Page 52 of Come Apart
I bring my eyes to hers. "Why don't you come back to Los Angeles, Sam? Maybe it's better you get away from the house at least."
She nods.
"I might. I certainly can't stay with my parents. They treat me like I'm fourteen. I don't have anything to do except sit in the study and look at my law school textbooks longingly."
"Read them. I'm pretty sure they aren't meant to be art installations."
She laughs.
"I do. It's pathetic. It's like I'm taking Torts 101 for the first time." She finishes her glass and motions for me to refill it.
I give her a look—should you drink so much?
She strains not to roll her eyes. "You don't get to boss me around anymore, Lawrence. I'm not your girlfriend. I don't have to listen to you."
"When did you ever listen to me?" I oblige her with a careful refill.
Two glasses worth of wine and she's happy. Three, and she's mouthy. Four, and she throws a fit. A very tiny, contained fit that no one will ever see. She does care about appearances, even with me.
She smirks, her voice brimming with confidence. "When I was trying to get in your pants." I'm not touching that comment. Color floods her face as she drinks, like the red of the wine is bleeding into her cheeks. She looks down at her cup. "I feel like I finally remember why I ever cared about the law."
I study her as she studies the wine.
"He killed your passion, didn't he?"
We both know who I'm referring to.
Samantha gives me an imploring look.
"Luke, please don't—"
"Why the fuck not? I can handle it."
"Maybe I'd rather not talk about it with you," she mutters. "Have you considered that?" It's painfully obvious that Samantha doesn't want to talk about her affair.
I don't know what in me keeps me picking at the subject.
She finishes her cup and sets it on the table. "I'm sorry, okay. I don't know if it's possible for me to apologize enough, but I am sorry. I should have told you from the beginning. I shouldn't have lied for so long."
I swallow, hard. "Don't you hate how 'I shouldn't have fucked him' isn't on that list?"
I thought I was over it.
But maybe it's something I'll never be completely over.
Sure, there was a lot to hate about my father.
But he was still my father. He still cared about me in his own way.
At least, I thought he did.
Maybe that's why I can't fully get over this.
She lowers her voice, her eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry. I really am. I should have ended things way before I did. You didn't deserve that."
"It's okay. I wouldn't have let you end things if you’d tried."
She adjusts her glasses and looks me square in the eye. "Please, Luke. Don't tell me it's okay again. I'd feel so much better if you called me a cunt and told me you never wanted to see me again."
