Thief

Before I could grab her, before I could shake sense into her, I walked away.

Don’t walk away! Fight her on this!

That’s what I was thinking. But, the last thing I wanted to do was chase after someone who didn’t want me … or didn’t know they wanted me.

I went back to my dorm room and drank warm beer. Rejected for the first time, it wasn’t pretty. It was pretty f**ked up, actually. Or at least that’s what I thought then. I’d done everything she’d asked me to do. My teammates were barely talking to me, my coach had put me on suspension, and my heart was hurting. Hurting. How could I be feeling this way over someone I’d just met?

I took a sip of my beer, pulled out my Statistics textbook and stared at the page for thirty minutes without ever seeing anything. No, that’s not true. I was seeing Olivia Kaspen.

I saw her everywhere. I pretended not to. I pretended that she was just another girl, not the girl I wanted. My friends thought I’d lost it. I wanted her because I couldn’t have her — that was the consensus. Maybe it was true. They had taken to slapping me on the back and pointing out random girls on campus who would sleep with me. Sex therapy, they called it. I tried it once or twice, but it was ineffective. I was benched, rejected and drunk on a girl I’d only kissed once. When someone mentioned that she was probably a lesbian, I pounced on the idea. Then, just months after she told me that we weren’t compatible, she started seeing the biggest load of douchebags I had ever laid eyes on. I f**king hated them. So, I moved on. She wasn’t what I thought she was.

Then I met Jessica. The first thing she ever said to me was, “Damn, I don’t know if I want to lick you or marry you.”

I’d said, “How about both?” And that was it. We were together. Jessica Alexander was sexy and kind and ditzy — my type exactly. She was smart too, but you’d never know it from the way she babbled on and on about insignificant things like clothes and movies. I liked being with her. I liked ha**g s*x with her. She took away the constant edge I felt. Olivia gradually receded to the back of my mind. I could joke about it after a while. In retrospect, it seemed funny that I’d become so obsessed with a girl I barely knew. Then right when everything was going my way, I found out that Jessica was pregnant and had an abortion behind my back. She wasn’t the one to tell me. That’s what killed me. She made the decision without me. That was my baby — mine. I wanted that baby. I would have taken the baby even if Jessica didn’t want it. I punched a tree, sprained my wrist and went into dating hibernation.

After my parents divorced, my mother wanted to move to America. She was born in Michigan. Her father — my grandfather — met my grandmother at Cambridge where he was studying abroad. When they got married, they moved back to the States for a while and had my mother. But, when my grandmother was homesick, my grandfather sold their land and house, and moved back to England for her. My parents ran in the same social circles and they happened to happen. She nixed the “Sams and Alfreds and Charlies” and gave my brother and me American-sounding names. When she caught him cheating for the third time, she packed us up and moved us to America. I took it way harder than my brother. I blamed my mother for a while, until I flew to England for my dad’s fourth marriage. When I saw him taking vows for the fourth time, I got it. I wasn’t even sure what this wife’s name was. Elizabeth? Victoria? I was pretty sure it was a Queen of England. But, I knew I didn’t believe in divorce. You couldn’t make vows and just break them. If I married a woman, I was going to stay married. I wouldn’t treat marriage like a lease. Ever.

I wanted to marry Jessica. I mean, it’s not like I bought her a ring, but I saw her fitting into my world. My mother liked her; Jessica loved me. It was so easy. But, when I found out she had an abortion and didn’t even bother telling me she was pregnant, I lost it. I at least wanted a say with my child.

Then Olivia came back. She came back, dancing like a siren. I knew exactly what she was doing the night she came to my frat house and cocked her finger at me from the dance floor. If she hadn’t come to me, I would have gone to her. Forget all you know — I said to myself. This is the one you belong with. I don’t know how I knew that. Maybe our souls touched underneath that tree. Maybe I decided to love her. Maybe love wasn’t our choice. But when I looked at that woman, I saw myself differently. And it wasn’t in a good light. Not a thing would keep me from her. And that could make a person do things they never thought themselves capable of. What I felt for her scared the hell out of me. It was a consuming obsession.

In truth, I’d barely touched on the obsession. That was still coming.

Chapter Five

“Pass the butter, please.”

Damn.

I pass her the butter, but not before I assess the density of that request. When you’re passing a woman butter across the table, you’re in something serious. I grab her tanned arm as she reaches for it and kiss the inside of her wrist. She smells like clean linen. She smiles at me — she’s always smiling. She has dimples; the deeper she smiles, the deeper they cut. Jessica and I don’t officially live together, but we alternate between each other’s places. Mostly we are here, but that’s because I like my own bed. I watch her butter her toast while she plays on her iPad. We have a nice little thing going on. I still feel like a barren wasteland on the inside, but she makes it better.

“Pass the salt, please.” I test this out. See how it feels. She passes the saltshaker without looking up, and I frown. Everyone knows you don’t pass the salt without the pepper. They’re a pair. Even if someone only asks for one. You pass both. Now I’m going to have to break up with her.

Kidding.

We get ready for work and kiss at the bottom of the elevator.

“Caleb,” she says, as I’m walking away.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Wow. Okay.

“Jess,” I say. “I-”

“You don’t have to say it back,” she smiles, “I just want you to know.”

“All right,” I say, slowly. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

She nods.

Eight months, one week, that’s how long it has been since she spent the night at my place for the first time. Acissej — it doesn’t really roll off the tongue like some of them do. What she just said feels strange, but I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s time to move in together. I climb into my car and put the AC on full blast. She likes my facial hair. Leah wouldn’t tolerate facial hair. She said it chaffed her face. When she used the word “chaffed” I wanted to divorce her. Or maybe I just always wanted to divorce her. When I think about Leah, I feel sick. Not because of her — she has very little power over me anymore. It’s that little girl.

I pull my thoughts away from that. When I get to work, my mother is at the office, visiting Steve.

“He’s never home anymore, and you hardly come to visit,” she says, hugging me. “I have to come here to see my two boys.”

She doesn’t mention my brother. She’s just as pissed at him as I am for sleeping with my ex-wife. Leah dropped that little bomb on me the same night she told me I wasn’t a father. I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought a million times over that Estella might be his. That hurts the most.

“How’s Jessica?” my mother asks.

I half smile and sort through the papers on my desk. She has taken a seat in my office, so I know she’s here to chat. If I don’t give her something, she won’t go away.

“She told me she loved me this morning.”

“Well, did you say it back?”

“No.”

She’s quiet for a few minutes.

“I really liked Leah,” she says. “When you lost your memory, she really just stuck with you. As a mother, I appreciated that.” She sighs. “But, I know you still love that girl.”

My turn to sigh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And even if I did, I wouldn’t want to talk about it. So talk about something else. How are your roses?”

“Don’t even,” she says. “Jessica is great, Caleb. Really, she is. But, she wants a commitment. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be married again? Have … children?”

I flinch.

“Not really.”

“You can’t let one woman steal who you are.”

I appreciate my mother, I do. But, she has no idea what she’s talking about. My heart is still broken. I’m trying to figure out how to live without what I really want. That includes letting go of old dreams and making some new ones. I think, anyway.

“I don’t want those things anymore,” I say firmly.

“I saw Estella.”

I freeze.

“What?”

“At the mall. I ran into Leah and she was with her.”

I’m quiet. I don’t know what to say. How is she? Was she talking? What does she look like?

I run a hand across the back of my neck and stare at the armrest on her chair.

“She was my granddaughter. I love her.” Her voice drops off at the end, and for the first time, I consider my mother’s feelings in all of this. She lost Estella too.

“She’s yours, Caleb. I feel it.”

“Mother, stop it…”

“No, I won’t. You get a paternity test. There is something not right.”

I stop what I’m doing and sit down. “Why would she lie to me about that? She loses child support, babysitting, and claim on me, by lying.”

“Oh, Caleb. Leah is the type of girl who values revenge more than practicality.”

I get goose bumps. Honest to God.

I shake my head. “You want that to be true. I do too. But, it’s not. There is a good chance she is your grandchild. Talk to your son.”

She pulls her mouth tight. It makes her look older.

“Just think about it,” she says. “If she refuses, you can get the court to order one.” She leans forward. “Caleb, she has your nose.”

“Fuck. Okay, we’re done here.” I never curse in front of her. I stand up and walk her to the door. Before I push her out, I kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a good mother. But, I’m a grown up. Go meddle in Seth’s life.”

She smiles, pats my cheek and looks more worried than before.

“Goodbye, my son.”

Chapter Six

I had her. It wasn’t a firm grip, but I finally had her. We fell into a relationship easily. The day-to-day routine was light and airy. We played, we kissed, we talked for hours about things that mattered and things that didn’t. I could never predict what she was going to say next. I liked that. She was so different from the girls I was used to. Even Jessica — who was the closest thing I’d come to falling in love — had never elicited the feelings from me that Olivia did.

There was one day in particular when we were talking about how many kids we wanted — or maybe I was talking about it. Olivia shied away from the future.

“Five — I want five.”

She raised an eyebrow and crinkled her nose. “That’s too many. What if your wife doesn’t want that many?”

We had taken a drive to the beach and were lying on a blanket pretending to look at the stars, but mostly we were looking at each other.

“I guess you and I can come to a compromise.”

She started blinking rapidly as if something had flown in her eye.

“I don’t want children,” she said, looking away.

“Yes, you do.”

She hated when I did that — told her she was wrong about her own thoughts.

I leaned up on my elbows and looked at the water to avoid the dirty look she was giving me.

“You’re not going to mess them up,” I said. “You’re not going to be like your father, and you will not land up like your mother because I will never leave you.”

“I’ll die of cancer then.”

“No, you won’t. We’ll have you checked regularly.”

“How do you always f**king know what I’m thinking?”

I looked over at her. She was sitting up with her knees pulled to her chest and her head resting on her knees. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a large, almost comical knot. I wanted to pull it out and let it tumble down her back, but she looked so cute, I left it.

“I see you, even when you think I’m not looking. I’m probably more obsessed with you than is healthy.”

She tried to swallow her smile, but I saw it pinching the corners of her mouth. I tackled her to her back. She giggled. She hardly ever giggled … I could probably count the number of times I’d heard that sound on my two hands.

“You don’t give an inch. That’s why I like you, Olivia — no middle name — Kaspen. You make me work for every smile, every giggle…”

She shook her head. “I don’t giggle.”

“Really?” My fingers crept up her ribs. I tickled her. She giggled so hard, I was laughing too.

When we sobered up, she lay with her head on my chest. Her next words took me by surprise. I lay as still as I could, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved she would stop speaking her heart.

“My mom wanted six children. She only got me, and that sucks for her because I was a total weirdo.”

“You were not,” I said.

She twisted her head up to look at me.

“I used to line my lips in black eyeliner and sit cross-legged on the kitchen table … meditating.”

“Not that bad,” I said. “Crying out for attention.”