Tomorrow we’ll have pancakes and…” He faltered.
“I’m not staying. And really, I think I should go. It’s better.”
“I fucked him, Olivia,” Patrick said tightly after a half a moment. “Just once. Teddy doesn’t know.”
“God, Patrick. Just…oh, my God. When?”
He shook his head, then gave it up. “Christmas.”
“In your house? With Teddy there? What the…” I swallowed hard. Jealous didn’t even describe it. “How could you? And you’re angry with me? What a shitty thing to do!”
“Teddy knows I sometimes sleep with other guys—”
“Yeah, he knows. That’s the point, isn’t it? That he knows who they are? And when you’re doing it? Fuck, Patrick, I wish I didn’t even know this.” About his arrangement with Teddy, about his sex life. About everything.
“Don’t you tell him.”
“Do I even know you?” I whispered.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Don’t tell Teddy, Liv. Please.”
“Why would I? I love Teddy. Why would I hurt him like that? Why would you?” I added, and rubbed my hand across my eyes. This was one big basket of fucked-up. “Why would you tell me this now, anyway?”
“I didn’t tell you. You forced me to tell you.”
He wanted to tell me, or he wouldn’t have. I’d just begun to warm up from being outside, and now I went cold again.From down the hall, Teddy’s loud laughter drifted. I swallowed a sour taste. I crossed my arms, more jealousy stabbing me all over, in tender places I didn’t even know existed.
“Fuck you, Patrick. That’s why you don’t want me hanging around him. You’re not jealous of him, you’re jealous of me?”
“I’m not jealous,” he growled. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
“From what? Clue me the fuck in, okay? Because it seems to me you’re not trying to protect me from anything. You’re just trying to…Fuck. I don’t know what!” I swallowed years of longing. “I am not a fucking coffeepot!”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Patrick reached for me.
I pulled away. “It means…it just means…What do you want me to do? Make him move out? Not be his friend because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants? What the fuck do you think is going to happen, Patrick?”
“Nothing,” he said sullenly.
I shook my head. Patrick stepped back. I waited for him to say he was sorry, or to make some effort at touching me again, but I was glad when he didn’t. Nothing he said or did could make this right, or make it go away.
“I’d better leave.”
He didn’t try to stop me this time. I pushed past him and into the hall, where I waited for him to come after me. He didn’t. I went down the back stairs and grabbed up my coat. In the front room, the squall of Rock Band had been replaced by the sound of party horns on the television. They’d tuned in to the Times Square celebration. The television was showing a local news program, coverage of the post-midnight New Year’s festivities. In Central Pennsylvania we’re big fansof dropping strange things from the sky on December 31. The newscaster was talking about the giant Lebanon bologna being donated to feed the homeless.
At home, Alex’s apartment was dark and quiet, no light beneath the door. This time, I didn’t knock.
“Halllp!” The small figure behind the towering stack of boxes and bags overflowing her arms cried out, but too late.
I managed to catch a couple of the packages, but most of them hit the floor at our feet. Sarah sighed and stared. I laughed, and she shook her finger at me.
“You’d better hope there was nothing breakable in those.”
“Why on earth would you have bought anything breakable for me?” I crouched to help her gather up all the things she’d brought. “Where do you want all this stuff?”
“On the table.”
Sarah’d been the one to find the long dining-room table set up in the center of my studio. I called it vintage, she referred to it as antique, but it had cost a hundred sixty
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