Rapping my thumb against the edge of my phone, I thought about what I wanted to say in return. That even with a cold shower, I hadn't been able to dull the physical ache that tortured me all night. That I dreamt of her, climbing over me with sleek, naked skin and wild golden hair, where she rode me until we were both soaked in sweat and exhausted from pleasure. That I missed her to a degree that should have scared me, but didn't.
Me: Is it strange that you being mad turns me on?
Angry Girl: LOL. Not considering my crazy the day we met. Gawd, was that really less than a week ago?
Me: Big things happen fast, Pretty Girl.
Angry Girl: I can attest to THAT, mister. I was on top of that big thing.
Me: Careful now, I've got a meeting in 20, and my great Aunt Belle is NOT someone I need seeing me with a hard-on, okay? She'll write me into one of her dirty poems.
Angry Girl: Oh buddy, I'd be able to take care of that problem in a lot less than 20.
"I'm glad one of us is smiling," my dad said as he strolled into my office. His face reminded me of a thundercloud.
I tossed my phone into the top drawer of my desk, lest he accidentally see what was on the screen. "What's wrong?"
He sat in the chair opposite of me and sank down. "That jackass Julius won in court today."
"Which case?"
"The Canterbury divorce."
I grimaced. "Sorry, Dad. You spent a lot of time on that one."
"If only apologies could win us a ruling." He rubbed his forehead, looking as old as I'd ever seen him. "That's the third one in a row, son. As if I didn't have enough on my plate with J.T. hissing and spitting in my direction."
I sighed. "He's just cross with me."
"He sure is," he agreed. "But it still affects me and your mother."
Silence cloaked the space between us while I tried to think of what to say. I couldn't apologize for breaking up with Maggie, because even without Grace, it was the right thing to do. But that one man, irrational as he might have been about securing his daughter's happiness, was the key to a hefty portion of our income.
Without the retainers that he paid, his wife's business paid, his in-laws paid, we'd lose about fifty percent of our steadiest income. It was the kind of loss that would cripple a small practice like ours. Because of me.
It was the kind of thing that made my skin crawl, knowing that I bore that responsibility.
Like I could hear them fall into place, a few more rocks settled onto the work side of the scale, and the carefully held balance swayed dangerously.
"I know it does, Dad," I said wearily. In the drawer, I could hear a text come through on my phone, the buzzing sound as much of a temptation as Grace was herself. Craving her words like this, even as my father sat and bore the weight of my decisions, was something I needed to keep in check. "If he keeps blustering, I'll talk to him. Or talk to Magnolia. She was surprised, but she wasn't angry at me. I know her well enough that she'd never ask her daddy to ruin our business out of spite."
"She's a good girl," my dad agreed. "Not the one for you, I can see that clear enough, but you're right. She'd never wish revenge on you."
My head lifted in surprise. "You knew she wasn't right for me?"
He snorted. "Of course. You don't deal with people as long as I have without being able to read them like a first grade picture book."
The irony that he couldn't see how miserable I was in this job was not lost on me, but I kept my mouth shut as he kept talking.
"Magnolia is smart and driven, pretty as a picture, but her daddy has spoiled her rotten her whole life. And Bobby Jo,” his voice trailed off as he thought about Maggie’s mother. “She let him, because it takes too much effort to stop J.T. from doing what he wants." He shifted in the chair and got a faraway look in his eye, probably rifling through the years that she and I spent together, just as I'd done when I drove to her apartment to end things. "I think the two of you were sweet on each other when you first started dating, but you never mooned the way a young couple in love should. It's like each of you checked off certain boxes that the other was looking for, and so you just stayed where you were because there was no reason not to. But that's no way to start off a life, son."
The truth of what he said clanged like a bell, and I couldn't argue with a single part of it. "I know. It took me too long to see it. Or be willing to admit it, at least."
As he stood from the chair, he looked older than his fifty-five years. His hip creaked when he took his first step, even the wrinkles on his face seemed more pronounced than they had even a week ago. Some people looked young for their age, but my dad wasn't one of them.
The product of not enough exercise, too much time trapped behind a desk, not enough water during the day. Too much coffee in the mornings and whiskey at night. The eating habits of a college student and way too many hours working. My mom still managed to look ten years younger than her fifty-two, but as I watched my dad leave my office, I would've sworn he was approaching seventy.
Stress. That's what aged him faster than any of his unhealthy habits.
I thought about my dad's stress, and whether that same fate was waiting for me if I stayed behind this desk at Haywood and Haywood, staring up the map painted on the ceiling.
