“Okay,” Leslie agrees. “But Lucas is the least shady person I know. And you haven’t felt this way about anyone in… Well, have you ever?”
Truthfully, no. Not even with Tegan’s father; my relationship with him was never on an even plane. I was always kept in my place, and he reminded me constantly who the student and the professor were. It was subordinate. Unhealthy. Wrong.
But Lucas… Oh, he charmed me subtly, in a way I wasn’t ready to handle. He bamboozled me. Gained my trust little by little, only to squander everything by being caught in a lie.
And the worst part is that Tegan already identifies him as a father figure. He didn’t crush just me. He crushed the both of us, and I can never forgive him for that.
“Fine. I liked him, a lot. So what? How’s that supposed to make it better? I just feel all the more duped.”
“I’m telling you, Lucas is not the duping kind of guy,” Leslie says firmly. “At least hear him out.”
***
I carry Leslie’s suggestion around with me all night as I toss in bed, not sleeping, and then all of Saturday as well. No matter how much I try to shake it off, she’s planted a seed of doubt in my head.
Yes, I can’t explain why Lucas lied, but if I analyze the time I’ve known him, there wasn’t a single occasion in which he hasn’t been completely honest with me. Well-behaved? Maybe not always. Especially not the first day we met when he yelled at me, but I’m blaming that on sugar deprivation. Don’t touch the man’s donuts, I’ve learned that much.
Is one lie worth closing the door on him forever?
The more I sit on it, the more uncertainty gnaws at me. Leslie has a point—I did rush in dismissing him. I should have given him a chance to explain. Well, I still can. And, like all important things, it should be done face to face.
Decision made, I’m in such a hurry to go that I don’t even change into more decent clothes. Sweats were good enough for Lucas’ so-called client emergency, and they’ll do for an impromptu home visit.
Tegan has gone to the movies with friends again so, when I exit the house, I need nothing more than my bag and keys.
I have to ask Leslie for the address of Lucas’ condo, as I never got as far as going to his place. And this time, I don’t plan to do so in sexy lingerie. It gives me satisfaction that I’m wearing the oldest, crappiest underwear set I own. No, not even a set, as the bra and panties are mismatched.
The trip to lower Manhattan doesn’t take too long on the subway, and his house is thankfully just a short walk from the station. I’m searching the front door of the building for a bell or something when the glass doors open and Lucas comes out.
“Vivian.” His eyes widen at finding me on his doorstep.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a dark green sweater. And, damn him, if he doesn’t look yummier than a triple-glazed donut, if those even exist.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I wanted to talk.”
Lucas tries to subtly check the time on his watch.
“Somewhere you have to be?” I ask.
He turns defensive. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Another emergency you can’t tell me about?”
“It isn’t an emergency, but I still can’t tell you where I’m going. But, Vivian”—he gently grabs my wrist—“I want to talk to you. There’s nothing I want more.”
I yank my arm free. “Don’t bother. Coming here was a mistake.”
“Vivian, please! I promise you I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just protecting someone else’s privacy.”
“Who? A client?”
His lips go taut. “I really can’t tell you any more than I already have. You have to trust me on this.”
And there it is, hanging between us like a sword, the unspoken question I’m facing.
Can I trust him? Can I put blind faith into someone? A man?
If it were just me… maybe I could take the leap. But I can’t think just about myself. I haven’t for most of my adult life. Tegan’s wellbeing will always come before anything else, and I can’t bring another man into our lives who has secrets. However innocent he claims they are, I need total transparency in a relationship.
I shake my head. “Sorry, I can’t.”
Lucas’ eyes turn sad. “Then you’re right, we have nothing else to say to each other. Sorry, I have to go now.”
Without another word, he crosses the street and walks away from me. And, I guess, out of my life for good. If that’s what I was after, then why does it still hurt so much?
Thirty
Vivian
Three weeks later, I’m still nursing my heartbreak. The cure, I’ve decided, is excessive work during the day, and an endless stream of covert, late nights spent watching romantic movies and eating ice cream—the heavy stuff. To protect my daughter, I always wait until Tegan has gone to bed and can’t see me before I start my sad nightly routine. But even if I’ve tried to maintain a strong façade in front of her, I’m not convinced she’s bought my act. Lately, she never goes out except for movies with friends on Saturday nights, and why else would a teenager spend so much time at home if not to keep her heartbroken mother company?
Tonight, however, I must make more noise than usual, because halfway through my regular sob-fest, Tegan pokes her head into the living room.
She takes me in, along with the ice cream bucket I’m holding—I opted for the saving size package—and with a sigh she sits at the other end of the couch, chin bowed low.
“Mom, are you sad about Luke?” she asks without looking up.
“No, honey, I’m fine. It’s just the movie.”
Tegan stares at the screen, where Forgetting Sarah Marshall is playing. Hardly a tear-jerker. If my excuse wasn’t paper thin enough already, I shift my legs on
