Page 17 of Love Under Construction

“Jameson! You’re home! I was hoping you would be. Can I come in?” She holds up a six-pack of beer. “I brought goodies. Thought maybe we could have a few drinks and a little fun.”

She can’t be for real right now. I have been avoiding her since the first and only night we spent together. I even let her down gently at breakfast that morning and let her know thatwewouldn’t be happening again.

“Ah, ya know, I think I’m good. Thanks for stopping by. It’s been a long day, so I’m actually about to go to bed. And sleep. I’ve got an early morning.”

Sara’s face falls, and I don’t feel an ounce of remorse. “Oh, well. Maybe another time?”

“Probably not. I’m sure you’re a nice girl. I’m not looking for anything though.” I try to tell her.

“I get it. It’s not me; it's you. I’ve heard it before. Well, I’ll see you around. And if you ever change your mind…”

“Goodnight, Sara,” I nod and close the door as she walks away.

It’s clear to me now; there’s only one woman I want.Olivia.

I’m so fucked.

Chapter 9

Olivia

Dad’s hospicenurse is sitting at the kitchen table with Mom, going over his ‘progress’ if you can even call it that.

I’ve been home for a week and every day Dad grows a little weaker, his pain seems to get a bit more intense, and he slips away from a little more. My heart breaks with each passing moment, and I’m living in fear of what will happen andwhenit will happen.

Thankfully, my boss is incredibly understanding and they were able to find someone to substitute teach for me until I can come back. If not, I probably would have quit my job over the phone on Monday and burned a bridge - all for the sake of beinghere.

A small piece of me wishes that Jameson was here, too. That I had one constant in my life. Sure, he may have always annoyed the hell out of me but, he’s always been around. Maybe there’s a piece of me that even hates him for not being present right now. Something beyond his control, really. I’ve wondered more than once if he would come back if I called.

Instead of begging him to join me, I live for his evening text messages where he checks in, updates me on The Mason Center progress, and we talk about how my day with dad has been. It’s a welcome distraction from everything going on, or not going on, here.

Every day that I spend here is a reminder of how much I have outgrown this town and the people in it. I miss New York and the anonymity that went with it. Living in such a big city, most people are too wrapped up in their own world to give two thoughts about the person next to them on the subway. Even at 425 Madison - I’ve made a few friends, but a lot of us move on around each other.

Here, a simple trip to the grocery store has everyone stopping to ask me about my dad while they look at me with pity. I hate it. There’s no escaping what’s happening. Nowhere to go to forget, even for a little while.

“Olivia,” Dad’s weak voice calls out, and he reaches for my hand.

“I’m here, Dad.” In my usual spot, where I’ve been most of the time I’ve been here.

“Sweetheart, it’s time we talk about Jameson.” Dad coughs, and I hand him his glass of water. His hands shake as he takes a small drink.

“We don’t need to talk about Jameson.”

“We do dear. We do. There is a whole lot you don’t know.”

I snort, “Dad, I can promise you, I know all I need to know about Jameson Phoenix.”

“Ah, dear daughter. I’m afraid that’s not true. You see, it’s my fault you hate the boy.”

His fault? Hardly. Part of me wonders if Jameson put Dad up to this. Telling him some story about how he’s a hero and a good guy, blah blah.

“Daddy, you’re tired. It’s okay. We can talk about this another time,” I gently pat his hand and hope that he’ll drop it.

No such luck.

“Olivia, it’s my fault he showed up in New York. I set the whole thing up.”

I listen in shock as my dad, slowly, tells me everything about how he and my mother, as well as Jameson’s parents, constantly put him up to protecting me. Breeding into him that it was his job to look over me. That’s when even more truth comes out.

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