I make my way into the other larger bedroom, presumably where Walker has been sleeping. Not surprisingly, this room is a mess. The bed is rumpled and unmade, and there are at least six glasses of various beverages sitting on one nightstand, as well as another take-out container on the other. There’s clothing on the floor too.
I make a mental note to ask Ashley to look into a cleaning crew and make reservations for herself and my father at a hotel for the night of the event next week.
Then I hear it. Laughter and splashing. Someone’s out on the patio. In the Jacuzzi, probably.
There are windows and a door to the patio from the master, but the electronic shades are also drawn in here and I cannot see outside. I look around for the remote but can’t seem to locate it. I do, however, find a second sleeve of condoms in my dad’s nightstand drawer. Gross. Same brand as Ashley’s, and I can’t help but wonder if he’d have the nerve to ask her to pick them up for him.
Turning the padlock, I head out onto the spacious patio. It’s been furnished with a small seating group, cozied up to a tabletop firepit. There are sticky skewers here and crumpled wrappers. Marshmallow drippings are all over the table and stones of the firepit. Someone’s been roasting their marshmallows and eating them too. Seriously, Dad?
Again, I hear splashing coming from the nook in the far end of the patio. Is that my dad in the Jacuzzi? Does he have a girl in there? Ugh.
I clear my throat loudly and approach warily. “Walker, is that you in there? Everybody decent?”
I needn’t have asked. In the next instant, as I round the corner, the answer to my question is more than apparent. They are not decent. And their lack of propriety is on full graphic display in the glass-fronted hot tub. They don’t even have the respectability to be running the jets. Nope. My dad and Ashley are sitting buck naked in the pool, feeding each other strawberries. Their nudity couldn’t be more perfectly on display if they’d set up shop in a department store window. In fact, the display kind of reminds me of a department store window.
I’m officially questioning everything in my life that led up to the decision of this particular hot tub in this particular loft. Then I remember that Bryce chose it. Of course.
Neither of them has the decency to even look embarrassed either. In fact, my dad laughs. Ashley ducks under the water, her long, blonde hair fanning around her.
“I’m not sure what to say,” I remark, willing myself to look anywhere but at the two of them.
“Don’t be a prude, son,” Walker says. “We’re all grown-ups here. Have you ever heard of knocking?”
“I knocked!” I defend myself. “I rang the bell. I knocked. I called out. I only let myself in because there was no answer.”
“What made you come in?” Walker challenges.
“I’m checking the progress”—I gesture in Ashley’s direction—“HER progress on the staging.”
“Well, I could have told you she’s making great progress,” Walker booms. He pulls Ashley’s hand and she floats to his side, sitting sideways with her long legs across his lap. I’m trying to keep my gaze above the waterline, but it’s impossible not to see what’s going on inside the fishbowl. I’m going to need more therapy, probably. Years of it.
“In fact,” Walker continues, “she’s done such an amazing job that I’ve decided to purchase this unit. So, you didn’t have to check it out after all. It’s no longer for sale. I’m buying it. We’re going to be neighbors!”
“Isn’t that great, Hudson? Now we can share custody of the cat. Maybe we can make a little passage for him to go between our lofts,” Ashley pipes up.
“Sorry, baby girl.” Walker shakes his head sadly. “That is not happening.”
“Baby girl?” Ashley pouts. She literally sticks her lip out and pouts. I feel itchy.
“But Walker,” Ashley says, “I can’t just abandon him. I made a commitment. Some of us aren’t afraid of taking that leap.” She glares at me with what appears to be pity.
“I know you promised, baby, but it’s impossible. I’m allergic.” Walker shrugs. “Figure out a different plan. Board him or something.”
My skin is crawling. Walker may be allergic, but I’m the one breaking out in hives.
“Just … shut up! You can’t have him,” I shout. “And nobody is boarding my cat.” I can’t believe Walker even had the nerve to suggest it.
“Well, son, that’s not exactly up to you. Ashley and I have discovered something that I think is really special, and I’m too old to just let that kind of thing slip through my fingers.”
He pulls her close and laces his fingers with hers. She doesn’t even bother to hide her glee. Under the smug self-satisfaction, there’s something girlish and giddy about her that I don’t even recognize. Whatever. This is a message from the universe that I should probably take a vow of celibacy or something. Why do I keep looking at them? It’s like a train wreck. I don’t want to see it. I can’t look away.
“Jesus Christ. I’m not talking about you, Dad. I’m talking about Oliver. The cat. MY cat. She abandoned him”—I point accusingly at Ashley—“and I’m not willing to share. He’s mine. All mine. Not negotiable.”
