Page 34 of The Other Side of Apart

Good or bad, I can’t tell from her expression.

He stands, his chair scraping against the deck, one hand still clutching his bottled water. “Yeah…hi. I…sorry for the unexpected visit.”

“Definitely unexpected!” The disinterested tone held up by fake cheer in her voice sits like a brick in my heart. He was unexpected from the beginning, and it seems nothing’s changed. This is not how I’d want my long-lost parent to sound. This is not how I’d want Peter Mitchell to sound. After this moment, I don’t ever want to hear the sound of his voice.

“Yeah, sorry, we just…” He rubs his neck. “I got your graduation card. Thanks for that, by the way.” He looks up at her, and I wonder if he notices the resemblance. “Your address was on it. Thought I’d stop by. Hope that’s okay, or?—”

“It’s definitely okay. I was so disappointed when Raymond told me I wouldn’t get to meet you at your graduation. It was a last-minute change of plans for me to go anyway, and I had high hopes.” She beams at him, then turns to me. “And you are…?”

“Mei Li.” I say at the same time Marcus says. “This is Mei. My wife.”

Olivia’s eyes widen, and she tilts her head. “Sorry. Did you saywife? As in, you’re married? Raymond said nothing about that…”

“Yeah. We’re married.” Marcus’s response is clipped, cautious, like he doesn’t dare take too many steps into this conversation.

“Wow.” She plasters a broad smile on her face, throwing up her hands. “Lots of surprises today, I guess! Come inside.” She flutters through the sliding door, waving at us to follow. Inside, she drops her bag on a table and sits on a white sofa, motioning toward the chairs across from it. “Sit down, sit down. I’ve got about twenty minutes before I have company coming over, but that should be plenty of time to get to know each other.”

Catching up on eighteen years of life in twenty minutes?

Marcus lowers into a chair like he’s sore or stiff, his hands gripping the arms. I observe Olivia and her long, toned legs between the slit in her dress—her glossy blond hair, dark eyebrows, and wide forehead which leads to round, impossibly blue eyes. She’s beautiful. She’s Marcus. He has all her angles, her perfectly sloped nose. I always thought he looked so much like his dad, but the only thing that’s different between him and Olivia is how fake she is, inside and out.

The woman who answered the door sets a tray of drinks on the end table. Olivia throws her an air kiss and grabs a bottle, leaning forward so her cleavage joins the conversation. She reaches out and touches Marcus’s knee, beaming at him.

“It is so good to finally meet you. And wow—you’ve decided to take your own path in life. Good for you.” She laughs. “Not the one I would’ve taken if I were you, but I guess you and I are alike after all, doing things other people don’t want us to do.”

Marcus stiffens but gives her a shaky smile and rubs the back of his neck, which must be raw by now. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Well, you look just like me, so now I know what I’d look like as an eighteen-year-old guy.” She takes a long drink and sets her bottle down. “Are you two in L.A. for long? If so, you’re so welcome to stay in the pool house. Just remodeled it, and it’sa perfect little getaway.” She wiggles her shoulders suggestively. “But join Allen and me for dinner, definitely. He’ll be devastated if he doesn’t meet you. I’ll have Isabella get you all settled into the pool house, and you have until eight so…do whatever. I’ll even send some wine down with you so you can have a little pre-dinner romance.” She looks between us, expectant.

“Uhhh…” Marcus glances around the room, his eyes darting to the front door. “Thanks. Yeah, pool house would be great. We’ll get ourselves settled. But don’t worry about the wine—we don’t drink.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Two teenagers who don’t drink? Maybe you aren’t mine and Raymond’s child after all.” She laughs, throwing her head back dramatically. “We used to have thegreatestof times when we were wasted.” She waves a hand. “Anyway…we’ll skip the alcohol for you two, then. Do whatever you want. You obviously don’t need my permission. I’ll have Isabella fetch you when dinner is ready.”

CHAPTER 17

The long, glossy dining table dividing Olivia from Mei and me pretty much sums up the slippery distance I feel with someone who supposedly gave birth to me. Cold, hard, no scars. Polished. Sharp edges. Since we arrived three hours ago, everything’s felt like if I make one wrong turn, I’ll meet the tip of that sharp edge and bleed out. The silence between Mei and me only added to the tension. So, when we got to the pool house, Mei slipped into the shower, and I didn’t follow for the first time in weeks; I needed more space to think than even that thirty-person shower could offer. After she got out and I took her place, I stayed in until the water ran cold. After I was done, I sat on the back patio and stared into the bushes while my mind slowly, cautiously unwound.

Now I’m suspended in discomfort at the dining table, twisting the cap on my imported Italian soda that probably cost more than my Adidas. “Thanks for dinner,” I say to Olivia. My leg bounces under the table.

Her gaze lingers on me. “Funny, you look just like me but your mannerisms…it’s like I’m looking at Raymond right now.” She shoots a smile. “And if you’re wondering what you shouldcall me, it’s Olivia. Just Olivia. No one would ever believe I could have an eighteen-year-old son, anyway.”

Like I would call her mom after she strode into the dining room wearing a skirt I’m afraid will slide up and show me exactly where I came from.

“It’s still just such a great surprise to have you here.” She sips her wine, then sets it down, clearing her throat. “I only wish I didn’t have to leave on Saturday to deal with a new line in Paris.”

Turns out, my timing’s always been inconvenient.

Her house help floats around the dining room, making sure our plates are full of appetizers that look like leaves, and even though they smell nasty, I pop one in my mouth so I don’t have to talk. Is this what my life would’ve been like if Dad and Olivia had stayed together? Or if they’d split but I had to choose to live with one or the other? And what if I’d chosen to live with Olivia? I’d go to a private school. Drive a Ferrari. Eat gross food in fancy dining rooms. Be a total douchebag. I’m glad I didn’t have a choice.

Allen, Olivia’s boyfriend or agent or husband or whatever he is, keeps flipping his hair and smiling at the windows like the paparazzi are outside, just waiting to get a great shot. He’s too old for that hairstyle, but Olivia can’t keep her fingers out of it. Dad looks like a Scottish warrior compared to this mannequin-guy. I wonder how many guys there have been since Dad.

“So you really got married?” Olivia rakes her fingers through the back of Allen’s hair like he’s her puppy and raises her eyebrows at me.

I nod. “Yep. Really did. About three weeks ago. On the twenty-first.”

She swirls her glass of wine and takes a sip. “Why?”

I choke down whatever I just put in my mouth and chase it with the whole bottle of soda. Did she seriously just ask that? Aren’t rich models supposed to have manners?

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