We finish our stir-fry. I give her my dessert, the way I always do.
For three episodes, Opal watches teenagers scheme and sleep around.
For three episodes, I think of Vanessa's smile, laugh, groan.
When we're finished, Opal rises, shakes her head. "You didn't even stop to lecture me about the girl flirting with her friend's dad. That's prime lecture material."
It is. These shows are all horrifying. Students sleeping with teachers, keeping secrets from their guardians, scheming to destroy each other's lives.
Was TV this fucked up when I was younger?
Has the world always been this hostile to teenage girls?
Probably.
We didn't have a television when I was a kid. I grew up with three brothers. I had no reason to wonder what life was like for the fairer sex.
Now that I have a surrogate daughter?
I have no idea how to make the world into a place that's safe for her.
She's not considering it. She's still focused on her mission to get me to admit I want Vanessa. "How about I do the lecture this time?"
"You've earned it."
"It's classic Simon." She drops her voice an octave to imitate me. "Opal, you should be comfortable with your sexual partners. If you're embarrassed with someone, they aren't right for you." She returns to her normal voice. "I know, I know. None of my business. Whatever. We both know you're thinking about Vanessa." She hugs me good night. "Good night, Simon."
"Good night."
"Are you going to dream about her?"
"Good night."
"Okay, okay. But ask yourself, can you name one reason why you shouldn't give it a chance? Besides the usual 'I'm too busy' bullshit. Can you give me one single reason why you shouldn't see Vanessa again?"
Chapter Six
SIMON
The next morning, it's the same. Thoughts of Vanessa creep into every nook and cranny of my day.
I replay her groan during the ride to a meeting.
I recall the taste of her lips in the elevator.
I imagine her naked, spread wide in the conference room.
All night.
All week.
All weekend.
I'm distracted, unfocused, completely consumed with thoughts of Vanessa.
Monday, I wake early, spend an extra hour at the gym, commit to my most intense work.
Finally, I fall into the zone. Spend the afternoon approving and rejecting pitches. Think only of bottom lines and potential businesses.
Until Opal knocks on my office door at six on the dot.
Immediately, my thoughts go to Vanessa.
Her French-manicured nails on the door, her pumps tapping the hardwood floor, her dark eyes fixed on me.
But she isn't here.
Opal is, and she's impatient.
She doesn't wait for a reply. She pulls the door open. Steps inside. Smooths her long, dark hair. "We're going to the park."
"We?"
"Me and Liam." She looks to the corner office on the other side of the room—Liam's office. He's standing in front of the door, in a grey suit and a bright blue tie, not bothering to hide his stare.
"You finished your homework?"
"It's August."
"Yes or no?"
"It's an art class. For fun."
I raise a brow.
She pouts god, you're difficult. "No. The homework is to draw my favorite brother."
"It is?"
"Yes. And I want to go to the park with my sketchpad while there's still light. Unless you want me to draw Liam. And turn in a lie." She presses her hands together and shoots me a please expression.
She plays me like a fucking fiddle. She always does.
"Simon?" Opal taps her sketchpad. "Really? If you want me to lie… or maybe, you want me to change my mind, decide Liam is my favorite brother."
"Do you think that's going to work?"
She smiles, equal parts whatever do you mean and, of course, it is.
It is. "Twenty minutes."
She pouts.
"Or you can wait until I'm home tonight." She lets out a schoolgirl giggle. "Can we order Thai?"
"Are you going to draw me eating take out?"
"Between bites."
"Opal."
"Aren't you hungry? I'm starving."
"We can order on our way out. Take it uptown."
"Fine." She makes a show of pouting, pulls the door closed, practically skips to Liam's office.
We've worked together since he graduated from school. We built Pierce Industries together. Adam did the technical work, Liam ran the numbers, I led the charge.
And Bash—
He was the glue that held us together. He charmed investors, encouraged colleagues, inspired everyone with his romantic visions.
It's not the same running Pierce without Bash. The sense of loss creeps up on me. Hits me when I least expect it.
Every time, I push it aside. I focus on concrete steps I need to take to conquer the challenges of the day.
Work is what makes sense to me. It fills me. Fuels me.
The more challenging, the better. I accomplish, I learn the rules, I play by them. Do better than everyone else.
I work.
I protect my family.
I fuck.
Those three things make sense.
They did.
Until I failed at one.
Now?
It's not the same. The sense of loss returns. The order in the world turns to chaos.
Watching Vanessa come?
That makes sense.
Everything around it is a complicated mess.